The Gladiator c-9

by Simon Scarrow

  Plotius nodded and swept his drawn sword up as he shouted to get his men's attention. Cato saw a crimson ribbon along the edge of the blade, and glancing down he saw the guard at his feet, the side of his face laid open by a sword cut.

  'Tenth Macedonian!' Plotius bellowed. 'Follow me! '

  He charged across the flagstones, towards the temple, and his men pounded after him, shields up and spears held ready. Cato ran after them in an unsteady lope, as his sense of balance had not yet recovered from the blow to his head.

  Stones were raining down on them now, and Macro and the others had to raise their arms to protect their heads. Glabius turned to run, back towards the administration building. There was a roar from the mob at the sight, and then they surged forwards.

  'Sir!' Macro called to Sempronius.' Run for it!'

  The two Romans turned and sprinted after Glabius, pursued by the tax collector's erstwhile employees. At the back of the crowd, his friends and cronies hung back with terrified expressions. Glabius puffed into the entrance and ran on, heading towards his office, as if that might save him. Macro was close behind, and realised at once that they would be hounded and killed if they continued. The entrance was a natural choke point. He drew up abruptly and turned round as Sempronius swerved to one side to avoid him.

  'Grab that post, sir!' Macro pointed at a broken length of timber in the rubble.

  Sempronius snatched it up, hefting it quickly to find a good handhold, and the pair of them faced the mob surging towards the building. Macro spread his feet and held out his dagger, his lips curled into a snarl. There was one man out in front of his comrades, the one who had thrown the first stone, and he slowed as he reached the entrance, then stopped, staring at Macro and Sempronius uncertainly.

  The next two men followed his cue and the mob reined in, momentarily quiet as they faced the two Romans.

  'Throw down your weapons and back away!' Sempronius ordered.

  There was no response, and the crowd glared at him in open hostility. The senator risked a glimpse to his left and saw the first of the auxiliaries running towards the temple.

  'Let's kill 'em!' a voice shouted from the back of the crowd. 'Kill

  'em now!'

  'Wait!' Sempronius thrust out his hand. 'You lay a finger on us and you die! It's all over for you now My men are coming. Look!' He stabbed his finger towards Plotius and his men dashing towards the temple. 'Drop your weapons before it's too late. Those men have orders to kill anyone who resists! Do as I say, drop your swords!'

  The crowd was still for a moment, uncertain, and for a moment Macro feared that they might fight, and begin by slaughtering him and the senator. Then there was a clatter as the first sword hit the ground. Then another, and then all the men were dropping their weapons.

  'Now back off!' Sempronius called. 'Over there, beside the temple!'

  There was a ripple of movement as the men edged away, glancing anxiously at the approaching auxiliaries. By the time Plotius and his men reached the entrance, the ground in front of it was clear.

  Plotius saw the scratches and cuts from the stones on Macro and Sempronius's arms. 'You're injured.'

  Sempronius shook his head. 'We're fine. Nothing serious. See to the prisoners. Get them off the acropolis as soon as you can. Take them to the amphitheatre. Let them sweat it out tonight and then set them free in the morning. Except Glabius. Find him a nice quiet cell of his own up here and keep him isolated.'

  'Yes, sir.' Plotius saluted.

  Cato pushed his way through the ranks of the auxiliaries, anxiously looking for Macro. He smiled as soon as he saw his friend and clapped him on the arm.

  'I saw them go for you. For a moment there I feared the worst.'

  'Feared the worst?' Macro snorted with derision. For a moment he was tempted to make light of it, but instead he shook his head and puffed out his cheeks. 'Fuck, that was close.'

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Over the following days, Cato was charged with organising the ofeeding of the inhabitants of Gortyna, and those refugees camped in the ruins and outside the walls. Having gone through the inventory of the food supplies stockpiled on the acropolis, it was clear that the population could be fed for at least a month. Each morning wagons left the acropolis for distribution points across the city to hand out rations to the waiting queues. The wagons were escorted by sections of auxiliaries, who protected them and ensured that all waited their turn to be given their allotted share of the food.

