Cato almost felt a pain as she separated from him and nearly gave way to the impulse to hold her again. One last time. But he nodded slowly, and then turned towards the do or and strode steadily out of the room, along the corridor and down into the courtyard without once looking back. He did not trust himself to.
The shepherd paused as he reached a bend in the track and pointed towards the sea. As he drew level with the man, Cato reined in and looked down on the fishing village. To call it a port was a bit of an overstatement, Cato reflected as he scrutinised the scattered handful of dwellings that fringed a narrow curve of grey sand between two rocky headlands. The water was clear all the way out past the headlands that protected the bay. The wave that had destroyed the port at Matala had swept past Ciprana, causing much less damage. A few houses closest to the shore had been destroyed, but those built on the slope well above the sand had survived intact. Most of the fishing boats and the nets that had been drying on frames by the shore had not been sofortunate. They had been washed away and smashed against the rocks of the headland. Some of the least damaged boats had been salvaged and were being repaired on the beach. Only one was drawn up on the sand ready for use.
'Come on.' Cato waved to his escort and they continued in single file. A short distance further on, the track began to wind its way down the hill in a long series of zigzags. As the small party began its descent, a few of the villagers had emerged from their homes and were watching the approaching strangers cautiously. Cato saw one of them run towards the largest of the buildings, and a short time later a group of men emerged and made their way across to the place where the track entered the village and waited for the Romans.
Cato raised a hand in greeting as he approached the men. Behind him, the guide and Cato's escort looked round warily.
'Stop there!' one of the villagers called out in Greek as he stepped forward and pointed at Cato.' Who are you?'
'Tribune Quintus Licinius Cato, from Gortyna.'
'Really?' The villagers' leader was a broad-shouldered man with short, powerful legs and tightly curled grey hair. He cocked his head on one side and continued in a suspicious tone. 'What brings you here, Roman?'
'I am on imperial business. Urgent imperial business.'
'What business?'
Cato reined in a short distance from the man. 'I am carrying a message from the governor of the province to the Legate of Egypt. I need a boat to take me and my men to Alexandria.'
'Why would such an important official come here for a boat?'
'Because Ciprana is probably one of the only ports on the south coast that has not been completely destroyed by the wave, or the slaves. Have any of the rebels been here?'
The man shook his head. 'Very few people bother to cross the mountains to visit us. Why should the slaves be any different?'
He paused.' How do I know that you are not part of the rebellion?'
'Do I look like a slave?'
'No,' the villager admitted. 'But for all I know you could have murdered some Romans and taken their clothes, and are trying to escape from the island.'
'What?' Cato shook his head irritably. 'Nonsense. I am who I say I am, and we have come here to seek passage to Alexandria.'
'Sorry, Tribune. We can't help you. You'd best try somewhere else.'
'There isn't time to try somewhere else,' Cato said firmly and pointed towards the beach. 'I need that boat, and a crew at once. We will pay our fare, and leave you these horses.'
'Can't help you. We need that boat for our catch. It's the only seaworthy craft that we have left, the only means of feeding ourselves. You can't have it.'
'I can pay you enough to buy your village some new boats,' Cato responded.' N me your price.'
'We can't eat money, it is of no use to us now. That boat is all that stands between us and starvation. I'm sorry, Tribune. It's not for sale.'
Cato leaned forward in his saddle and stared intensely at the man as he continued. 'We need that boat, and we will have it, along with the best sailor in your village. As I said, you will be amply rewarded. If you are short of food here, then I suggest you take any valuables you have and set off for Gortyna. If you still want to protest, then you can make your case to the governor. Now, I have no further time to waste.' Cato slid from the saddle and reached into his saddle bag for a pouch of the silver coins that had been issued to him from the provincial treasury on Sempronius's orders. He tossed it to the villager, who fumbled the catch and nearly dropped the money.
'There's three hundred denarians in there,' Cato explained.
'More than enough for you to buy some new boats for the village.'
The villager hefted the bag for a moment and shook his head.
'I told you. We have no use for it.'
Cato strode up to him with a menacing expression and growled,
'I don't have time for debate. Find me a man to sail that boat at once.
If I don't get to Alexandria as soon as possible, then the slaves will take over the island. Do you want that?'
'We keep to ourselves,' the villager persisted. 'Why should they bother us?'
'Because they will not rest until they control Crete. No matter how many they have to kill. I can offer you protection if you lead your people to Gortyna.'
'Protection?' The villager smiled as he stepped away from Cato.
There was a flicker of polished metal, and Cato glanced down to see that the man had drawn a small, delicately curved knife. At once the others followed suit. 'We don't need protection. But you might, Roman.'
Cato glanced round quickly. There were eight men in front of him, but half of them looked old and frail. Several more men stood around the confrontation. Some carried clubs and one had a barbed fishing spear.
'Put those knives away,' Cato ordered. 'Don't be a fool. My men and I are professional soldiers. If you want a fight, then you'd better understand that even though you outnumber us, we would still kill most of you, before even one of us fell.'
The leader of the villagers was silent for a moment, and then spat to one side. 'That's quite a claim, Roman.'
Cato flicked back his cloak and grasped his sword handle. 'Want to put it to the test?'
Behind him, there was a metallic rasp as the men of his escort drew their weapons. Behind them, the shepherd backed away a few steps then turned to run back up the track away from the village. As the sound of his footsteps died away, the two groups of men stared at each other in silence, waiting for the other to make a move. Then the fishermen's leader smiled slowly.
'All right then. There's no need for everyone to get themselves killed. Let's keep this between you and me, Roman. A straight fight.
