The Gladiator

CHAPTER TWELVE

Do you think Portillus is up to the job?' asked Cato as they rode out of Matala the following morning. Behind the two centurions followed the cavalry escort. Julia sat alongside the driver on a small cart halfway along the column of mounted men.

'He knows what he has to do,' Macro replied. 'I gave him his orders last night. Keep the people fed. Keep the rebel slaves at bay.

Simple enough. Even Portillus can handle that. Anything else comes up, then he sends a message to Gortyna and asks for instructions. And at least he won't have to contend with Atticus.' Macro nodded to the rear of the column, where the Greek troublemaker was riding between two burly men.

'What do you intend to do with him?'

'He's tough and has courage, and provided he keeps his mouth shut I reckon we can put him on the strength of one of the cohorts at Gortyna.'

'What if he disagrees?'

'In that case, I'll offer him a choice. Atticus can wear the uniform, or he can wear chains.'

'Fair enough.' Cato nodded, then his thoughts returned to Matala.

The situation in the town was sound enough. Even though there was no question of defending the refugee camp, Portillus had sufficient men under arms to defend the acropolis, and there was room enough for the townspeople to take shelter from any danger. Cato frowned at himself for admitting the possibility that the rebel slaves might consider an attack on the town. Yet every eventuality had to be anticipated. Even that. 'I'm sure he will manage.'

As the column made its way warily along the road to Gortyna, the sun climbed into a clear blue sky. Once in a while, the riders glimpsed movement in the distance and saw ragged figures watching them pass by. There was no sign of any bands of rebels, and once Cato was confident that there was no immediate danger, he reined in and waited for Julia's cart to catch up before walking his horse alongside.

'I wondered when you would honour me with your presence.'

Julia smiled. She lowered her voice, but continued in the same light-hearted tone. 'Given the, ah, encounter last night, I feared you might have turned out to be the love-them-and-leave-them type. Like your friend Macro.'

Cato turned to meet her sultry gaze and could not help smiling at the thought of the previous evening. They had sat in a small neglected terrace garden that must have been the pride and joy of one of the previous commanders of the garrison, homesick for his villa back in Spain. Below them the ruins of the town were dark and shapeless where once they would have been illuminated by torches and the wan twinkle of lamps, accompanied by the sounds of revellers in the inns of the streets around the forum. Now there was silence, and even the refugee camp was quiet and still, until a small cluster of figures surrounding one of the camp fires slowly broke into a song, who se cheery melody drifted faintly across the ruins. Julia had leaned into his shoulder as Cato wrapped his cloak around them both.

'It's strange to hear them singing.' She spoke softly. 'After all that they have lost.'

'I suppose so, but perhaps song is one of the few things the wave and the earthquake couldn't take from them.' Cato turned his head and kissed her brow gently, shutting his eyes as he slowly breathed in the scent of her hair. He felt her tremble. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing? I know you better than that.'

Julia shifted round and stared up at his face, dimly lit by the stars.

She cupped his cheek in her hand. 'Cato, my love, I nearly lost you the night of the wave. I thought we were all finished when the water closed over us. In the cold darkness of the sea I gave in to terror. In the last moment sI drew some comfort that at least we would be together in whatever afterlife there is.' She swallowed and continued.

'Then, when the ship rose back out of the sea, I saw that you were gone. I still lived, but you had been taken from me.' She glanced away, quickly wiping her eye. 'At that moment I felt like my heart had been ripped from my body. I remember thinking that I wanted to die. To throw myself into the ocean so I could be with you. For a moment, that was all I wanted to do.'

'Then I'm glad you didn't.'

'Cato, that's not funny. I mean it. I had no idea how much you meant to me until that moment when I thought you were dead.'

'But I didn't die,' he kissed the palm of her hand,'thank the gods.

We're still very much alive, my love, and we have everything to live for.'

'I know.' Julia nodded. 'Perhaps knowing that means some good has come out of all this.'

They looked across to the refugee camp on the side of the hill opposite the acropolis. Some more people had gathered round the fire where the singing had begun and added their voices. The tune was clearer now, and Cato and Julia listened to it for a while. He could not help feeling moved by the juxtaposition of the burden of so much tragedy and the cheerful lightness of the song that pierced the shadows of the night lying heavily upon the hilly landscape. He held Julia close to him and spoke softly in her ear.

'I want to make love.'

'Now?' she whispered. 'Here?'

'Yes.'

She looked at him for a moment before kissing him on the lips, slipping her hand gently behind his head and drawing him towards her as she eased herself back on to the cool grass of the terrace garden. Cato felt a warm rush to his loins as he began to harden. They kissed a while longer, revelling in the touch, the scent and the warmth of each other. Then Julia opened her legs either side of him and said, ' Now, my Cato. Now. I want you inside me. But watch that leg of yours...'

Cato felt a fresh tingle of ardour as he recalled it all again. He smiled at Julia trundling alongside him in the cart.

'I know what you're thinking,' she laughed.

'Is it so obvious?'

'Trust me. You're a man. Of course it's obvious.'

They both laughed. The nearest troopers of the mounted escort turned to look at them with curious expressions, before turning their attention back to the surrounding landscape, watching for signs of danger.

They approached Gortyna at dusk, without incident, and caught sight of the city as the road rounded the curve of a hill. After his experience of Matala, Macro was surprised to see that the province's capital appeared to have suffered far less damage than the port. To the side of the road leading to the main gate was a marching camp. A section of auxiliary troops guarded the entrance. Macro pointed to them.

'Who are they?'

Cato reined in as he drew alongside. 'Detachments from the Fifth Gallic and Tenth Macedonian, from the garrisons of Cnossos and Axos. The reports from the north of the island said that there had not been nearly as much damage there, so Sempronius sent orders for reinforcements to be marched to Gortyna. There should be more men coming from the other cities over the next few days.'

Well that's something.' Macro nodded. 'As long as they aren't as out of condition as the boys of the Twelfth Hispania. We're going to need some good men to sort things out. What I'd give for a few cohorts from the Second Legion right now.'

'Not every auxiliary unit is like the Twelfth,' Cato countered.

'Those men we commanded at Bushir and Palmyra were fine soldiers. You said so yourself. As good as legionaries.'

'True enough,' Macro conceded. 'But that was only because we worked them hard, Cato. Drilled ' em hard and drilled ' em regularly. We made them ready for war. Trouble with garrison units is that most of their officers let them go soft. In time they're little better than the layabouts of the town watch. I'd lay good money that most of the auxiliary cohorts on Crete are cut from the same cloth.'