With Sempronius offering support to Cato, they followed the surgeon down the line of stables until they reached a large tack room at the end. It had been cleared out and a couch lay against the far wall. A man lay on the mattress. He was still, apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest. His breath came in laboured rasps. They crossed the room and Sempronius indicated a simple bench against one of the other walls and spoke to the surgeon. 'Give me a hand with that.'
As they dragged it over towards the couch, Governor Hirtius turned his head to the side to observe them. By the light of a small window high up on the wall Cato could see that one side of his face was heavily bandaged. A loose sheet lay across his body and covered his legs. Once Sempronius and Cato had settled on the bench, the surgeon stood by the couch and drew the sheet down to the governor's waist. His chest was bare and the pale skin was covered with black and purple bruising down his right side. Beneath the discoloured flesh the bones and muscle appeared to Cato to be misshapen. The arm had been broken and was fixed in a splint.
Sempronius leaned forward and spoke in a comforting tone.
'Greetings, Aulus Hirtius. We've met once or twice before, at the senate back in Rome.'
The governor licked his lips and nodded faintly before whispering hoarsely,'Lucius Sempronius... I remember...What are you doing here?'
'I've come to take charge of the province.'
Hirtius's eyes widened and he made to raise his head as he responded sharply, ' Who sent you?'
The slight effort caused a sudden spasm of agony to course through the governor's body and he fell back with a keening groan as he gritted his teeth. The surgeon leaned over his patient anxiously.
'Lie still, sir. You must lie still.'
Sempronius waited until the tension left the governor's body and he was breathing more easily. Then he spoke again.
'No one sent me. My ship was passing the island when the earthquake struck. I learned that you had been injured, my friend, and came to offer my services. Now that I see you, it is clear that you'll need time to recover. As the ranking official in the province I should take charge, until you are ready to resume your duties.'
'No need... I have already found someone.'
'So I understand. But Hirtius, I cannot allow a tax collector to take on such a responsibility. They are corrupt dogs at the best of times. We cannot let such a man govern Crete.'
Hirtius struggled to raise a hand in protest. Sempronius took it and patted it gently. 'There's no need to worry now that I'm here. Your province is in safe hands. I swear it, on my honour.'
'No...' Hirtius slumped back with a deep groan, face muscles clenched as he fought a wave of agony. At length his body relaxed and beads of sweat trickled from his brow. His breathing was ragged as he stared at the ceiling and muttered, ' My wife, has she been found yet?'
'Wife?' The senator turned to the doctor and whispered,
'What's this?'
'Antonia. Apparently she left the feast shortly before the earthquake. Hasn't been seen since. But we're still finding bodies in the rubble. I fear it's only a matter of time before we find hers.'
'I see.' Sempronius gazed at the stricken governor for a moment and then turned to the surgeon. 'I'll leave him in your hands. Do your best for him.'
'Of course, sir.'
The senator lowered his voice. 'A brief word with you, if I may?'
He rose from the bench, gesturing to the others to follow him. At the do or he paused and spoke softly to the surgeon. 'Will Hirtius live?'
'I'm doing what I can for him. With enough time, he might recover—'
'Spare me the bedside manner. Will he live? Yes, or no.'
The surgeon licked his lips and then shook his head. 'Both legs are crushed. He has internal injuries, crushed ribs and organs. I doubt that he will last more than a few days.'
'I see. Well, do what you can to make him comfortable then.'
The surgeon nodded.
Cato looked towards the couch.' One other thing. Hirtius is to have no more visitors. Isn't that right, sir?'
'Yes,' Sempronius agreed.' Of course. That is my strict order.'
'Not even Glabius?' asked the surgeon.
'Him especially, understand? He is not to disturb the governor. As far as everyone is concerned, Hirtius is glad that I have arrived to take charge. He has confidence in me and has granted me full powers over the province, until he has recovered or a replacement is sent from Rome. That's our story, and you will stick to it. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good, then I want you to examine the centurion's wound. Clean it up and put on a fresh dressing. I need him as ready as he can be when I go to relieve Glabius of his temporary appointment.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Macro mopped his brow and squinted up at the midday sun blazing in the clear sky. From the gatehouse of the acropolis he could see the teams of auxiliaries working amid the ruins, carefully searching for survivors beneath the rubble. Once they had been located, the long process of digging them out began. Some were found easily enough, but many were trapped under several feet of masonry and had suffered terrible injuries. Still, he conceded, Portillus and his men were proceeding in a methodical manner as they worked their way across the city towards the gorge that led to the port. A number of slaves worked alongside the soldiers; those who had chosen to remain after the earthquake. Most of the surviving slaves had taken the chance to run away. They would be recovered in due course, and punished, Macro reflected. Many slaves were branded and would find it hard to blend in amongst those who were free. Their only other choice was to hide in the wilderness, a precarious existence that had few attractions over slavery.
On the slope outside of Matala the goatskin tents from the auxiliary cohort's stores had been set up, and several hundred people were now sheltering from the sun in their shade. There were still another two thousand people who had lost their homes and had to make do with sleeping in the open, or finding what shelter they could in the clumps of trees that grew higher up the slope. There was a stream up there, and a plentiful supply of water flowed from the mountains that formed the spine of the island. Macro could see a number of townspeople carrying full skins and amphorae back to the tents, and at the base of a small waterfall near the top of the hill a handful of children were splashing happily in the glittering silver cascade.
Even though they had a good supply of water, the most pressing problem was food. It had been three days since he had taken command of the cohort, and at once it was clear that the port was desperately short of supplies. A small amount had been gleaned from the estates of Canlius and the ruins of Matala and added to the meagre reserves in the acropolis. Macro had been forced to issue an edict that any private stocks of food must be surrendered to the cohort. From there a daily ration would be issued to the survivors.
Those who were caught hoarding food, or dealing food in the black market, would be denied rations and banished from the city and its environs. If they attempted to sneak back in and were caught then they would be locked into one of the cisterns, which Macro had chosen for a temporary prison. The last item on the edict warned that those who were caught attempting to steal food from the cohort's stores would be summarily executed.
There had been protests when the edict had been read out in the camp, and the mob had readily accepted a mouthpiece in the form of the father of the merchants' guild, a stocky individual named Atticus, who could have passed for Macro's brother, if he had had one. Macro held firm in the face of the protests and raised his hands to calm the crowd, and when that had not worked he drew his sword and rapped it sharply on the rim of one of his men's shields. When the last angry murmur had died away, he drew a deep breath and pointed at Atticus.