  At the same time, the stocks of food held privately by Glabius's friends were confiscated and the inedible grain and meat that they had been selling was burned in a pit outside the city. At first the merchants had protested, demanded compensation and threatened to present their claims to Rome. Cato coolly invited them to proceed with their threat, and added that he would be sending his own report on their corrupt appropriation of imperial funds, with the collusion of Glabius. The merchants quickly backed down, and some, more mindful than their companions of the harsh justice meted out by the emperor, even offered to repay the small fortunes they had made from the sale of overpriced and spoiled food supplies.

  In addition to the food stocks of the merchants, Cato sent strong patrols on to the farmland that sprawled across the southern plain, searching for further supplies of food to add to those held on the acropolis. With the inventory fluctuating every day, he needed help in keeping track of the consumption and supply of food, and one evening, as Sempronius dined in his new headquarters on the acropolis, Julia volunteered to take on the task. It was the usual affair of the senator, his daughter, Cato and Macro, each one on a couch, in front of a low table. Sempronius and his daughter sat side by side with Macro to the senator's left and Cato to Julia's right. The meals were simple, as the senator felt duty bound to share the privations of the inhabitants of Gortyna to an extent. The handful of small dishes presented by those kitchen slaves that remained were as artfully presented as anything served at a great banquet, and were consumed with great gusto by Macro.

  'Lovely!' He smiled, licking a smear of sauce from his lips as he set down a small bowl of shredded pork in honeyed garum. 'I could eat that all night.'

  'And so could most of the people outside these walls,' Sempronius observed as he chewed slowly. 'But we have to lead by example, as any centurion of your experience should know '

  'Well.' Macro sucked through his teeth. 'There's a time and place.'

  'This is it, alas.' Sempronius swallowed and considered the situation for a moment. 'We need more food, and soon.'

  'What about Egypt?' asked Cato. 'Surely they have more than enough grain to spare?'

  Sempronius nodded. The crops that grew along the Nile were famous for their yield, and were the largest source of grain for the teeming multitudes of Rome who had come to depend on regular, free handouts paid for by the emperor. 'I know the legate there well.

  Gaius Petronius. We served together on the Rhine. Petronius was one of the equestrian tribunes — a good man. I could ask him, but the chances of any emergency food aid from that quarter are slim. Rome has the first, and only, call on Egyptian grain. The truth of it is that we have to make do with what we have for the present. That means that you must keep a close eye on our level of supplies.'

  'True. I could use some help with the books, sir. If you could spare some of your clerks.'

  'I'm short-staffed as it is. But I'll see what I can do.'

  Julia lowered her plate and shifted round on her couch. 'What about me, Father? I could help Cato.'

  'You?' Sempronius raised his eyebrows.

  'Why not? You have paid some of the finest teachers in Rome to educate me. I'm sure I could manage to book — keep easily enough.'

  'I'm sure you could, but I didn't pay those fine teachers just so that you could do the work of a humble clerk.'

  'I'm sure.' Julia smiled mischievously. 'But whatever happened to leading by example? Surely that applies to all of us in this crisis? It would show the locals that Romans, no matter
how high born, share their burdens. A shrewd political move, if nothing else.'

  Sempronius stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head ruefully. 'Gentlemen, if I have one word of advice for you, don't have children. Or at least, if you must, then never overindulge them, else they will be your masters by and by.'

  'I'll drink to that!' Macro laughed, as he helped himself to a goblet of wine and drank half of it down in one gulp.

  Julia frowned. 'Have I ever failed to show you the respect that you are due, Father?'

  'Well, now that you mention it…'

  They stared at each other for a brief moment, before breaking into light laughter. Julia swatted his arm and then reached for an apple. Her father smiled fondly at her for a moment before he continued softly, 'Sometimes you remind me so much of your mother.

  By the gods, I miss her.'

