'Good. You've done well. Your captain would have been proud of you.'
The mate bowed his head. 'I hope so. He was a good man, sir. Best captain I have sailed with.'
'A sad loss, ' Macro responded flatly. 'Now then, we're heading into the port, or what's left of it, to see what the situation is. Meanwhile, you're to remain here. Make sure the crew stays close to the ship and don't let anyone come aboard.'
'Why?'
'Just do as I say, all right? Hopefully some one has restored some kind of order to Matala. But if they haven't... then I'd rather you 31
made sure that you looked after your people, and the senator's daughter. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.' The mate nodded solemnly 'We have a few weapons in the stern locker. In case of pirates.'
'Let's hope you don't need to use them.' Cato smiled thinly. 'But use your judgement. If there's any sign of trouble, then get everyone back on board and pull up the boarding plank.'
'Yes, sir. Good luck.'
'Luck?' Macro patted the sword hanging at his side. 'I make my own luck.'
The two centurions and the senator set off along the shingle towards the port. Cato glanced back over his shoulder and saw Julia following their progress from the foredeck. She waved her hand hesitantly as she saw him looking back and he resisted the urge to wave back. He was thinking like a soldier again and was already closely watching the cliffs to their left for any sign of danger as they trudged along the top of the shingle. It was only a quarter of a mile to the port, and as they approached, the debris that had been carried on the backwash of the wave increased in intensity.
Then they came across the first bodies. Twisted figures in sodden clothing mingled with the remains of houses, boats and goods from the warehouses. The wave had struck its victims down indiscriminately and the three Romans stepped over the corpses of old and young alike. Cato felt a stab of pity as he saw a young woman on her side, an infant still strapped to her chest by a sling, both of them quite dead. He stopped a moment to stare down at the bodies.
Macro paused at his side. 'Poor devils. Didn't stand a chance.'
Cato nodded silently.
His companion looked up and surveyed the beach and the ruins of the port.' By tomorrow this place is going to start smelling a bit ripe. The bodies will have to be dealt with.'
'Dealt with?' Sempronius cocked an eyebrow.
'Yes, sir. It ain't the smell that worries me. It's the sickness that follows death on this scale. I've seen it at work after a siege. Small town in southern Germany, many years back, soon after I joined the Eagles. The defenders had just left the dead where they had fallen and the weather was hot. Baking hot. Anyway, by the time the survivors surrendered, the air inside was higher than a kite. The place was a den of pestilence.'
'What did you do?' asked Sempronius.
'Nothing we could do. The legate ordered the survivors to stay inside the walls and then had the gate closed up. Couldn't afford the sickness spreading to our troops. After a month there was only a handful of the townspeople still alive, and most of them were too sick to be worth anything as slaves. If they'd only disposed of the bodies properly, then many more would have lived.'
'I see. Let's hope that whoever is still in charge of the port knows what to do then.'
Macro clicked his tongue. 'It'll be a bastard of a job, sir.'
'Not our problem.' Sempronius shrugged.' Come on.'
They continued along the shoreline until they reached the remains of a watchtower that had guarded the entrance to the port.
The blocks of stone still stood, as high as a man, but above that the timber posts and platform had gone. So had the gate, and the walls had given way under the pressure of the sea water bursting over Matala. Beyond the barely discernible line of the wall, the port was a mass of rubble, timber and tiles, with no sense of the lines of the neat grid of streets that had once thronged with the inhabitants of the town. Now a handful of figures stumbled about the ruins, or sat and stared abjectly into the distance.
The three Romans paused at the edge of Matala, shocked by the scene in front of them. Macro took a deep breath.
'No easy way through that lot. Better to work around the edge and see what the situation is further inland.' He gestured up the slope. The cliffs on either side of the bay gave way to steep-sided hills that flanked the town, narrowing into a defile that bent round, out of sight, as it led away from the coast.
They set off again, a short distance from the shattered remains of the wall. The slopes had been stripped of much of the shrubs and trees that had grown there and now they were covered by the same dismal tide of debris and dead people and animals that the three men had witnessed on the beach. They passed the remains of a small cargo ship that had been carried up on the wave, before it struck a large boulder and smashed to pieces, leaving only the ribs and some timbers still caught around the rock. Cato could not help being awed by the sight. The power of the wave was as terrible and mighty as the wrath of any of the gods.
