Текст книги "The Gladiator"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Yes thank you.' She smiled briefly. 'Is there any word from Gortyna?'

'Not yet. I sent a message yesterday. We should get a reply by nightfall. Should put your mind at rest.'

'I hope so.' Julia pulled at a strand of her dark hair. 'It's hard not to worry about my father and Cato. I'm sure that Cato would have sent word as soon as he could to say that they were safe.'

'If the situation here is anything to go by then I expect they're up to their necks in it over at Gortyna. But I'm sure they'll send news the first moment that they can. Don't fret, Miss Julia. Your dad's a tough one, and Cato's as smart as new paint. They'll be fine, trust me.'

Julia nodded a little uncertainly and was silent for a moment before she continued.' How long do you think we'll be here?'

Macro stepped aside from the column of soldiers and undid the strap of his helmet before removing it and wiping his brow. 'Difficult to say. There's plenty of shipping that puts into Crete, so word of what has happened here will reach Rome soon enough.'

'I haven't noticed any new ships in the port since we arrived.'

'True,' Macro conceded. 'That wave must have had a wide effect.

It's possible that it did for the ships close to the island. Perhaps there will be others who have heard the news and are wary of landing in Crete. But some one will put into one of the island's ports sooner or later. They'll get the story, and carry it onwards to Rome. Once the emperor grasps the scale of the damage that's been done here, then he'll be sure to send help.'

'Help? What kind of help?'

'Troops, food, and a replacement governor as soon as he appoints one. When they arrive, then your father and the rest of us can leave, and take the first ship back to Rome.'

'And how long will it be before help arrives?'

Macro frowned as he made a rough estimate of the distances involved. 'Realistically, I'd say it'd be two months before the first ship comes from Rome.'

'Two months? Two months!' Julia gestured towards the tents.

'With the amount of food we have, those people aren't going to last two months. There has to be some quicker way to get help. What about the closest provinces? Egypt, Cyprus or Greece?'

'They will do what they can. But the trouble is, I imagine they'll be wary of doing anything without requesting permission from Rome.'

Julia shook her head. 'That's madness.'

'That's bureaucracy, miss.'

'But we have to help these people.'

'We are helping them. What they need is order, and that's what I am giving them. Once that is established then I can deal with the food and make sure that everyone is fed as well as our stocks allow.

It's going to be tough, on all of us. Mollycoddling a civilian mob is not the kind of situation I'm used to handling, to be honest, miss.'

'So I can see,'Julia responded in an acerbic tone as she nodded towards the column escorting Atticus. 'That was very well handled.

I'm sure that little incident has helped to win the people round.'

'Now that is out of order.' Macro frowned. 'I'm not standing for election, miss. I just want to do the best for those who have survived.

I want to give them a decent chance to live through this and get back to some kind of normal existence. If that means I have to use methods that don't go down well with the mob, and troublemakers like Atticus there, then that's just tough.'

'On you? Or them?'

'On all of us.' Macro repositioned his felt skullcap and put his helmet back on. 'If that's all, miss, I have work to do.'

He strode off after his men, still fastening his helmet straps. Julia watched him for a moment, knowing full well that she was in the wrong. She had been acquainted with Macro long enough to know that however direct and harsh his methods might seem, his purpose was always well-meaning and fair. By the time she had decided to make her apology, Macro had already entered the headquarters building and disappeared from sight.

Julia slapped her hand against her thigh, furious with herself, and then turned away from the acropolis and gazed out across the tented slope. The crowd that had gathered to hear Macro's announcement was slow in dispersing, and little knots of people still clung together, no doubt voicing their anger. Macro had authority over them for the moment, she reflected, but when the food began to run out, hunger and despair would tear apart the present fragile order. She shuddered at the prospect, and then slowly made her way back through the gate into the acropolis. There was nothing for her to do. She had volunteered her services to help the cohort's surgeon tend the wounded, but he had rebuffed her curtly, saying that the hospital was no place for a senator's daughter. When she had tried to argue the case, pointing out that she had performed such duties during the siege at Palmyra, the surgeon had bitterly remarked that the people of the east were barbarians. Different standards applied in Crete.

