The Gladiator

'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!'