As they reached the defile, Cato and the others found that the easiest path was to cross the remains of the wall and pick their way warily across the ruins. A small gang of young men was busy pulling valuables out of a ruined house that must have belonged to one of the port's wealthier families. A handful of busts had been extracted and discarded, and the looters were busy removing silver plates and small chests of personal effects. They stopped their work and looked up warily as the three Romans passed by. Macro's hand went casually to his sword hilt.
'Ignore them, ' Cato muttered. 'We can't deal with that now.'
'Pity.' Macro sniffed, and let his hand drop back to his side.
They passed on by without exchanging a word. On the far side of the defile, the ground opened out into a wide plain, and here the damage caused by the wave gave way to the effects of the earthquake that had shaken the island to its roots. There was no debris washed up from the port. Instead most of the houses had just collapsed, on top of those inside. Others were partially damaged and a few seemed to have suffered no damage at all. It was the same for the larger buildings. Some of the temples were little more than piles of rubble surrounded by broken columns that now looked like bad teeth.
Others were intact, standing defiantly above the ruins. There were far more people visible here than down in the port. Hundreds were picking over the rubble, rescuing what they could from their homes, or liberating the possessions of the houses of the dead. Little clumps of humanity lay scattered across the slopes of the hill, and on the plain, a short distance from the city. Thin tendrils of smoke drifted up from small fires that some of the survivors had lit to warm themselves through the night.
On a large mass of rock stood the town's acropolis, relatively untouched by the disaster. The walls still stood, although one of the squat towers had collapsed down the small cliff on to the town below, flattening several houses. A squad of soldiers stood guard at the end of the ramp leading to the gates of the acropolis, and beyond the walls they could see that the main administration building was still standing.
'That looks like our best bet, ' said Cato. 'We should head up there.'
Sempronius nodded and led the way down the main thoroughfare that stretched through the town towards the acropolis. Once, the street had been fifteen paces across, but now the sides had been buried and only a thin path through the rubble remained. They reached the ramp and started up the incline towards the gates. The sentries immediately stirred and moved to bar their path. Macro eyed them coolly. The men carried the oval shields of auxiliary troops, but they looked nervous and out of condition. Their leader, an optio, stepped forward and raised his hand.
'That's close enough. Who are you, and what's your business?'
Sempronius cleared his throat and stiffened his posture. 'I am Caius Sempronius, senator of Rome. These are my companions, Centurions Macro and Cato. We must see the senior official in the town. At once.'
The optio cast his eye over the three men before him. Certainly the man who claimed to be an aristocrat had the right bearing for such a rank, and the shorter of the other two men was scarred and burly enough to be a soldier. But the other was thin and young, and did not exude any obvious authority. Besides their army pattern swords, there was no other pro of of the first man's claims. The three wore simple tunics and their skin was grimy and their chins stubbled.
'Senator, you say?'The optio licked his lips nervously. 'Forgive me for saying so, sir, but can you prove it?'
'Prove it?' Sempronius frowned and thrust out his hand to show the gold senatorial ring that had been passed down to him from his father. 'There! Good enough?'
'Well, I suppose...' the optio answered cautiously. 'Is there anything else?'
'What do you want?' Sempronius answered irritably.' The ring is enough. Now, let us in and have some one take me to whoever is in command here. Before I have you placed on a charge for insubordination.'
The optio stood to attention and saluted. 'Yes, sir. Open the gate!'
Two of his men sprang towards the heavy wooden timbers and thrust them back. With a groan the door swung open. The optio detailed four of his men to stay on guard and then ushered the senator and the two centurions inside the acropohs. Beyond the gate there was a small courtyard, on either side of which stretched store-houses, and ahead of them lay a basilica. Some of the tiles had fallen off and the roof had collapsed at one end. Otherwise the building was intact. More auxiliary troops squatted in the shade of the walls of the acropolis and some watched curiously as the optio and four of his men escorted the Romans across to the entrance of the basilica.
'Seems you've been lucky' said Macro.' Not too much damage up here.'
'Yes, sir.' The optio glanced round. 'But many of the lads were down in the town when the tremor struck. And after that, the wave.
Still can't account for over half of the cohort.'
'Cohort? Which cohort is that?'
'Twelfth Hispania, sir.'
'Garrison troops?'
'For the last fifteen years, ' the optio conceded. 'Before that the unit was on the Danuvius frontier. Before my time, though.'
'I see.' Macro nodded. 'And who is the commander here?'
'Prefect Lucius Calpurnius, but he's up at Gortyna, the province's capital, along with the rest of the quality. He left Centurion Portillus in charge while he was gone.'
