The Gladiator

'We're there.' Atticus raised his hand and pointed.' Through the trees, see?'

Macro squinted and saw that the track began to open out into a clearing a hundred paces ahead. On either side the slopes of the gorge spread out. As the column entered the clearing he saw a sizeable wooden stockade, twice the height of a man. There was a watchtower at each corner and a stout pair of gates where the track ended. A number of bodies lay in front of the wooden walls, struck down by arrows and light javelins.

'Seems that the slaves paid a visit after all,' said Macro.' Some one was here to see them off.'

'Stop there!' a voice called out from the stockade, and Macro saw that several men had appeared above the sharpened stakes that formed the wall. Each man carried a javelin, and there was further movement in the nearest watchtowers as bow men climbed the ladders. A figure above the gate cupped a hand to his mouth and called out again,'I said stop where you are!'

'Halt!' ordered Macro. He stepped forward and raised a hand in greeting. 'We're from Matala. Twelfth Hispania. Centurion Macro.'

'Centurion Macro? Never heard of you.'

'I arrived shortly after the earthquake.'

'How convenient!' the man above the gate replied caustically.

'Beg one! Before I order my men to shoot you down.'

Macro looked back over his shoulder. 'Atticus! Come forward!'

The men parted as Atticus eased his way through the front ranks of the auxiliaries and stood beside Macro.

'Do you know that man up there?' Macro pointed.

Atticus strained his eyes for a moment and then smiled. 'Why, yes!

That's Demetrius.' He stepped forward and called out. 'Demetrius of Ithaca, it's me, Atticus!'

There was a brief pause before the man above the gate responded in a relieved tone. 'Atticus! You survived. No surprise there. Who's your friend? I know the officers of the Twelfth, but I don't recognise him.'

'He arrived after the earthquake, like he says.'

'Fair enough...' Demetrius turned to call down into the stockade.' Open the gate!'

With a faint creak from the ropes that acted as hinges, the gates swung inwards and a moment later Demetrius emerged, smiling, as he advanced on Atticus and Macro. After clasping arms with his friend, the estate owner turned to examine Macro.

'A relation of Atticus?'

'I think not,' Macro snorted.

'Well, you could be mistaken for a brother.'

'Really? Well, that's something I shall just have to live with.'

'A prickly friend you have here, Atticus.'

'He's no friend.' Atticus shook his head. 'What happened here? We passed what was left of the villa. When we saw the bodies I feared that you had been killed.'

Demetrius frowned. 'Bodies? What do you mean? What has happened to my villa?'

'Surely you know?'

'If I did, I wouldn't be asking. Tell me.'

Macro cleared his throat.' The place has been burned down by the slaves. We found the body of an overseer a short distance from the villa, and four more bodies inside.'

The blood drained from Demetrius's face.' When I brought my family down here I left my steward in charge with a handful of men I could trust.'

'What happened back there?' asked Macro. 'After the earthquake?'

Demetrius was silent for a moment, as he collected his thoughts.

'The slaves had been working late that evening, and had only just come back from the estate when the earthquake struck. I was with my family in the garden. If we had been inside, then we would have shared the fate of the kitchen staff, and been crushed and buried alive. As it was, they were the only ones we lost. I left orders for the slaves to repair as much damage as possible while we took shelter down here. My steward reported to me on the first evening after the earthquake, and said that the slaves were being kept in their place by the overseers and the repairs to the compound wall were under way.

So I thought all was well, until he failed to report the following evening, and the one after. That was when they appeared.' He indicated the bodies. 'Turned up at dusk and demanded that I open the gates. When I said no, they charged the gate. I told my men to stop them, and as you can see, that did the job. They melted away into the trees. We've been keeping a close watch for themever since,'

Demetrius concluded wearily. 'Whoever they are.'

Macro nodded towards the bodies.' Those aren't your slaves?'

'One or two of them. The rest are strangers.'

Macro stared at the nearest bodies for a moment, deep in thought.

'That's worrying. I had hoped that this was a local uprising. But it seems that your slaves must have been led on by outsiders. Possibly brigands from the hills who have come to stir things up and grab some loot, or slaves from another estate. Either way, your slaves are in open revolt now. They'll have to be dealt with when I get the chance.'

'Dealt with?' Demetrius looked alarmed. 'But I have a fortune invested in them.'

'Well, it seems that your investment has just turned sour,' Macro responded flatly. 'Sour enough to burn down your villa, and roast your steward and some others into the bargain.'

'When I find the ringleaders, I'll make them pay dearly'

Demetrius said bitterly, and then quickly looked at Macro. 'But why have you come here? To rescue us?'

'No, but you and these others are welcome to join us when we return to Matala.'

'So why are you here?'

'I've come for whatever supplies of grain, olives and any other foodstuffs you have in your stockade.'

Demetrius's eyes narrowed. 'You've come to take my property?'

Macro nodded. 'I am here to commandeer it. Due note will be made of everything we take away on the wagons, and you can apply for compensation once order is restored to Crete. Now, if you don't mind, I want the wagons loaded as quickly as possible. If there are rebellious slaves on the loose we should return to Matala before dark.' Macro turned to call an order back to the waiting column.' Get the wagons into the stockade and load ' em up!'

'Wait!' Demetrius grasped Macro's arm. 'You can't take my property. I forbid it.'

'The people in Matala need feeding. There's not enough food in the town and we need yours. Sorry, but there it is.' Macro lowered his gaze to the Greek's hand. 'Now, if you don't mind stepping aside, my men can get on with it.'

'No. No! You can't. I won't allow you to.'

Macro sighed. 'I see. Well then... First section! Arrest this man. Disarm his followers. If anyone tries to resist, then knock ' em on the head.'

'What?' Demetrius stared about wildly as he was seized by two of Macro's men. The rest of the column marched on into the stockade, together with the wagons. As Macro had suspected, without Demetrius to lead them, his retainers meekly surrendered their weapons and stood in a little group, under guard, as the soldiers and volunteers began to load the first sacks of grain and jars of olives on to the beds of the wagons. Demetrius continued to complain, loudly, until Macro drew his sword and patted the flat against the palm of his hand.

'Do be a good man and pipe down, eh? Otherwise I'll have to make you.'

'You wouldn't dare,' Demetrius spat back defiantly.

'He would,' Atticus interrupted. 'Believe me. Best do as he says.

For now.'

The estate owner stared at his friend for an instant, and then his shoulders slumped as he gave way and sat heavily on one of the piles of grain sacks that stood between the low storerooms that filled the stockade.

'That's the spirit.' Macro smiled reassuringly.

The wagons were loaded as fully as possible, and the axles creaked and groaned under the load as the drivers steered them out of the stockade and back up the track towards the villa. Macro made a last attempt to persuade Demetrius to come with them, but the landowner was adamant that he wanted to protect what was left of his stock of food supplies. With a brief show of reluctance, some of his men opted to go with the column. A handful remained behind with him and watched as the column gradually disappeared into the pine trees that grew on the sides of the gorge.