The sentries at the gate stirred warily as the two men on horseback clopped along the paved road towards the gate. When the horse was no more than fifty feet away their leader raised his arm and called out. 'That's close enough. What is your business here?'
Sempronius held out the hand with his ring. 'I am Senator Lucius Sempronius, come to see the governor of the province.'
The sentry leaned to one side and pointed at Cato. 'Who's that?'
'Centurion Cato. We were travelling to Rome by ship when the wave struck.'
'Wave?'The sentry approached cautiously as Sempronius reined in a short distance from the gate. 'We've heard that a wave had struck the coast, sir, but the stories we've been hearing are, well, a bit wild.
Entire ports and coastal villages destroyed.'
'It's true,' Sempronius replied. 'We landed at Matala, what's left of it. That's where we learned that the governor was injured. I've come to see what the situation is.'
'It's bad enough, sir. There's hardly an officer left in the garrison; most of them were at the governor's palace when the earthquake struck. Only a handful of his guests escaped from the banquet hall when the ro of fell in and buried the rest.'
'Where is the governor?'
'He's at the palace stables, sir. The stables survived well enough to be used as a hospital. That's where we've been taking the injured.'
Sempronius paused a moment. 'What's his condition?'
The sentry pursed his lips.' The official word is that he'll recover.'
'But?'
The sentry glanced round and then lowered his voice. 'That's not what my mate in the palace guard says. If you want to speak to the governor, you'd best do it quickly, sir.'
'Very well, let us pass.'
The sentry nodded and turned to call to his men.' Open the gate!'
There was a deep groan as the men thrust against the timbers of the right-hand door and it began to open. The groan changed into a grating sound and then a shrill squeal before it came to rest and would not budge any further. There was a gap just wide enough for the horse to pass through and the sentry shrugged apologetically.
'Sorry, sir, but the masonry has shifted and that's as far as she'll move.'
Sempronius nodded his thanks and edged the horse through the gap. Inside the city was the familiar panorama of shattered buildings and rubble strewn across the paved main street. There were more people amid the ruins and damaged buildings than there had been at Matala, and for the first time Cato began to feel a small measure of hope. Some settlements had evidently not been as badly affected as he had feared, but then, he mused, Matala had prepared him for the worst. The horse picked its way along the main street towards the heart of the city, past a marketplace where scores of stalls had collapsed and their ruined wares lay strewn about them, picked over by survivors. As they approached the centre of the city, the large civic buildings crowded the street on either side, and where they had collapsed Cato saw that great columns of stone had toppled like skittles, their sections laying scattered across the street and the steps leading up to where the temple doors had stood.
The governor's palace stood at the very centre of Gortyna, on the intersection of the two main streets. There was a tall outer wall, pierced by an impressive double-arched gatehouse, and inside a vast paved courtyard opened up on the other side. The palace, a fine building of white stone, looked as if it had been mauled by siege engines. There were great gaps in the walls and only a few expanses of tiles gave any indication of the original lines of the roof.
Sempronius sucked in his breath. 'It's a wonder anyone survived that.'
'Yes,' Cato muttered. 'That looks like the stables over there.'
He pointed to a narrow walled yard to one side of the main building-A small crowd stood or squatted outside, some holding infants or supporting others as they waited to be seen. Two army medics in black tunics were assessing the patients and admitting only those with the worst injuries. It was clear that the mood of the crowd was sullen, and Cato heard angry grumbling as they approached the stables.
'Make way there!' Sempronius called out. 'Make way, I said!'
The crowd parted in front of the horse and the expressions of those closest hardened as they stared up at the riders.
'The young 'un's wounded,' an old man growled. 'See there, on his leg.'
'Bastard's jumping the queue,' another voice called out, and at once there was an angry murmur sweeping through the crowd, and those still ahead of Sempronius refused to give way.
'Take your turn like the rest of us!'
Sempronius glared in the direction of the last shout. 'I am a Roman senator, damn you! Now do as you are told and move aside.'
'Fuck you!'
'One rule for the rich, another for the poor!' another man shouted.
'That's right!' Sempronius shouted. 'That's how it is. Now clear a path before I clear it for you!' He drew his sword to emphasise his words and dared anyone in the crowd to defy him. The people glared back, but as Sempronius kicked his heels in to move the horse on, they parted before him.
As he reached the arch and passed through into the courtyard, a man raised his fist and cried out, ' Bloody aristocrats! Our people die out here and they look after their own!'
The anger was taken up in other shouts and bitter cries, but Sempronius kept his face fixed in an expression of haughty contempt as he walked the horse up to a rail and slipped from the saddle to tether it. Cato dismounted beside him, wincing as a shaft of pain shot through his leg. He clasped a hand to his thigh as he looked round and saw a man in a dark tunic with red trim on the sleeves emerge from one of the stalls.
The man gestured towards Cato's leg. 'I'll have a look at that.' He wiped some blood off his hands with a soiled rag as he approached the new arrivals.
'Romans?'
Cato nodded.
The surgeon pointed at Cato's bandaged thigh.' How did that happen?'
'We ran into some escaped slaves. One of them stuck me with a pitchfork.'
