The Gladiator

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; three 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!'

'Macro, I really haven't got time.'

'Bollocks. Let's see who has lost their touch, shall we?' Macro waved a hand invitingly towards the javelin the soldier was holding out.' Be my guest.'

Cato's eyes narrowed furiously. He snatched the weapon and strode to the front of the line. Turning to face the target, he focused on it intently as he flipped the weapon in his hand and caught it in an overhead grip. He placed his leading foot carefully, eased back his throwing arm and sighted the target along his left arm, lining it up with his middle finger. Then, taking a deep breath, he tensed his muscles and hurled the javelin forward with all his strength. The weapon arced up, reached the apex of its trajectory and then dipped down and punched through the centre of the dummy's body Cato spun round towards Macro, hands balled into fists as he hissed triumphantly, 'Yessss!'

At once he forced himself to recover his composure and strolled back towards his friend, trying hard to look casual, as if hitting the target was all in a day's work. Macro nodded his head in admiration.

'Nice throw'

'Eat your words, Macro.'

'Not bad at all, except that you some how managed to throw the bloody thing the wrong way round.'

'What?' Cato turned quickly to look at the target. Sure enough, the point of the javelin was protruding from the chest while the butt sagged on to the ground on the other side. 'Shit…'

'Well, never mind.' Macro patted his shoulder. 'It's a useful demonstration in improvisation, if nothing else.'

Cato scowled.' Ha fucking ha.'

Macro laughed.' Now then, what brings you here?'

'Message from Sempronius. A section of the sewer has collapsed and needs to be dug out. He wants you and your men to see to it.'

'Oh, thanks. Just what I needed.'

Cato smiled as he saluted Macro again. 'What goes round comes round, eh? I'll see you later on. Right now I have to get back to the acropolis, and the delights of record-keeping. Have fun.'

The sunlight was streaming through the windows high on the wall in the office next do or to the one recently vacated by Glabius. Here too there were windows overlooking the city, and Cato was staring out over the damaged buildings and ruins, now washed in a pale orange hue. His mind gradually drifted back to the concern that was consuming him. Over the previous days, Marcellus's optimistic reports on his progress were being countered by fragments of news and rumours arriving at Gortyna that told of numerous raids by the slaves on isolated farms and estates. Then, the previous day, a cavalry squadron sent in search of a patrol that had not reported in returned to inform Cato that they had discovered the bodies of the missing men. The cavalrymen had also passed through a village where every man, woman and child had been slaughtered and left in a pile of mutilated bodies in the centre of the village, scarcely three miles from Gortyna.

'Hey!' Julia called out from the other side of the desk. 'Would you mind keeping your attention on the job?' She tapped the slate in front of her with a stylus.' My father wants the revised figures tonight, and we still have to account for the supplies on those wagons that turned up at noon.'

'Sorry.' Cato flashed a smile. 'Just thinking.'

He picked up the inventory of the first wagon and prepared to add up the ticks for each sack and announce the total to Julia to note down.

There was a sudden sharp rap on the door, and Cato turned round.

'Come in!'

The door opened, and one of Sempronius's clerks entered. 'Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the senator wants to see you at once.'

'At once?' Cato glanced at Julia and saw her frown. 'Very well, I'll come.'

He pushed his chair back and stood up, pausing a moment. 'We'll continue later on.'

Julia nodded wearily.

Cato followed the clerk out of the office. He wondered why Sempronius had summoned him so peremptorily. They were not due to meet until the evening briefing. At the end of the corridor, the door to the senator's office was open and the clerk stopped to knock on the frame.

'Centurion Cato, sir.'

'Very well, show him in.'

The clerk stood to one side and Cato strode past him into the office. Sempronius was sitting at his desk. To one side stood an officer.

Cato recognised him as one of Marcellus's centurions. The man was in armour, and a bloodstained rag was tied round his sword arm. His face was covered with stubble and he looked exhausted and strained.

Sempronius glanced at Cato with a drawn expression. 'I have sent for Macro. He should join us shortly. Meanwhile, do you know Centurion Micon?'

Sempronius indicated the other officer, and Cato looked at him briefly and nodded as he crossed the room and stood in front of the desk. 'I take it you have a report from Prefect Marcellus?'

Micon looked to the senator for guidance.

'Just tell him,' Sempronius said wearily. 'Tell him everything.'

Cato turned to Centurion Micon, as the other man cleared his throat. 'Yes, sir. Centurion Marcellus is dead.'

'Dead?'

'Yes, sir.' Micon nodded wearily.' Him and all his men.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN