The Gladiator (8 page)

There was a moment of stillness as the two Romans stared intently at the men surrounding them, then someone roared:

‘Get ‘em, lads!’

The shadows raced towards the horsemen. Cato kicked his heels in. ‘Ride, sir!’

Sempronius urged his mount forwards, but he was an instant slower to react than Cato, and before his horse had gone ten feet the man had snatched at the reins, while others rushed in from the side.

‘Cato! Help!’

Cato twisted round in his saddle and saw the senator slashing wildly with his short sword at the figures flitting around him.

‘Shit!’ Cato hissed, and savagely wrenched the reins as he swerved his mount round. With his sword arm tensed he charged back into the loose melee about Sempronius. The horse let out a snort as it barged into the man holding the reins, and Cato slashed out with his sword in a wide arc, forcing the other men back. Then he gripped tight with his thighs as he swung across to the other side and hacked down at the hands still grasping the reins of Sempronius’s horse. The blade thudded down, cutting flesh and shattering bone, and a shrill scream tore out ofthe man’s lungs as he fell back staring in horror at his nearly severed hand. Cato leaned forward and snatched up the reins before pressing them towards the senator. ‘Here!’

‘Roman bastard!’ a voice cried out, and Cato looked roundjust in time to see a man charging him with a pitchfork clutched in both hands. He snatched his sword blade back and chopped at the oncoming prongs. There was a sharp ring as metal met metal and Cato’s blow knocked the prongs down, away from his chest. An instant later he felt a blow, like a punch, in his thigh, and there was a whinny from the horse as the other prong stuck into its side. Cato gasped, then snarled as he drew his arm back and slammed the tip of the blade deep into the man’s chest,just below his neck.The attacker collapsed with a grunt, releasing his grip on the shaft of the pitchfork as he slumped to the ground. For a moment the shaft sagged, tearing at the flesh of man and horse, before Cato knocked it free with his sword.Then he glanced round, and saw that the two men he had put down had shaken the rest of the attackers.

‘Go, sir!’ he shouted at Sempronius.

This time he waited until the senator’s mount had cleared the loose ring ofmen before he slapped the side ofhis blade into his own horse’s rump and galloped after Sempronius. He heard a grunt, and another pitchfork narrowly flicked past his left side before dropping out of view. He ducked low, clenching his fist around the sword handle to ensure he did not drop it as they rode down the road to Gortyna. Behind them the attackers howled with rage and ran after them for a short distance, before giving up and hurling insults that gradually faded behind Cato as he followed Sempronius along the road.

Macro let out a weary sigh as he looked over the reports he had demanded from the officers and clerks ofthe auxiliary cohort. Outside night had fallen, and from the window ofthe office he could see the flickering glow of torches along the walls of the acropolis. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as his mouth opened in a long, wide yawn, before returning his attention to his work. Several wax note- books were stacked on his desk detailing the strength of each century in the cohort, with the names of the best men in each unit underscored by their centurions.Those dead or missing were marked with a cross. There was also a detailed inventory of the cohort’s stores compiled by the quartermaster and a report from the only assistant assigned to the cohort’s surgeon. The surgeon who had been in the port when the earthquake struck and was still missing. The barracks room that served as sick quarters was overflowing with injured, and the surgeon’s assistant requested more men to help him deal with the casualties.

In addition to his other concerns, Macro had sent out a patrol to the bay to find the crew and passengers of the
Horus
and have them escorted back to the acropolis. They would be given shelter, and Macro would need the fittest of them to fill out the ranks of the cohort until the emergency was over.

As soon as he took command of the cohort, he had carried out a close inspection of the men formed up in their centuries in the courtyard of the acropolis. It was as Portillus had said: only half his men had survived when the earthquake struck Matala. Those that remained were badly shaken by the loss of their comrades, and the mortal terror they felt towards whichever god it was who had decided to wreak his fury upon the port. As Macro slowly paced along the ranks of the Twelfth Hispania, his experienced eye quickly saw that the cohort was typical of most of the garrison units stationed in the safer provinces of the empire. There was a mixture of worn-out veterans, impatiently awaiting their discharge, and those whose health had been broken on campaign and who had been transferred to Crete where they could manage to carry out gentle policing duties. Finally there was a handful ofsimpletons and scrawny youths who couldjust about be trusted to hold a weapon and not do themselves, or their comrades, any harm.