'Nasty. I'd better see to it.'
'Later. We need to speak to the governor.' Cato gestured to Sempronius. 'We have urgent business with him.'
'So does everyone.' The surgeon laughed mirthlessly. 'But he's in no condition to see anyone right now, poor devil.'
'That's too bad,' said Sempronius. 'I must insist that he sees us. Immediately'
The surgeon shook his head. 'I can't let you disturb my patient.
You'd better go and see Marcus Glabius if you want to know what's going on.'
'Who?'
'Glabius is in charge now. He persuaded the governor to appoint him as his successor yesterday'
'What office did this Glabius hold before?' asked Cato. 'Civil administration? Military?'
'Neither. He was one of the province's tax collectors.'
'A tax collector?' Sempronius could not hide his disgust. Why on earth did Hirtius hand power over to a bloody tax collector? Surely there must have been an official on his staff he could have turned to?'
'No, they were all at the banquet when it happened. For some reason Glabius was late arriving. Otherwise… 'The surgeon wearily ran a hand through his hair. 'In any case, they're close friends and business associates. Do I need to spell it out for you?'
Cato could guess the arrangement easily enough. Governor Hirtius sold the tax concession to Glabius for a knock — down price.
In exchange, the two of them had a private arrangement whereby Hirtius quietly pocketed a percentage of the tax squeezed out of the islanders and any merchants who paid duties on cargoes leaving or arriving in Crete. A common arrangement throughout the empire, and one of the means by which provincial governors amassed a fortune during their term in office. It was an illegal practice, but since provincial governors accused of malpractice had the comfortable prospect of being tried before their peers, and those who aspired to be governors in turn, there was little prospect of prosecution. That said, governors had to be careful not to exact too mu
ch from a province lest their wealth provoke a dangerous degree of interest from the emperor. It was not unknown for an emperor to dispose of a wealthy Roman in order to confiscate his property.
'Just take us to the governor,' Sempronius said firmly.' Right now '
'If that is your wish.' The surgeon bowed his head. 'This way, sir.'
With Sempronius offering support to Cato, they followed the surgeon down the line of stables until they reached a large tack room at the end. It had been cleared out and a couch lay against the far wall. A man lay on the mattress. He was still, apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest. His breath came in laboured rasps. They crossed the room and Sempronius indicated a simple bench against one of the other walls and spoke to the surgeon. 'Give me a hand with that.'
As they dragged it over towards the couch, Governor Hirtius turned his head to the side to observe them. By the light of a small window high up on the wall Cato could see that one side of his face was heavily bandaged. A loose sheet lay across his body and covered his legs. Once Sempronius and Cato had settled on the bench, the surgeon stood by the couch and drew the sheet down to the governor's waist. His chest was bare and the pale skin was covered with black and purple bruising down his right side. Beneath the discoloured flesh the bones and muscle appeared to Cato to be misshapen. The arm had been broken and was fixed in a splint.
Sempronius leaned forward and spoke in a comforting tone.
'Greetings, Aulus Hirtius. We've met once or twice before, at the senate back in Rome.'
The governor licked his lips and nodded faintly before whispering hoarsely,'Lucius Sempronius… I remember…What are you doing here?'
'I've come to take charge of the province.'
Hirtius's eyes widened and he made to raise his head as he responded sharply, ' Who sent you?'
The slight effort caused a sudden spasm of agony to course through the governor's body and he fell back with a keening groan as he gritted his teeth. The surgeon leaned over his patient anxiously.
'Lie still, sir. You must lie still.'
Sempronius waited until the tension left the governor's body and he was breathing more easily. Then he spoke again.
'No one sent me. My ship was passing the island when the earthquake struck. I learned that you had been injured, my friend, and came to offer my services. Now that I see you, it is clear that you'll need time to recover. As the ranking official in the province I should take charge, until you are ready to resume your duties.'
'No need… I have already found someone.'
'So I understand. But Hirtius, I cannot allow a tax collector to take on such a responsibility. They are corrupt dogs at the best of times. We cannot let such a man govern Crete.'
Hirtius struggled to raise a hand in protest. Sempronius took it and patted it gently. 'There's no need to worry now that I'm here. Your province is in safe hands. I swear it, on my honour.'
'No…' Hirtius slumped back with a deep groan, face muscles clenched as he fought a wave of agony. At length his body relaxed and beads of sweat trickled from his brow. His breathing was ragged as he stared at the ceiling and muttered, ' My wife, has she been found yet?'
'Wife?' The senator turned to the doctor and whispered,
'What's this?'
'Antonia. Apparently she left the feast shortly before the earthquake. Hasn't been seen since. But we're still finding bodies in the rubble. I fear it's only a matter of time before we find hers.'
'I see.' Sempronius gazed at the stricken governor for a moment and then turned to the surgeon. 'I'll leave him in your hands. Do your best for him.'
'Of course, sir.'
The senator lowered his voice. 'A brief word with you, if I may?'
He rose from the bench, gesturing to the others to follow him. At the do or he paused and spoke softly to the surgeon. 'Will Hirtius live?'