  Abruptly he lowered his eyes and coughed, then swiftly picked up his cup and held it out to Macro. 'Fill it up, Centurion. I'll join you in that toast.'

  As their cups clinked together, Julia turned to Cato and took his hand, caressing the back of it with her thumb as she smiled. 'At least we can spend more time with each other this way'

  'We can, as long as we make sure that we do our duty first.'

  'Call it what you like,' she whispered, and then laughed as Cato shuffled with embarrassment.

  Sempronius looked round. 'What's up with you, my girl?'

  'It's nothing, Father. A private joke.'

  'I see.' Sempronius glanced at Cato.' Make sure she works hard.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  There was a lengthy silence, then the senator turned back to Macro.' How are the men coming on?'

  As soon as he had taken charge of the forces remaining in Gortyna, Macro had begun a rigorous training program me for the auxiliaries. At first Sempronius had not been convinced that it was a good use of their time. They were needed to police the streets and the refugee camp, and help with the gangs of volunteers and the remaining slaves as they cleared rubble and made repairs to buildings, the sewers and the small aqueduct that supplemented the city's water supplies. But Macro recalled all too well the ferocity of the slaves he had fought in defence of Matala's supply wagons, and was adamant that the men be made ready to fight as quickly as possible. Therefore the soldiers of the Tenth Macdeonian had been divided into two groups, and alternated between carrying out their work in the city and drilling on the training ground outside Gortyna.

  Macro paused a moment to think before he replied. 'Truth to tell, the lads of the Tenth are willing enough, and morale is good, which is surprising given the circumstances. The trouble is they have been on a garrison posting for too long and have grown soft.There's hardly a man who would be able to march fifteen miles in full kit and make a fortified camp at the end of the day. They change formation too slowly and are sloppy with it. Still, I'm making steady progress.

  Another month or so and they'll be more than a match for any band of slaves.'

  'So I should hope. From the reports I receive from Marcellus, it seems that the slaves don't present much of a danger. He's swept the plain and driven them into the hills. Now he aims to starve them out, or at least weaken them enough to attempt to pursue them into the mountains, track them down and crush any resistance.'

  Macro nodded approvingly. 'Seems the right way to proceed.

  Good luck to him. Though I can't help thinking that the slaves seem to have lost their spirit. They were keen enough to fight when I encountered them.'

  'Perhaps you and your men discouraged them. After all, your report said you had inflicted heavy casualties on them.'

  'That we did,' Macro said flatly. He took no pride in the slaughter of the poorly armed and untrained slaves. But it was them or him, and there had been no time for pity.

  'So, we have them contained,' Sempronius concluded. 'We have got rid of Glabius and his cronies and we have sufficient food to see the immediate crisis out. I have a feeling we are over the worst of it.

  The emperor will be happy with us, and once the province is settled and a new governor sent out from Rome, we can resume our journey home.' He smiled contentedly at Macro and Cato. 'I think we should be pleased with ourselves, gentlemen.'

  'Another toast?' Macro raised his cup.

  'Indeed.' Sempronius laughed. 'To success.'

  Their cups clattered together and then the senator turned to Cato.

  'What? Not joining in? Raise a cup, Cato.'

  Cato forced a smile. 'If you say so, sir. To success.'

  He drank, then lowered his cup. Julia squeezed his hand. 'Why the long face?'

  'I'm not sure.' Cato shrugged. 'Force of habit, I suppose. I just can't help feeling that we've not seen the back of our problems here.'

  Julia looked disappointed. 'And there I was, taking you for an optimist, full of the joys of youth.'

  'I'm young enough,' Cato conceded. 'But I have seen more of this world than most men my age, and many who are much older.

  Something tells me we're not through this yet.You mark my words.'

  'It's a fucking javelin, not a bloody crutch!' Macro bawled into the auxiliary's ear as he savagely kicked the butt away. The javelin clattered down, and with a gasp of surprise the exhausted soldier lost his balance and crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust.