Macro shook his head. As things stood, the cohort was going to be little use in restoring order and helping the civilian survivors. He would need better men, and more of them, in the days to come. Meanwhile, he resolved to do what he could with the resources at hand. Not that there were many resources, he sighed. The quarter- master’s inventory revealed that the cohort had been run down in recent years. A string of governors had done their best to cut the costs of running the province right down to the bone in order to curry favour with the emperor and senate back in Rome. Worn-out equipment had not been replaced and the soldiers had had to make up the shortfall in the local markets.They wore an odd assortment of standard-issue kit and a range of old Gallic and Greek helmets and swords.There were very few slings, almost no lead shot for them, and very few reserves of essential rations and drinking water. Two of the cisterns of the acropolis were bone dry and the third only half full, and what was left was barely potable, as Macro had discovered when he accompanied the quartermaster down the steps into the cool interior of the cistern, cut from living rock.

‘That is fucking disgusting!’ He spat out the rank-tasting liquid and wiped his mouth dry on the back of his hand before climbing back out. ‘When was the last time this was drained and cleaned out?’

The quartermaster shrugged. ‘Don’t know, sir. Must have been before my time. ‘

‘How long have you been here?’ ‘Seven years, sir. ‘ ‘Seven years, ‘ Macro repeated flatly. ‘And you just chose to ignore it?’ stick, with dark, wizened features, but he carried the scars that spoke ‘No, sir, ‘ the quartermaster replied indignantly He was a thin old of some active service, Macro conceded. The quartermaster continued. ‘The prefect told me not to bother. Said that how as we were a garrison unit, and the province was at peace, there was no point in preparing for a siege, sir. ‘

‘I see. Right, well, that’s going to change. At first light I want you and your clerks down here.The cistern is to be drained, thoroughly cleaned, repaired and made ready to store any rain that falls. ‘

‘Yes, sir. ‘

Macro stared at the quartermaster. ‘Look her… what was the name again?’

‘Corvinus, sir. Lucius Junillus Corvinus. ‘

‘Corvinus, eh?’ Macro smiled. ‘Crow – it suits you. Now then, we have people out there who need our help. For now we are just going to help the survivors. D i g out any of those trapped in the ruins, then we have to feed them, see that they have fresh water and shelter. In the longer term we will need to make sure that there is order. If the food runs short then we’re going to be hard pressed to keep things peaceable. In that event, I need every man of the Twelfth Hispania properly equipped and ready to fight. So that means you will need to pull your thumb out ofyour arse and make sure the men have what they need. Got that?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my best. ‘

Macro shook his head. ‘Best isn’t good enough. You will do what I need you to do. If you can’t do the job then I’ll send you back to the ranks and find someone who can. ‘

‘B-but you can’t do that, ‘ Corvinus stammered. ‘I will protest to the prefect, sir. You have no authority to remove me. ‘

‘You can protest all you like. The prefect is dead. ‘ ‘Dead?’ ‘He was killed when the earthquake hit Gortyna. Him and most of the senior officials running the province. That’s why Senator Sempronius is taking charge of things. That’s why I am in charge of the cohort, and why you are going to have to start earning your pay for the first time in years. ‘ Macro paused and then gently punched the man on the chest. ‘It’s all down to us, Corvinus. We’re all that stands between those people out there, and starvation and chaos. Now, I’ll ask you one time only. Can you do your job?’

Corvinus took a deep breath and nodded.

‘Good man! N o w then, I want a full inventory of the cohort’s kit in my hands before the first change of watch tonight. You’d best start now. ‘

‘Yes, sir. ‘ Corvinus saluted and turned away, hurrying across the courtyard to the supply office and storerooms. Macro watched him for a moment and then sighed. He hoped that this was going to be the briefest command he would ever hold. Just long enough to set the cohort back on its feet and deal with the crisis in Matala before a new prefect arrived. Then he, Cato and the others could continue their voyage back to Rome. The sooner the better, he mused as he made his way back to the prefect’s office.

