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.
'As it is, the points are fairly easy to remove. While you will have injured your enemy, he might not be incapacitated.'
'Really?' Macro cocked an eyebrow. 'I should think that having a fucking great spike shoved through the bottom of your foot might just take the smile off your face. Wouldn't you say?'
'Oh yes,' the Greek agreed. 'I'm sure it would. The thing is, the victim of this device might yet be able to limp into a fight, or off the battlefield. But what if we barbed the ends? Then it would be almost impossible to dislodge and the enemy would have to stop and cut it out, or wait to be carried from the battlefield.'
Macro shook his head.' No. If the bloody thing is barbed, then it's removed from play with the casualty. What's the point in that? If it does its job and is discarded, then it is still on the battlefield ready for the next victim. See?'
'That's true,' another blacksmith interrupted. 'But you're ignoring the fact that the removal of a casualty requires at least one other man. Thus, a barbed caltrop will rob an enemy of a minimum of two men.'
The first Greek clicked his fingers. 'And what if those who were helping the man from the field were also to tread on these things? Why, the increase in the casualty rate would be exponential.'
'Expo — what?' Macro blinked, then held up his hands. 'Stop right there! Look here, I just wanted you to tell me if you could make some more of these. That's all. Can you do it?'
'Of course we can do it. The Greek looked offended. 'But why not improve on it at the same time? That's my point.'
'We could form a design committee,' some one suggested helpfully.
'No!' Macro protested.
'If we tested a few designs I'm sure we could provide you with a far more efficient weapon, Centurion.'
'There's no time.' Macro was getting exasperated. 'And the bloody thing works well enough as it is. Right?'
The Greek pursed his lips unhappily. 'Within limits, I suppose.'
Macro clenched his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them, stabbing his finger into the blacksmith's chest. 'Just make them. As many of them as you can. To this design and no other. Is. That. Perfectly. Clear? No, don't talk, just nod.'
The blacksmiths assented meekly.
'Thank you.' Macro breathed a sigh of relief.' Then please get on with it. Send word the moment you have the first batch ready.
Now go.'
Macro strode to the do or and wrenched it open, ushering them out of his office. As soon as the last one had gone, he shut the door, returned to his desk and sat down, gazing at the caltrop as his temper began to subside.