The Gladiator (26 page)

Yannis nodded. ‘All right then, Tribune. As you say’

He turned away to talk to his followers, while Cato watched him closely for any sign of treachery. A short time later Yannis exchanged farewells with his men and gestured to Cato and his escort to follow him down to the beach.

‘Have you no wife or woman here?’ asked Cato as he caught up.

‘What’s it to you?’ asked Yannis curtly. Then he shrugged. ‘She was killed by the wave.’

‘I’m sorry. So many people have suffered such a loss. That’s why I must reach Alexandria. To get more men to help restore order.’

‘To help defeat the slaves, you mean.’ ‘It comes to the same thing.’ The fishing boat was perhaps twenty-five feet long, with a mast stepped slightly forward of the centre of the craft. A steering paddle was attached to the side and a pair of oars lay in the bottom. It stank offish.

‘Will that get us to Egypt?’ one of Cato’s escort asked doubtfully. ‘As well as any vessel,’Yannis replied, then turned as several men emerged from the village carrying water skins and strings of dried fish. They placed the meagre supplies in small lockers either side of the mast, and then Yannis turned to Cato.

‘Get in.’

The Romans clambered aboard and quickly sat down asYannis barked an order.The fishermen heaved the boat into the calm waters of the bay and pushed it out until they stood chest deep. Yannis pulled himself over the side, and indicated the oars.

‘One man on each of those; place them in between those pegs there. That’s it.’

With the oars in place, the soldiers clumsily propelled the craft out towards the entrance to the bay, while Yannis sat with the handle of the steering oar in his hands. Looking back, Cato saw that many of the villagers were standing watching the last of their boats head out to sea. Their sense of resignation and despair was palpable. A sudden lurch beneath the keel made Cato grasp the side.

Yannis laughed. ‘It’s just a swell, Tribune. Wait until we reach the open sea. Then you’ll be panicking.’

Cato forced himself to let go of the side and sat staring out beyond the bows as his men stroked the fishing boat clear ofthe bay. As soon as they reached open water, the small craft bobbed up and down on the swell and Cato swallowed nervously as he tried to maintain an untroubled expression. When they were well clear of the land, Yannis gave the order for the soldiers to stop rowing and stow the oars in the bottom of the boat. Meanwhile he undid the ties fastening the sail to the spar and hoisted it up the mast. As soon as the sheets were fastened securely around the cleats, the sail filled and the boat surged forward, away from the coast.

‘How long will it take to reach Alexandria?’ asked Cato.

Yannis frowned as he thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps three days to the African coast, and then another three along the shore if the wind remains fair.’

‘Six days,’ Cato mused unhappily. Six days crammed into this small boat with just two feet of freeboard. The constant motion of the water around him was frightening. He had thought that the short- lived voyage on the
Horus
was unnerving, but being at sea in this open fishing boat was terrifying. Yet there was no avoiding it. Macro, Julia and all the others were depending on him to get through to Alexandria. He continued to gaze back at the land for some time, wondering ifhe would ever see his friends again.

In the days that followed Cato’s departure, Macro kept the people hard at work repairing the city’s defences. In addition to filling the breaches in the walls, one of the gatehouses had collapsed in the earthquake and Gortyna’s surviving stonemasons cannibalised the stones from a nearby wrecked temple in order to rebuild it. Macro’s preparations extended outside the walls, where work gangs equipped with army tools picked away at the hard, stony ground, digging defensive ditches in front of the most damaged sections of the wall. Given the difficulty of the ground, there was no question of excavating a ditch the entire circumference of the city. So Macro turned to other methods of slowing down any enemy attack.

Summoning some of the city’s blacksmiths to his headquarters on the acropolis, he introduced them to one of the legions’ favourite defensive weapons. There had been a small box of caltrops buried away at the back of the armoury, and Macro picked one out for his small audience to see. He held the four-pronged piece ofiron up and then dropped it on the desk in front of him, where it landed with an alarming thud that made the blacksmiths jump.

‘There.’ Macro pointed. ‘See how it lands with one point facing up? It’ll do that every time, and if you scatter those in grass the enemy will not see ‘em until they tread on them. The spike goes through the foot and cripples the victim. It’ll break a charge almost every time.’ Macro gazed at the caltrop fondly. ‘Lovely piece of kit. Saved my neck more times than I care to mention.’ He looked up. ‘The question is, can you make these in quantity before Ajax and his mob turn up?’