'I'm doing what I can for him. With enough time, he might recover-'
'Spare me the bedside manner. Will he live? Yes, or no.'
The surgeon licked his lips and then shook his head. 'Both legs are crushed. He has internal injuries, crushed ribs and organs. I doubt that he will last more than a few days.'
'I see. Well, do what you can to make him comfortable then.'
The surgeon nodded.
Cato looked towards the couch.' One other thing. Hirtius is to have no more visitors. Isn't that right, sir?'
'Yes,' Sempronius agreed.' Of course. That is my strict order.'
'Not even Glabius?' asked the surgeon.
'Him especially, understand? He is not to disturb the governor. As far as everyone is concerned, Hirtius is glad that I have arrived to take charge. He has confidence in me and has granted me full powers over the province, until he has recovered or a replacement is sent from Rome. That's our story, and you will stick to it. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good, then I want you to examine the centurion's wound. Clean it up and put on a fresh dressing. I need him as ready as he can be when I go to relieve Glabius of his temporary appointment.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Macro mopped his brow and squinted up at the midday sun blazing in the clear sky. From the gatehouse of the acropolis he could see the teams of auxiliaries working amid the ruins, carefully searching for survivors beneath the rubble. Once they had been located, the long process of digging them out began. Some were found easily enough, but many were trapped under several feet of masonry and had suffered terrible injuries. Still, he conceded, Portillus and his men were proceeding in a methodical manner as they worked their way across the city towards the gorge that led to the port. A number of slaves worked alongside the soldiers; those who had chosen to remain after the earthquake. Most of the surviving slaves had taken the chance to run away. They would be recovered in due course, and punished, Macro reflected. Many slaves were branded and would find it hard to blend in amongst those who were free. Their only other choice was to hide in the wilderness, a precarious existence that had few attractions over slavery.
On the slope outside of Matala the goatskin tents from the auxiliary cohort's stores had been set up, and several hundred people were now sheltering from the sun in their shade. There were still another two thousand people who had lost their homes and had to make do with sleeping in the open, or finding what shelter they could in the clumps of trees that grew higher up the slope. There was a stream up there, and a plentiful supply of water flowed from the mountains that formed the spine of the island. Macro could see a number of townspeople carrying full skins and amphorae back to the tents, and at the base of a small waterfall near the top of the hill a handful of children were splashing happily in the glittering silver cascade.
Even though they had a good supply of water, the most pressing problem was food. It had been three days since he had taken command of the cohort, and at once it was clear that the port was desperately short of supplies. A small amount had been gleaned from the estates of Canlius and the ruins of Matala and added to the meagre reserves in the acropolis. Macro had been forced to issue an edict that any private stocks of food must be surrendered to the cohort. From there a daily ration would be issued to the survivors.
Those who were caught hoarding food, or dealing food in the black market, would be denied rations and banished from the city and its environs. If they attempted to sneak back in and were caught then they would be locked into one of the cisterns, which Macro had chosen for a temporary prison. The last item on the edict warned that those who were caught attempting to steal food from the cohort's stores would be summarily executed.
There had been protests when the edict had been read out in the camp, and the mob had readily accepted a mouthpiece in the form of the father of the merchants' guild, a stocky individual named Atticus, who could have passed for Macro's brother, if he had had one. Macro held firm in the face of the protests and raised his hands to calm the crowd, and when that had not worked he drew his sword and rapped it sharply on the rim of one of his men's shields. When
the last angry murmur had died away, he drew a deep breath and pointed at Atticus.
'I don't care what you think. We must ration what food we have, or people will starve. Once the food supply to the town is restored, then things can return to normal. Until then we must have discipline, and patience.'
Atticus snorted. 'And you would have us believe that you and your men don't take more than your fair share, I suppose?'
'I will see to it that the food is fairly shared,' Macro replied in his parade-ground voice, so that all might hear him. 'Priority will go to those who are helping to find survivors and supplies in the ruins, and those who are responsible for ensuring order.'
'Ha!'Atticus raised his hands and clapped. 'I knew it. The army takes care of its own and damn the rest of us! Well, Centurion, we won't stand for it.' He turned to address the crowd. 'I say we keep whatever food we have for ourselves! Let the soldiers fend for themselves!'
The mob cheered his words and Atticus milked his support for a while, pumping his fists in the air, before crossing his arms and turning back to Macro with a smile.
'Quiet!' Macro bellowed.' QUIET, I SAID!'
But this time there was no response from the crowd, who continued to jeer and whistle and shake their fists.
At length Macro gave up and turned to the twenty men he had brought with him to lend force to his authority. 'Let 'em hear it, lads!'
The soldiers drew their swords and began to pound the inside of their shields, filling the air with a deafening drumming that drowned out the din of the crowd. Gradually they fell quiet and Macro gave the order for his men to still their weapons.
'That's better. Now then, I have told you how I intend to run things, and it will be so. I will not tolerate any attempts to undermine my authority as acting prefect of the cohort. If anyone wishes to increase their rations then they will have to work for it by helping the cohort's work parties searching the ruins. In addition, I could use more men to replace those lost in the disaster. If there are any men out there with previous military experience then they may apply to enlist at the acropolis.'
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