Much as Julia hoped the surgeon was right, she had seen enough of the world to know that any civilisation was only ever a few meals away from anarchy and the bloody chaos that would inevitably follow. The thought immediately made her long to be reunited with her father and Cato. She felt a pang of longing for Cato and wished he was with her, making her feel safe.

'I hope you haven't called me here to waste my time,' said Macro as he placed the torch in an iron bracket and sat down on the bottom step of the cistern to look at Atticus. The Greek was chained by the ankle to the rock wall. His white tunic was streaked with filth. He had been in the prison for only one night, and the dark, the damp stench and the isolation had acted on him with impressive speed.

'You told the sentry it was important.'

'It is. I want to offer you a deal.'

'Really?'

Macro smiled thinly. 'What kind of a deal? Are you going to promise to be a good boy if I let you go?'

'Yes. I'll behave.'

'I see, and why should I trust you to behave? You see, I have no more faith in your word than you have in mine.'

Atticus licked his lips nervously. 'I know where to find food.'

'So do I; we keep digging in the ruins.'

'I mean, I know where we can find a lot of food. Enough to feed the people for many days.'

'Oh. And where would this food be?'

'The farming estate of a friend of mine.'

'Where?'

'On the coast, not far from here. The estate belongs to Demetrius of Ithaca.'

'We've already tried there. I sent a patrol yesterday. They came back empty-handed. It seems the slaves, or their brigand friends, had got there ahead of us and emptied the grain pits.'

Atticus smiled. 'That's what you think. Demetrius is a cautious man. Being close to the sea, he was always worried about raids from pirates. So he kept his valuables, and nearly all his produce, in a small compound a mile or so from the main estate. The entrance is easily missed, and the compound is protected by a palisade. I dare say that Demetrius will have headed there the moment the earthquake ended.'

'Assuming he survived.'

'I don't doubt that he did. He's a resourceful man.'

'I assume that you could lead us there.'

'In exchange for my freedom... and a reward.'

'Once you give me the directions to this compound,' Macro responded. 'If you're right, then I'll think about letting you out.'

'Nothing doing. You either let me show you where it is and let me go, or you can starve for all I care.' Atticus gestured casually.' Of course you could always torture me to reveal the location and then have me quietly killed.'

Macro nodded slowly.' Not a bad idea, that. A red-hot poker up the arse is usually pretty good at loosening tongues. I could give it a go, if you like.'

Atticus looked hard at Macro, trying to gauge if the other man was joking, but there was a dangerous glint in Macro's eyes and the Greek swallowed quickly. 'I'll show you where it is, and then you can set me free.'

'I'll think about it.'

'I won't co-operate unless you guarantee my release,' Atticus said with as much defiance as he could manage.

'It's too late to strike a deal, my friend. You've already told me you have something I want. I don't suppose for a moment that you want to take that knowledge with you to the grave. So, it's just a question of torturing you until you give it up. And if, by some miracle, you are a much tougher bastard than I take you for, then you might die before spilling your guts. I shan't complain if there is one less mouth to feed... once we've finished pulling you to pieces, a bit at a time.'

Macro sat back and scratched his chin nonchalantly. 'So then, what's it to be? Tell me what you know, or let me prise it out of you?'

Atticus gritted his teeth as he let out a long hiss of breath. 'All right, I'll take you to the compound. Then will you release me?'

'You play fair by me, and I'll do the same for you,' Macro replied.

He stood and turned to climb back up the steps.

'Hey! What about me?' Atticus called after him.

Macro paused and looked back. 'Tyrant you called me. That, I can live with. Pig, on the other hand, takes a little time to get over.

Another night in here will do wonders to help you develop a due sense of deference. Sleep tight.'

CHAPTER NINE

The small column left Matala at daybreak. Macro took forty men armed with spears from his fighting century to escort four wagons, all that could be drawn by the available horses and mules. A handful of civilians had volunteered to drive the wagons and act as porters. Atticus, unshaven and blinking, was taken out of the cistern and chained to the driver's bench of the leading wagon. He scowled at Macro as the latter strode past and took position at the head of the leading section. Centurion Portillus had already provided him with directions to the estate and Atticus would direct them from there to the compound. Macro had left Portillus to command in his absence.

With Centurion Milo, the other five sections of the fighting century, and the men detailed as rescue parties, he should have more than enough strength to deal with any trouble from the refugees in Macro's absence.