One of the blacksmiths came over to the desk to have a closer look. He picked it up, felt the weight and nodded. ‘Easy enough to make, but can I suggest a refinement?’

‘Be my guest,’ Macro invited, intrigued to know how the Greek could hope to improve on the Roman design.

‘As it is, the points are fairly easy to remove. While you will have injured your enemy, he might not be incapacitated.’

‘Really?’ Macro cocked an eyebrow. ‘I should think that having a fucking great spike shoved through the bottom of your foot might just take the smile off your face. Wouldn’t you say?’ ‘Oh yes,’ the Greek agreed. ‘I’m sure it would. The thing is, the victim of this device might yet be able to limp into a fight, or off the battlefield. But what if we barbed the ends? Then it would be almost impossible to dislodge and the enemy would have to stop and cut it out, or wait to be carried from the battlefield.’

Macro shook his head. ‘No. If the bloody thing is barbed, then it’s removed from play with the casualty. What’s the point in that? If it does its j o b and is discarded, then it is still on the battlefield ready for the next victim. See?’

‘That’s true,’ another blacksmith interrupted. ‘But you’re ignoring the fact that the removal of a casualty requires at least one other man. Thus, a barbed caltrop will rob an enemy of a minimum of two men.’

The first Greek clicked his fingers. ‘And what if those who were helping the man from the field were also to tread on these things? Why, the increase in the casualty rate would be expo- nential.’

‘Expo-what?’ Macro blinked, then held up his hands. ‘Stop right there! Look here, I just wanted you to tell me if you could make some more of these. That’s all. Can you do it?’

‘Of course we can do it. The Greek looked offended. ‘But why not improve on it at the same time? That’s my point.’

‘We could form a design committee,’ someone suggested helpfully.

‘No!’ Macro protested.

‘If we tested a few designs I’m sure we could provide you with a far more efficient weapon, Centurion.’

‘There’s no time.’ Macro was getting exasperated. ‘And the bloody thing works well enough as it is. Right?’

The Greek pursed his lips unhappily. ‘Within limits, I suppose.’ Macro clenched his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them, stabbing his finger into the blacksmith’s chest. ‘Just make them. As many of them as you can. To this design and no other. Is. That. Perfectly. Clear? N o , don’t talk, just nod.’

T h e blacksmiths assented meekly.

‘Thank you.’ Macro breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then please get on with it. Send word the moment you have the first batch ready. Now go.’

Macro strode to the door and wrenched it open, ushering them out of his office. As soon as the last one had gone, he shut the door, returned to his desk and sat down, gazing at the caltrop as his temper began to subside.

‘Greeks . . .’ he muttered. ‘Never use one word when a thousand will do.’

In addition to the improvements to the city’s defences, Macro took charge of recruiting men to supplement the fighting strength of the auxiliaries. At first Sempronius had appealed for volunteers, but when fewer than a hundred of the city’s menfolk turned up at the parade ground Macro had marked out a short distance beyond the wall, sterner measures were called for. Several sections of auxiliaries were sent out to scour the city for fit men and have them marched out to the parade ground.There, they were brought before Macro, where he made his selection of those he would use to bolster Gortyna’s garrison. Details of each man’s name, family, home street and occupation were carefully noted before he was presented to Macro, sitting at a campaign table under an awning.

It was dispiriting to see a succession of unhappy or angry men who were capable of bearing arms but resented the opportunity to defend their families and their city. One such was a tall, well-muscled young man in an expensive tunic. His dark hair was neatly cut and a finely trimmed beard graced his jawline. At first Macro could not place him, then in a sudden flash he recalled that he had been amongst Glabius’s coterie up on the acropolis the day the tax collector had been deposed.

‘Name?’ ‘Pandarus, son of Polocrites.’

Macro glared at him. ‘From now on you call me sir. Is that understood?’