They entered the basilica, passing empty offices, and crossed the main hall to the suite of rooms on the far side. The optio paused outside an open door and rapped on the frame.
'Come!' a voice called out wearily.
The optio indicated to his men to remain outside and led Sempronius and his companions into the prefect's office. It was a large room with shuttered windows that looked out over the town towards the sea. Normally it would have been a fine view indeed, Cato reflected, but today the windows provided a panorama of destruction and suffering. In front of the windows, seated at a desk, was a thickset man in a red military tunic. He was completely bald and his features were heavily wrinkled. He squinted towards his visitors.
'Yes? Oh, it's you, Optio. Who are these men?'
'They approached the main gate, sir.' The optio indicated Sempronius. 'This gentleman claims to be a Roman senator, Caius Sempronius. He says the others are centurions.'
'I see.' Portillus squinted again, then rose from the chair and strode up to his guests, where he could examine them more closely. 'So then, sir, might I ask what you are doing here in Matala?'
'Certainly, ' Sempronius replied patiently. 'We were on a ship bound for Rome. Yesterday evening we were struck by a giant wave, just off the coast of Crete.'
'Where did the ship sail from?' Portillus interrupted. 'What port?'
'Caesarea, on the Syrian coast, ' Sempronius said at once.
'Can the ship's captain verify this?'
'The ship's captain was swept away by the wave. But you can ask the first mate, if you feel you need to.'
'I may do that. Later.' Portillus eyed them suspiciously for a moment. 'I take it you have seen what the wave did to us here in Matala. Which rather begs the question, if it was powerful enough to destroy a town, then how did a simple ship manage to survive?'
We bloody well nearly didn't!' Macro interrupted and then glared at Portillus. 'Still,
Sempronius laid his hand on Macro s shoulder. 'That's enough. Centurion Portillus is right to be careful. There are bound to be plenty of people roaming the island in the days to come. They could claim to be anybody. All I have on my person to identify me is my senatorial ring. See here.' He raised his hand for Portillus to examine closely.
Portillus scratched his chin for a moment. 'All right then, let's agree for the moment that you are who you say you are. What are you doing here?'
'It was the nearest port we could make for after we had repaired the damage as best we could, ' Sempronius explained. 'We had hoped to have the ship made seaworthy again, or at least take passage in another and continue our voyage. But now, having seen what's left of Matala, well, it's clear that we will be stuck here until another ship arrives. In which case we will need accommodation while we wait. I hoped to ask your commander for help, but it seems that he is away at the moment.'
'That's right. He went to the governor's palace at Gortyna for the annual banquet. The prefect and all the local worthies. As soon as the earthquake and the wave hit us, I sent him a report. He should be back to take charge at any time.'
'How far away is Gortyna?' Cato asked.
'Fifteen miles or so.'
'And the prefect has not returned yet, nor sent a reply?'
'No. Not yet.'
Macro took a deep breath to calm his growing sense of frustration. 'And what have you done in the meantime?'
'Done?'
'To help the people down there.' Macro jerked his thumb in the direction of the window. 'To help rescue those trapped in the ruins, to treat the injured and organise food and water for the survivors, and to restore order. Well?'
Portillus's brow creased into a frown. 'I have done all that is necessary to make sure the men of my cohort were seen to first, and to make them ready to carry out whatever orders the prefect gives them the moment he returns from Gortyna. That's what I've done.'
'Bullshit!' Macro growled. 'Bloody jobsworth. You and your men are sitting on your arses while the people down there need you. It is your duty to keep the peace. There's bugger all else for you to do on a garrison posting.'
Sempronius coughed. 'Macro. I'm sure that Centurion Portillus and his men will do what's needed the moment his prefect returns.'
'Assuming he does return, ' Cato added.
The others turned to look at him.
Portillus raised his eyebrows. 'Why wouldn't he return?'
'When exactly did you send the message to him?'
'Last night.'
'Then he has had time to respond or return. So why haven't you heard from him?'
'I don't know!' Portillus flapped an open hand.' Could be any reason. Perhaps he is needed in Gortyna.'
'Perhaps, ' Cato conceded.' Then again, if what has happened here in Matala is anything to go by, surely Gortyna will have been hit hard as well.'
As Portillus struggled to come to terms with the implications of Cato's words, the sound of a horse's hooves clattering across the courtyard echoed faintly through the basilica. Macro turned towards the sound and went to the door. A cloaked figure came running through the entrance and across the hall, making straight for the prefect's office.