Macro took a last look down the column to make sure that everyone was ready, then waved his hand and swept it forward. The leading sections stepped out, their nailed boots grinding the loose chippings on the dried-out surface of the road. Behind them came the steady clop of the horses and mules and then the deep rumble of the wagon wheels. At the tail of the column the remaining two sections paced forward as a few refugees looked on. They watched the convoy for a short while, then returned to the daily struggle to search the ruins for food and anything of value that could be hoarded until after the crisis was over and normal life could begin again.

The road climbed a short distance inland before joining the main route that stretched along the southern coast of Crete. A milestone marked the distance to Gortyna, and Macro led the column in that direction. There had still been no word from Cato and Sempronius, and Macro was beginning to worry. Something might have happened to them on the road to the provincial capital, but short of sending out a search party, or travelling the same route himself, there was no way of knowing for sure. He tried to thrust the concern from his mind as he took in the surrounding countryside. As the road reached the fertile plain that stretched across much of the southern side of the island, a vista of farmland spread out on either side, dotted with the hovels of smallholders, the much larger structures of estates, and here and there a small village. They came to a junction beside a milestone and, following the directions given to him by Portillus, Macro led the column off the main road and down the lane towards the estate of Demetrius. The column tramped along the peaceful lane as insects droned lazily between the flowers that fringed the route.

'Sir.' One of the auxiliaries in the leading section suddenly pointed ahead.

At first Macro saw only an untidy bundle of rags, then quickly realised it was a body. He threw up his arm and called out,'Halt!'

While the men and wagons ground to a stop, Macro cautiously made his way down the stony lane, warily glancing from side to side as he approached the body. It was a man who must have had an imposing physique when he was alive, despite his sparse grey hair and worn features. The body lay curled up on its side in a ball. The skin was livid with bruises and cuts. Beneath the skin, lumps and swellings indicated where bones had been broken, and the once strong jaw had been pulverised so badly that the misshapen face would have been barely recognisable to anyone who had known him in life.

Macro squatted down to examine the body, wrinkling his nose at the ripe odours of decay. The tunic was of a good quality and the belt was decorated with silver fittings. The man wore army boots, old but well looked after, and a tough leather whip was wrapped tightly about his throat. His tongue protruded from his swollen lips and his eyes bulged in their sockets. The brand of Mithras was clearly visible on the forehead, and Macro realised that he was looking at a legionary veteran. Discharged from the army, he had taken a job as an overseer of slaves. The hard life of the legions made such men well suited to the task, and also made them the first target of the wrath of slaves if they rose in rebellion.

Slipping his hands under the body, Macro rolled it off the road and into the grass at the verge. Rising back to his full height, he waved the column on and the men trudged past the corpse, briefly glancing over it as they went by. The more experienced and nervous of the men began to survey the surrounding landscape warily now that they had seen this first sign of danger. A short distance from the body, the lane passed through a grove of olive trees and then emerged before an extensive sprawl of buildings and empty grain pits. Immediately in front of them was an imposing gateway leading into the villa of the estate owner. A quarter of a mile away lay the slave compound. There were large gaps in the wall through which Macro could see the remains of the long barrack blocks in which the slaves were locked up each night. There was no sign of life there now.

The bitter tang of burning wafted through the air, and Macro halted the column once more outside the gate.

'First section, with me!'

His fist tightened round the handle of his sword as he warily approached the entrance to Demetrius's villa. One of the gates was still in place but the other had been thrust open, and Macro warily led his eight auxiliaries inside. There was a large open courtyard surrounded by a colonnade, which had supported a tiled roof before the earthquake. Now the shattered tiles lay in heaps about the columns. Opposite the gate stood the burned-out shell of the main residence. Blackened walls and charred timbers stood stark against the clear sky. In the centre of the courtyard lay the remains of a large bonfire: a tangle of burned wood, unrecognisable black lumps of matter and ashes. Around the remains of the fire were three tall beams and crosspieces. A body was nailed to each, facing the fire. The rear of each body was unharmed, and coloured cloth still clung to the corpses. However, on the side facing the fire they had been slowly roasted. The cloth had charred and the skin was black and blistered.

Their lips had been curled back by the heat, exposing the teeth, which now seemed to grin at the horrified soldiers standing beneath them.

Macro picked up the lightly burned end of a shaft of wood and prodded the charred debris.

