The Gladiator c-9 Read online

  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.

  Macro looked up. More slaves were pouring from under the trees.

  He could not estimate their strength, but they clearly outnumbered the men in Macro's column. However, the auxiliaries were trained fighters, and well armed. As Macro glanced round, he saw that his men were holding their own, cutting down the slaves as they came on in a disorganised rush. A sudden snarl snapped Macro's attention back to his front as a slave leaped towards him, swinging a me at -

  cleaver. He just had time to throw his shield up as the heavy blade slammed into the edge, cutting through the bronze trim and splintering the wood beneath, where it stuck fast.

  'My turn!' Macro snarled, slashing at the side of the man's head, and the blade jarred as it bit through skin and skull with a wet crack.

  As the man dropped to his knees with a stunned expression, Macro withdrew his sword and knocked the cleaver free with the guard. Just then he felt something grasp his ankle and looked down to see that the first man had dragged himself towards his boot and, having grabbed it, was preparing to sink his teeth into Macro's calf.

  'Don't you dare!' Macro kicked the hand free and stamped on the man's wrist with his nailed boot. Then he swung the lower edge of the shield at the slave's head, knocking the stricken man out.' When I put you down, you stay down!'

  Macro edged along the track, keeping pace with the leading wagon. He glanced to his left and saw that some of his men were too intent on the fight to realise that the wagons were continuing forward.

  'Keep moving!' Macro yelled. 'Protect the bloody wagons!'

  Even though they were poorly armed and being hacked down in droves, the slaves continued their ferocious assault, as if they had no fear of death. Macro saw one spitted by a spear as he hurled himself at the auxiliaries. The bloodied tip of the spear exploded through the back of his tunic and the slave heaved himself along the shaft as he clawed at the auxiliary's head. The soldier released his grip on the spear and snatched out his sword, thrusting it into the slave's throat.

  With a bloody gurgle of rage the slave flailed at his opponent, spattering the auxiliary with blood before his strength gave out and he slumped to his knees, still pierced through by the spear. The auxiliary backed away, hastily looking round to ma
ke sure that he was keeping a loose formation alongside his comrades as they paced along the road, doing their best to stay close to the wagons. The ground on either side was strewn with bodies, and still the slaves came on. Macro struck down a toothless man, old enough to be his father, and the man cursed him as he died.

  A hand grasped Macro's shoulder and he spun round, ready to strike, until he saw Atticus and just managed to stay his sword in time.

  'Give me a weapon,' Atticus pleaded. 'Before they tear me to pieces!'

  Macro looked round and saw a pitchfork lying beside the body of a slave, no more than a boy. 'There! Take it.'

  Atticus snatched the pitchfork up and grasped the shaft firmly as he lowered the prongs at a thin man racing towards him with a nailed club. The slave swung the club in a vicious arc, aiming at Atticus's head. The latter ducked the blow and then thrust his prongs into the slave's stomach, and with a grunt of brute strength carried the wiry slave up off the ground. The slave screamed as his weight carried him further down the sharp iron spikes that impaled him. Atticus twisted the shaft to one side and the slave crashed to the ground. Placing a boot on the man's chest he wrenched the prongs free and immediately went into a crouch as he looked round for another threat.

  'Good job,' Macro said grudgingly.

  The leading wagon rumbled out of the wood on to clear ground and continued towards the ruined villa, the driver cracking his whip over the heads of the horses and mules as he urged them on. Ahead of him, a couple of auxiliaries were forced to scramble to the side of the track before they were run down. Macro ground his teeth furiously as he trotted after the wagon.

  'Not so bloody fast, you fool!'

  The driver carried on heedlessly, and the others followed his example as the wagons emerged from the wood, leaving the auxiliaries and volunteers scrambling to keep up as they tried to fight off the slaves swarming round the column like angry wasps. One of Macro's men, at the rear of the last wagon, stumbled — and fell, sprawling across the gravelled track. At once several slaves leaped on him with bloodthirsty howls of triumph and hacked and stabbed at him as he struggled on the ground. He let out a piercing shriek, before it was savagely cut off as axe blows rained down on his head.