The Gladiator

'Sir.' One of the auxiliaries in the leading section suddenly pointed ahead.

At first Macro saw only an untidy bundle of rags, then quickly realised it was a body. He threw up his arm and called out,'Halt!'

While the men and wagons ground to a stop, Macro cautiously made his way down the stony lane, warily glancing from side to side as he approached the body. It was a man who must have had an imposing physique when he was alive, despite his sparse grey hair and worn features. The body lay curled up on its side in a ball. The skin was livid with bruises and cuts. Beneath the skin, lumps and swellings indicated where bones had been broken, and the once strong jaw had been pulverised so badly that the misshapen face would have been barely recognisable to anyone who had known him in life.

Macro squatted down to examine the body, wrinkling his nose at the ripe odours of decay. The tunic was of a good quality and the belt was decorated with silver fittings. The man wore army boots, old but well looked after, and a tough leather whip was wrapped tightly about his throat. His tongue protruded from his swollen lips and his eyes bulged in their sockets. The brand of Mithras was clearly visible on the forehead, and Macro realised that he was looking at a legionary veteran. Discharged from the army, he had taken a job as an overseer of slaves. The hard life of the legions made such men well suited to the task, and also made them the first target of the wrath of slaves if they rose in rebellion.

Slipping his hands under the body, Macro rolled it off the road and into the grass at the verge. Rising back to his full height, he waved the column on and the men trudged past the corpse, briefly glancing over it as they went by. The more experienced and nervous of the men began to survey the surrounding landscape warily now that they had seen this first sign of danger. A short distance from the body, the lane passed through a grove of olive trees and then emerged before an extensive sprawl of buildings and empty grain pits. Immediately in front of them was an imposing gateway leading into the villa of the estate owner. A quarter of a mile away lay the slave compound. There were large gaps in the wall through which Macro could see the remains of the long barrack blocks in which the slaves were locked up each night. There was no sign of life there now.

The bitter tang of burning wafted through the air, and Macro halted the column once more outside the gate.

'First section, with me!'

His fist tightened round the handle of his sword as he warily approached the entrance to Demetrius's villa. One of the gates was still in place but the other had been thrust open, and Macro warily led his eight auxiliaries inside. There was a large open courtyard surrounded by a colonnade, which had supported a tiled roof before the earthquake. Now the shattered tiles lay in heaps about the columns. Opposite the gate stood the burned-out shell of the main residence. Blackened walls and charred timbers stood stark against the clear sky. In the centre of the courtyard lay the remains of a large bonfire: a tangle of burned wood, unrecognisable black lumps of matter and ashes. Around the remains of the fire were three tall beams and crosspieces. A body was nailed to each, facing the fire. The rear of each body was unharmed, and coloured cloth still clung to the corpses. However, on the side facing the fire they had been slowly roasted. The cloth had charred and the skin was black and blistered.

Their lips had been curled back by the heat, exposing the teeth, which now seemed to grin at the horrified soldiers standing beneath them.

Macro picked up the lightly burned end of a shaft of wood and prodded the charred debris.

'Looks like some one went into the fire.' He turned and scanned the ground until he saw the hole into which the fourth beam had been dropped. The end of the beam still protruded from the remains of the fire. 'There. Looks like the slaves pushed one of their victims into the flames.'

'Fucking awful way to die,' muttered one of the auxiliaries.

Macro dropped the shaft and glanced round the inside of the courtyard. 'Well, there ain't a good way to die. Come on, lads. We've seen enough. Nothing to be done here.'

Outside, the men who had remained in the column looked curiously at the ashen expressions of the section Macro had taken inside. He made his way over to the wagon where Atticus was chained to the bench and ordered the driver to remove the shackles.

Atticus rubbed his ankles and nodded towards the villa.

'Any sign of Demetrius?'

'Wouldn't know what he looks like. In any case, it's impossible to tell who any of them were.'

Atticus looked at him quickly. 'What happened in there?'

'Looks like the slaves decided to take revenge on their master and his family. Cooked ' em alive.'

'Sweet gods...' Atticus swallowed, then looked round anxiously.

'Do you think the slaves are still nearby?'

Macro shook his head.' Not if they're sensible. You know the law — if any slave kills his master, then every slave in the household has to be executed. My guess is that once they realised what they'd let themselves in for, they ran for the hills.'

Atticus's expression hardened.' Then they must be hunted down and killed.'

'All in good time,' Macro replied evenly.' Right now I want you to take us to Demetrius's food hoard.'

'Yes, of course.' Atticus took one last glance at the villa gates, then drew a deep breath and pointed to a narrow track heading away from the buildings towards a distant line of pine trees. 'Over there.'

The column continued forward, eager to be away from the stench of the burned villa. Just before they reached the trees there was a shout from one of the wagons, and Macro turned to see the driver pointing across the open ground towards a jumbled cluster of rocks half a mile away. Three figures were standing on the highest rock, watching them.

'Slaves,' Atticus muttered through clenched teeth.' We should take them. Centurion, send your men after those murderous bastards.'

There was grumbled agreement from the nearest auxiliaries, but Macro shook his head.' Nothing doing, Atticus. We can't spare the men for a chase. Besides, my lads can't outpace them in full armour.

In any case, they'll know the ground around here. Chances are they'll lead our men into a trap.'

'You're letting them get away?' Atticus said with a shocked expression.

'Can't help it. Right now we have more important things to deal with. The slaves can wait for the moment.' Macro cleared his throat and called out harshly, 'Keep moving! Move, you idle bastards!'

They entered the pine trees and the track wound its way through the dappled light. Macro scanned the route ahead, and the shadows on either side, as they progressed for over half a mile.

'You had better be right about this food hoard,' he said quietly.

'I know the way,' Atticus replied. 'I just hope the slaves haven't been there and taken it already. Chances are that quite a few of them knew of it.'

Macro nodded. 'Let's hope they thought better than to burn it down. The slaves have got to eat too.'

The track turned sharply to the left and descended into a gorge with steep sides, a perfect spot for an ambush, Macro decided, as he glanced up at the boulders strewn across the slopes. If those were tumbled down on to the column they would smash the wagons to pieces, and crush any man or horse in their path.

'How much further?'