Once he had finished reading through the waxed note tablets, Macro sent for Portillus. While he waited, he helped himself to one of the small jars of wine that the prefect had kept in a small rack in the corner of the office. Several tiles had fallen in and smashed the jars in the upper section of the rack, but some at the bottom had survived. He tugged the cork stopper out and sniffed. A fine aroma wafted up into his nostrils and he smiled. Clearly the prefect had been a man who knew how to indulge himself. Shutting one eye, he peered into the jar.

‘And half full. ‘ He smiled to himself as he took the jar and a silvered cup back to the desk and filled the cup almost to the brim. ‘Not a total disaster then. ‘

There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, Portillus opened it and entered the office. A quick frown flitted across his face as he saw the wine, and then glanced to the surviving jars in the corner of the room. Macro realised that he had hoped to have them for himself now that the previous commander had no earthly use for such luxuries.

‘Ahem, you sent for me, sir. ‘ Yes. Shut the door. ‘ Once the door was closed and Portillus was standing at ease in front of the desk, Macro cleared his throat and began. ‘This is not a good cohort, Centurion, as I am sure you know. The organisation is slack, the men are generally second-rate and the officers are worse.

However,’ he paused, ‘that is about to change. And since you are my second in command, you are going to help make that change. Is that clear?’

Portillus nodded doubtfully ‘I can’t hear you, Centurion.’ ‘Yes, sir. It is clear.’ ‘Good.’ Macro tapped the wax tablets. ‘I want the best eighty men in the cohort to form a fighting century.They are to have the best of the kit, and they are to be commanded by the best officer. Who would you recommend?’

Portillus pursed his lips a moment before he replied. ‘Centurion Milo, sir. He was promoted from the legions a year ago.’

‘Then he shouldn’t have gone soft yet. Fine, Milo it is. He is to choose his standard bearer, optio and clerk as he sees fit.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘As for the rest of the men, they are going to work in the town at first light. They are to leave their kit here in barracks, but keep their swords, and divide into two teams. Half can deal with rescuing people from the ruins and carrying the injured up here to be treated. The others are to forage through the ruins for any supplies offood and wine. You can detail some of them to start carrying water from the nearest streams to start filling the cisterns.’

‘But that’ll take ages, sir.’

‘Well, we’re not going anywhere for the moment, are we, Portillus?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Fine, then those are the orders for tomorrow. Make sure the men are told that there is to be no pilfering, mind. If they encounter any civilian looters they are to put a stop to it. Knock heads together if you must, but don’t go straight in with the blade. The people out there have suffered enough already. One final thing. According to Corvinus we have some tents in stores. They’re old and probably haven’t been used for years, but they might be serviceable for the local people. Have some of the men set them up on the slope facing the acropolis, outside of the town.’

Portillus nodded, and then chewed his lip. ‘Sir?’ ‘What?’

‘Something just occurred to me. Most of the food in Matala was stored down in the warehouses. Near the main market.’

‘So?’

‘The wave destroyed the area, and carried away most of the debris when it receded. What’s left will have been ruined. The only other food will be what was in the houses when the earthquake struck. That won’t amount to much, sir.’

‘Hmm, you have a point.’ Macro sat back and stroked his jaw. ‘So we’ll find what we can and then look for other sources of food. Any estates near to the port?’

Portillus thought for a moment. ‘The nearest one is further along the coast, owned by Senator Canlius. It produces olive oil and grain.’ ‘That’s good for a start then. I’ll send some men with wagons. They can take what we need and let the landowner bill us when word gets back to him in Rome.’ ‘Senator Canlius won’t like that, sir.’ ‘Probably not.’ Macro sniffed. ‘But it won’t be my problem by then, so I don’t care. We have to ensure a good supply of food so our men and the people don’t starve while we sort things out.’

‘Let’s hope we can, sir.’

‘Oh, we will.’ Macro smiled. ‘I won’t stand for anything else. N o w then, that’s all for now, Portillus. I’ll have the clerks draw up the assignments for each unit. They’ll be with you and the other officers once they are ready. As soon as the sun rises I want the Twelfth Hispania to get to work.’

There was another knock at the door. ‘Come!’ The door opened and an auxiliary entered the room and saluted.