‘I see no need to call you sir, Roman.’ ‘And why is that?’ Macro smiled invitingly. ‘Because I am not a soldier, nor will I ever be. Furthermore, I will protest about my treatment here through the highest channels. My father has political contacts in Rome. Once they are informed that a lowly officer has dared to pluck a free man from his home and forcibly conscript him at the point of a sword, there will be no limit to the retribution that is brought down on your head.’ Pandarus was pleased with his brief monologue and offered a placating smile to Macro. ‘It’s not too late to put an end to this sad little drama of yours. Comedy, more like.’ He turned and gestured to the line of men standing in the sun, waiting to be seen by Macro. There was a muted chorus of support. ‘Let us all go, and I will do you a favour, Roman, and not report your criminal activities to your superiors in Rome.’

He drew himself up and crossed his arms as he stared down at Macro. The latter stared back for a moment and then lowered his stylus on to the wax slate with a weary sigh.

‘Have you finished, Pandarus?’

‘Finished?’ Pandarus frowned, then became angry. ‘You don’t think I’m serious, do you?’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re serious; it’s just that I am not inclined to take you seriously’ Macro replied. ‘I mean, look at you. Dressed up like a cheap tart. Is that perfume I can smell?’

‘It is a male scent. An extremely expensive scent.’

‘So you look like a male tart, and you smell like one. That I can forgive . . .just about. What I cannot forgive is that people like you think you’re too good to get your hands dirty by taking up a sword and defending what’s yours: this city, your family and your friends – assuming you have any. What makes you so fucking special that you should be excused from taking your place alongside the other men who are prepared to fight?’

‘My father pays his taxes,’ Pandarus protested. ‘He pays them so that his family doesn’t fight, and we can leave that to little people like you.’ He could not resist the sneer, yet the moment the words were spoken he realised he had made a mistake. ‘What I meant to say was’

‘Shut your mouth!’ Macro shouted into his face. ‘You miserable little coward! You’re the little people. You and all those others who have so little heart, so little courage, so little sense of honour and duty that they think that money can buy them everything. Well, money is the least of your worries now. There’s an army of slaves out there who are waiting for their moment to launch an attack on this city. Do you really think they are not going to butcher you and your family because you have connections in Rome? Fucking idiot.’ Macro shook his head in anger and exasperation. ‘There is only one way we are going to survive this, and that’s if every man who can fight is up there on the wall, ready to kill or be killed. Right now I could not give a toss whether you are some dandy pervert or the son ofthe emperor himself.You will take up a sword with the rest of the men in the line. You will be trained to fight with the auxiliaries.You will fight like a lion to keep those rebel bastards out of the city, and if need be you will die like a bloody hero, sword in hand, spitting curses into your enemy’s face. Do I make myself clear?’

Macro thrust his face forward, inches from that of Pandarus, and the latter nervously backed off a step.

‘I m-meant no offence.’ Pandarus flapped his hands.

‘Sir!’ Macro shouted, hooking his booted foot behind the young man’s heel and then thrusting him hard in the chest so that he stumbled back and crashed to the ground. Macro pounced on him, knee on Pandarus’s chest as he snatched out his dagger and thrust the blade to within an inch of the other man’s eyes. ‘Last time I say it. You call me sir when you address me. Got it?’

‘Yes, yes, sir!’ Pandarus whimpered.

‘Better!’ Macro eased himself up. ‘Now get your kit, and report to the centurion on the drill ground with the other recruits. Get up! Get moving!’

Pandarus scrambled to his feet and scurried offtowards the wagon where an optio from the auxiliary cohort and four of his men were busy issuing sword, helmet, armour and shield to each man sent their way. Macro turned back to the line of waiting men. Most were ordinary townspeople, but there were some better dressed amongst them. He walked down the line inspecting them, then returned to the shade of the awning.

‘Is there anyone else who takes exception to fighting at my side, and the side of our heroic friend Pandarus? Well?’

The men refused to meet his glare and stood in silence. Macro nodded. ‘Good.’

He turned and made his way back to his stool, then sat down at the desk and picked up his stylus.

‘Next man!’

Eight days after Cato had set off for Alexandria, Macro joined Senator Sempronius and his daughter for dinner: a thin stew of pork and beans served with bread by one of the few remaining slaves of Hirtius. The rest had run off to the hills, or to swell the ranks of Ajax’s rebel army.