'Looks like some one went into the fire.' He turned and scanned the ground until he saw the hole into which the fourth beam had been dropped. The end of the beam still protruded from the remains of the fire. 'There. Looks like the slaves pushed one of their victims into the flames.'

'Fucking awful way to die,' muttered one of the auxiliaries.

Macro dropped the shaft and glanced round the inside of the courtyard. 'Well, there ain't a good way to die. Come on, lads. We've seen enough. Nothing to be done here.'

Outside, the men who had remained in the column looked curiously at the ashen expressions of the section Macro had taken inside. He made his way over to the wagon where Atticus was chained to the bench and ordered the driver to remove the shackles.

Atticus rubbed his ankles and nodded towards the villa.

'Any sign of Demetrius?'

'Wouldn't know what he looks like. In any case, it's impossible to tell who any of them were.'

Atticus looked at him quickly. 'What happened in there?'

'Looks like the slaves decided to take revenge on their master and his family. Cooked ' em alive.'

'Sweet gods...' Atticus swallowed, then looked round anxiously.

'Do you think the slaves are still nearby?'

Macro shook his head.' Not if they're sensible. You know the law – if any slave kills his master, then every slave in the household has to be executed. My guess is that once they realised what they'd let themselves in for, they ran for the hills.'

Atticus's expression hardened.' Then they must be hunted down and killed.'

'All in good time,' Macro replied evenly.' Right now I want you to take us to Demetrius's food hoard.'

'Yes, of course.' Atticus took one last glance at the villa gates, then drew a deep breath and pointed to a narrow track heading away from the buildings towards a distant line of pine trees. 'Over there.'

The column continued forward, eager to be away from the stench of the burned villa. Just before they reached the trees there was a shout from one of the wagons, and Macro turned to see the driver pointing across the open ground towards a jumbled cluster of rocks half a mile away. Three figures were standing on the highest rock, watching them.

'Slaves,' Atticus muttered through clenched teeth.' We should take them. Centurion, send your men after those murderous bastards.'

There was grumbled agreement from the nearest auxiliaries, but Macro shook his head.' Nothing doing, Atticus. We can't spare the men for a chase. Besides, my lads can't outpace them in full armour.

In any case, they'll know the ground around here. Chances are they'll lead our men into a trap.'

'You're letting them get away?' Atticus said with a shocked expression.

'Can't help it. Right now we have more important things to deal with. The slaves can wait for the moment.' Macro cleared his throat and called out harshly, 'Keep moving! Move, you idle bastards!'

They entered the pine trees and the track wound its way through the dappled light. Macro scanned the route ahead, and the shadows on either side, as they progressed for over half a mile.

'You had better be right about this food hoard,' he said quietly.

'I know the way,' Atticus replied. 'I just hope the slaves haven't been there and taken it already. Chances are that quite a few of them knew of it.'

Macro nodded. 'Let's hope they thought better than to burn it down. The slaves have got to eat too.'

The track turned sharply to the left and descended into a gorge with steep sides, a perfect spot for an ambush, Macro decided, as he glanced up at the boulders strewn across the slopes. If those were tumbled down on to the column they would smash the wagons to pieces, and crush any man or horse in their path.

'How much further?'

'We're there.' Atticus raised his hand and pointed.' Through the trees, see?'

Macro squinted and saw that the track began to open out into a clearing a hundred paces ahead. On either side the slopes of the gorge spread out. As the column entered the clearing he saw a sizeable wooden stockade, twice the height of a man. There was a watchtower at each corner and a stout pair of gates where the track ended. A number of bodies lay in front of the wooden walls, struck down by arrows and light javelins.

'Seems that the slaves paid a visit after all,' said Macro.' Some one was here to see them off.'

'Stop there!' a voice called out from the stockade, and Macro saw that several men had appeared above the sharpened stakes that formed the wall. Each man carried a javelin, and there was further movement in the nearest watchtowers as bow men climbed the ladders. A figure above the gate cupped a hand to his mouth and called out again,'I said stop where you are!'

'Halt!' ordered Macro. He stepped forward and raised a hand in greeting. 'We're from Matala. Twelfth Hispania. Centurion Macro.'

'Centurion Macro? Never heard of you.'

'I arrived shortly after the earthquake.'