  'What now?' Macro bent over the man, hands on hips, as he continued to shout. 'Asleep on my parade ground! You 'orrible little man. Who do you think I am, your bleeding mother come to wake you in the morning?' He kicked him in the ribs.' On your feet!'

  Macro snapped upright and continued down the length of the century, which had just returned to the parade ground after he had taken them for a run twice round the city. Having witnessed the fate of the first man in the line, the others hurriedly shuffled to attention, chests heaving as they held their javelins and shields tightly to their bodies and stared straight ahead. Macro, in the chainmail vest, greaves and helmet he had taken from the stores of the Twelfth Hispania, was in far better shape than the men, and breathed easily as he strode down the first line, inspecting the Macedonians with a contemptuous expression. The only man amongst them with the kind of spirit he wanted to see was Atticus, who had turned out to be one of the best recruits Macro had ever encountered: tough, and with a natural talent with weapons. Macro had already earmarked the Greek for promotion to optio.

  'I've seen a sewing circle of old women who looked more warlike than you lot! You are pathetic. How in Hades can you look so clapped out after a nice little trot like that? Right then, after javelin practice we'll do it again, and if any man falls out, or fails to stand properly to attention when we get back here, I will kick his arse so hard he'll be coughing his balls up. So help me.'

  Macro reached the end of the line, pivoted round and pointed out the ten straw figures fastened to stakes thirty paces away. 'There's your target, one section to each. If you can't hit a still target like that on a nice neat parade ground then you are going to be no fucking use to me on a battlefield soaked in blood and covered in bodies. You will throw your javelins until every man has scored five direct hits. I don't care how long it takes, because I am a patient man and nothing makes me happier than the prospect of spending all evening at javelin practice. Form section lines!'

  The men hurriedly shuffled into position. Most sections had fewer than eight men, as some had been lost in the earthquake and others were sick or injured.

  'First man!' Macro bellowed.' Make ready your javelin!'

  The leading man in each line stepped forward, grasping the javelin in an overhead grip and swinging the throwing arm back. They were using light javelins, more slender than the standard weapon that sometimes doubled as a spear. Macro waited until every man was ready and had had a brief chance to take aim.

  'Loose javelins!'

  With a grunt each man stepped forward and hurled his javelin.

  They arced through the air towards the targets. There was a brief explosion of straw on two of the dummies; thr
ee went wide and five failed to make it even as far as the targets.

  Macro folded his arms and glared at the men who stood empty-handed. He took a deep, calming breath before he called out,

  'That was the most miserable display I have ever seen! Your best chance of survival on the battlefield would be to make the enemy die laughing at your utterly shit efforts. To the back of the line, ladies. Next rank!'

  As the practice session wore on, the men failed to improve to anything close to the standard that Macro required of them, much to his exasperation. It was one thing to threaten to keep them at it until they got it right; quite another to have to endure it alongside them.

  Some of the men were adept with the javelin, most could hit the target half of the time and a handful were so hopeless that Macro feared they would have missed the dummies even if they stood within spitting distance.

  At length he saw Cato making his way out of the nearest city gate and heading towards the parade ground. They exchanged a salute as Cato joined his friend. As another wave of missiles mostly missed their targets, Cato clicked his tongue.

  'Glad to see you haven't lost your touch as an instructor.'

  'Ha fucking ha,' Macro grumbled. 'What are you here for? Assume you didn't come out here just to take the piss.'

  'As if

  'Anyway, you're no bloody good with a javelin. Seem to recall that you nearly skewered me that time in Germany '

  'I was just a raw recruit then,' Cato responded defensively. 'I've mastered it now, of course.'

  'Really?' Macro's eyes twinkled. He turned towards his men.

  'Ladies! I am delighted to announce that we have a proper soldier here who is only too happy to show you the art of javelin throwing.'

  'Macro…' Cato growled.

  'You there!' Macro pointed to the nearest man.' Hand your javelin to Centurion Cato!'