If you win, you can take the boat and the best of my men to sail her.
If I win, then your men leave the village and find themselves a boat somewhere else.'
Cato thought quickly. Even though the leader of the villagers was powerfully built, he was not a trained fighter and was more likely to have used his blade for gutting fish than for fighting. It would be a risk, but it would save a much greater loss of life if a more general fight broke out between the two sides. He nodded.
'You have a deal. Swords or daggers?'
'I'll stick with this blade.' The villager grinned. 'It's served me well enough in the past.'
'Very well then.' Cato stretched his stiff legs for a moment. Then he unclasped his cloak and slipped his sword belt over his head, and turning to the nearest of his escort handed them over.
'Here, take these.' He leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice. 'If anything happens to me, the governor's message is here.'
Cato patted the leather tube under his tunic. 'Grab one of their men and make for the boat. Whatever happens, that message has to get through to Alexandria. Whatever the cost. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
Cato turned back to face the leader of the villagers. Drawing his dagger, he paced warily towards the man and stopped a safe distance away.
'We have
agreed the terms. If you lose, then the boat will be mine, yes?'
The fisherman nodded. 'That's right. Lads, make sure he has what he wants, if he wins.'
Cato went into a crouch, blade held out slightly to one side, as he had been taught by Macro in the early days of his time in the Second Legion. Opposite him the villager did the same, while his companions backed away and formed a loose arc behind him.
As he stepped closer, Cato saw for the first time a scar on the brow of his opponent, a crude sun motif burned on to the skin. In a horrible moment of realisation, Cato knew that this was no mere fisherman after all. There was no time for further thought as the man suddenly lunged forward, slashing at Cato's knife arm. Cato whipped it back, turned slightly to his right to retain his balance and thrust back at the other man's arm. He leaped back out of range, with a grin.
'Good reactions, Tribune,' he muttered, in Latin, and for an instant Cato froze.
There was another blur of motion as the man lunged again. Cato moved to parry the blow, but quick as lightning the man's blade changed direction and cut in and up towards Cato's throat. Cato threw his head to one side, and the tip of the blade sliced through the air and nicked his ear, then the man jumped back.
The small cut burned and Cato felt a warm trickle flow down his neck. He shook his head and crouched, ready to attack or defend, as he spoke quietly. 'A soldier, then?'
The villager smiled. 'Once.'
'From the brand of Mithras, I'd say a legionary.'
The villager said nothing.
'So you're a deserter.'
What does it matter?' The man smiled. 'And don't think you can goad me. You're bleeding, Tribune. How does it feel, rich boy? I'm going to cut you down to size a piece at a time.'
Cato watched him intently, his mind racing. The man had been a professional soldier. The chances were that he knew as much, if not more, as Cato did about knife fighting. There was no technical advantage to be had then. But there was some hope. His opponent took him as some son of an aristocratic family and no doubt thought him soft and inexperienced.
'Try it, you' scum,' Cato sneered haughtily. Immediately he sprang forward, slashing out wildly with his blade, all the time keeping his arm extended and his body out of range of the other man's knife. The villager easily ducked the attacks or deflected them with swift parries that clinked and scraped as the two men duelled. Cato stumbled back, breathing heavily, as the blood continued to drip from his ear.
'You're soft, Tribune,' the other man sniffed. 'Just like all you aristocratic mother's boys. Playing at soldiers. I'm going to enjoy this.'
He stepped forward, feinting again and again, laughing as Cato frantically tried to block each thrust as he gave ground. Then, with a cry, Cato stumbled and fell back. At once the other man sprang forward, crouching as he came on, knife poised to strike into Cato's chest. Cato spun to one side and lashed out with his boot, catching the other man hard, behind the knee. His momentum and the loss of weight-bearing on the leg Cato had struck, caused the man to lose his balance, and he crashed heavily to the ground, face first. Cato jumped on to his back, snatching a clump of hair in one hand, while he pressed the tip of his knife into his opponent's throat so that it just cut the flesh. Leaning forward, he hissed into the man's ear:
'You're right. Amateurs should never, ever try and fuck with professionals.' He eased himself up. 'Give in, or I'll cut your throat where you lie.'
'Bastard
Cato pulled on the man's hair. 'Last chance. Submit or die.'
'All right, you win,' grunted the man.
'Louder. So everyone can hear it.'
'I give in! I give in. The Roman wins!'
'That's better.' Cato released his grip and let the man's head slump into the dirt. Rising up warily, he backed away and sheathed his dagger. His defeated opponent rolled over and sat up, rubbing the small cut in his neck. He stared at Cato with a puzzled frown.
'You're not like any tribune I ever met. Where were you raised, in the slums of the Subura?'
Cato shook his head.' No, in the imperial palace, as it happens.'
'What?'
'It doesn't matter. I need that boat now ' He paused and thrust his finger at the man. 'And I want you to sail it.'
'Me?'
'You were a soldier once. You're a bit rusty now, but useful in a fight.You'll do. What is your name, soldier?'
'Yannis. That's what I'm called here.'
'Fair enough.' Cato held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation the fisherman allowed him to help him back to his feet.
'If you're the head man here, your people will need a replacement. You'd better appoint one. If taking the boat means they may go hungry, then their best chance is to make for Gortyna. They should tell the men on the city gate that Tribune Cato sent them there.
Whatever happens, your people need to stay clear of any bands of slaves they see.'
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 of fish.
'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 as Yannis 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 of the 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, won de ring if he would ever see his friends again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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 fromanearby 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 of iron 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.
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