'How convenient!' the man above the gate replied caustically.

'Beg one! Before I order my men to shoot you down.'

Macro looked back over his shoulder. 'Atticus! Come forward!'

The men parted as Atticus eased his way through the front ranks of the auxiliaries and stood beside Macro.

'Do you know that man up there?' Macro pointed.

Atticus strained his eyes for a moment and then smiled. 'Why, yes!

That's Demetrius.' He stepped forward and called out. 'Demetrius of Ithaca, it's me, Atticus!'

There was a brief pause before the man above the gate responded in a relieved tone. 'Atticus! You survived. No surprise there. Who's your friend? I know the officers of the Twelfth, but I don't recognise him.'

'He arrived after the earthquake, like he says.'

'Fair enough...' Demetrius turned to call down into the stockade.' Open the gate!'

With a faint creak from the ropes that acted as hinges, the gates swung inwards and a moment later Demetrius emerged, smiling, as he advanced on Atticus and Macro. After clasping arms with his friend, the estate owner turned to examine Macro.

'A relation of Atticus?'

'I think not,' Macro snorted.

'Well, you could be mistaken for a brother.'

'Really? Well, that's something I shall just have to live with.'

'A prickly friend you have here, Atticus.'

'He's no friend.' Atticus shook his head. 'What happened here? We passed what was left of the villa. When we saw the bodies I feared that you had been killed.'

Demetrius frowned. 'Bodies? What do you mean? What has happened to my villa?'

'Surely you know?'

'If I did, I wouldn't be asking. Tell me.'

Macro cleared his throat.' The place has been burned down by the slaves. We found the body of an overseer a short distance from the villa, and four more bodies inside.'

The blood drained from Demetrius's face.' When I brought my family down here I left my steward in charge with a handful of men I could trust.'

'What happened back there?' asked Macro. 'After the earthquake?'

Demetrius was silent for a moment, as he collected his thoughts.

'The slaves had been working late that evening, and had only just come back from the estate when the earthquake struck. I was with my family in the garden. If we had been inside, then we would have shared the fate of the kitchen staff, and been crushed and buried alive. As it was, they were the only ones we lost. I left orders for the slaves to repair as much damage as possible while we took shelter down here. My steward reported to me on the first evening after the earthquake, and said that the slaves were being kept in their place by the overseers and the repairs to the compound wall were under way.

So I thought all was well, until he failed to report the following evening, and the one after. That was when they appeared.' He indicated the bodies. 'Turned up at dusk and demanded that I open the gates. When I said no, they charged the gate. I told my men to stop them, and as you can see, that did the job. They melted away into the trees. We've been keeping a close watch for themever since,'

Demetrius concluded wearily. 'Whoever they are.'

Macro nodded towards the bodies.' Those aren't your slaves?'

'One or two of them. The rest are strangers.'

Macro stared at the nearest bodies for a moment, deep in thought.

'That's worrying. I had hoped that this was a local uprising. But it seems that your slaves must have been led on by outsiders. Possibly brigands from the hills who have come to stir things up and grab some loot, or slaves from another estate. Either way, your slaves are in open revolt now. They'll have to be dealt with when I get the chance.'

'Dealt with?' Demetrius looked alarmed. 'But I have a fortune invested in them.'

'Well, it seems that your investment has just turned sour,' Macro responded flatly. 'Sour enough to burn down your villa, and roast your steward and some others into the bargain.'

'When I find the ringleaders, I'll make them pay dearly'

Demetrius said bitterly, and then quickly looked at Macro. 'But why have you come here? To rescue us?'

'No, but you and these others are welcome to join us when we return to Matala.'

'So why are you here?'

'I've come for whatever supplies of grain, olives and any other foodstuffs you have in your stockade.'

Demetrius's eyes narrowed. 'You've come to take my property?'

Macro nodded. 'I am here to commandeer it. Due note will be made of everything we take away on the wagons, and you can apply for compensation once order is restored to Crete. Now, if you don't mind, I want the wagons loaded as quickly as possible. If there are rebellious slaves on the loose we should return to Matala before dark.' Macro turned to call an order back to the waiting column.' Get the wagons into the stockade and load ' em up!'

'Wait!' Demetrius grasped Macro's arm. 'You can't take my property. I forbid it.'

