'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.