'The people in Matala need feeding. There's not enough food in the town and we need yours. Sorry, but there it is.' Macro lowered his gaze to the Greek's hand. 'Now, if you don't mind stepping aside, my men can get on with it.'

'No. No! You can't. I won't allow you to.'

Macro sighed. 'I see. Well then... First section! Arrest this man. Disarm his followers. If anyone tries to resist, then knock ' em on the head.'

'What?' Demetrius stared about wildly as he was seized by two of Macro's men. The rest of the column marched on into the stockade, together with the wagons. As Macro had suspected, without Demetrius to lead them, his retainers meekly surrendered their weapons and stood in a little group, under guard, as the soldiers and volunteers began to load the first sacks of grain and jars of olives on to the beds of the wagons. Demetrius continued to complain, loudly, until Macro drew his sword and patted the flat against the palm of his hand.

'Do be a good man and pipe down, eh? Otherwise I'll have to make you.'

'You wouldn't dare,' Demetrius spat back defiantly.

'He would,' Atticus interrupted. 'Believe me. Best do as he says.

For now.'

The estate owner stared at his friend for an instant, and then his shoulders slumped as he gave way and sat heavily on one of the piles of grain sacks that stood between the low storerooms that filled the stockade.

'That's the spirit.' Macro smiled reassuringly.

The wagons were loaded as fully as possible, and the axles creaked and groaned under the load as the drivers steered them out of the stockade and back up the track towards the villa. Macro made a last attempt to persuade Demetrius to come with them, but the landowner was adamant that he wanted to protect what was left of his stock of food supplies. With a brief show of reluctance, some of his men opted to go with the column. A handful remained behind with him and watched as the column gradually disappeared into the pine trees that grew on the sides of the gorge.

As they headed back up the track, Macro turned to Atticus and muttered, 'Your friend is a fool. He might have driven the slaves off the last time. But if they grow in strength they'll be far more determined next time. Demetrius and the others will end up like those I saw at the villa, in all likelihood.'

'You really think so?'

'Hard to be sure,' Macro conceded. 'But it seems that the slaves are beginning to organise. If that's the case, then we may have quite a problem on our hands. Things could get pretty rough, right across the island.'

Atticus was silent for a moment. 'I hope you're wrong.'

'So do I,' Macro replied quietly, surveying the sides of the gorge as the heavily laden column slowly made its way along the track. As they emerged from the gorge he let out a sigh of relief. A short distance further on, the track began to pass through a thicker concentration of pine trees, and then, a little way ahead, it emerged from the trees on to open ground. In the distance Macro saw the remains of the villa. As he turned to Atticus, to make some joke about being out of the woods, there was a faint crack as a stick broke, somewhere off in the trees. Macro's eyes shot round to stare into the shadows beneath the branches.

Figures emerged from the gloom, stealthily closing in on the column from both sides. Macro drew his sword, snatched a deep breath and bellowed,'Ambush!'

CHAPTER TEN

There was a sudden shout from the trees, and the cry was taken up on all sides as the attackers swarmed out of the shadows, charging towards Macro's column on the track. Macro planted his leading foot towards the nearest enemies and braced his shield up in front of him, sword arm drawn back ready to thrust.

'Form up! Face 'em!' he shouted to his men above the din. Most reacted swiftly, turning to confront the enemy, spear tips lowered. A handful were momentarily dazed by the suddenness of the attack and stumbled back in the face of the onslaught.

'Keep the wagons moving!' Macro ordered the leading driver.

As the attackers raced out of the shadows, Macro saw that they were dressed in old tattered tunics, most of them barefoot, and armed with an assortment of knives, hatchets and pitchforks.

Only a handful had swords or spears and they clearly had no idea how to use them. They waved them around above their heads, wearing frenzied expressions of hate and terror on their faces, as they charged in. There was no time to take any more in as the first of them, teeth gritted and eyes wide and staring madly, slashed at Macro with a scythe. Macro took the glancing blow on the side of his shield and then pivoted on his leading foot to knock the slave off balance as he stumbled past. As the slave tried to retain his balance, Macro stabbed him in the side of the chest, driving the blade home, before ripping it free with a gush of blood. The man doubled up, releasing his grip on the scythe and clasped his hands over the wound as he slumped to the ground and curled up with a deep groan of agony.