'Yes, sir.' Corvinus saluted and turned away, hurrying across the courtyard to the supply office and storerooms. Macro watched him for a moment and then sighed. He hoped that this was going to be the briefest command he would ever hold. Just long enough to set the cohort back on its feet and deal with the crisis in Matala before a new prefect arrived. Then he, Cato and the others could continue their voyage back to Rome. The sooner the better, he mused as he made his way back to the prefect's office.
Once he had finished reading through the waxed note tablets, Macro sent for Portillus. While he waited, he helped himself to one of the small jars of wine that the prefect had kept in a small rack in the corner of the office. Several tiles had fallen in and smashed the jars in the upper section of the rack, but some at the bottom had survived.
He tugged the cork stopper out and sniffed. A fine aroma wafted up into his nostrils and he smiled. Clearly the prefect had been a man who knew how to indulge himself. Shutting one eye, he peered into the jar.
'And half full.' He smiled to himself as he took the jar and a silvered cup back to the desk and filled the cup almost to the brim.
'Not a total disaster then.'
There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, Portillus opened it and entered the office. A quick frown flitted across his face as he saw the wine, and then glanced to the surviving jars in the corner of the room. Macro realised that he had hoped to have them for himself now that the previous commander had no earthly use for such luxuries.
'Ahem, you sent for me, sir.'
Yes. Shut the door.'
Once the do or was closed and Portillus was standing at ease in front of the desk, Macro cleared his throat and began. 'This is not a good cohort, Centurion, as I am sure you know. The organisation is slack, the men are generally second-rate and the officers are worse. However,' he paused, 'that is about to change. And since you are my second in command, you are going to help make that change. Is that clear?'
Portillus nodded doubtfully
'I can't hear you, Centurion.'
'Yes, sir. It is clear.'
'Good.' Macro tapped the wax tablets. 'I want the best eighty men in the cohort to form a fighting century. They are to have the best of the kit, and they are to be commanded by the best officer. Who would you recommend?'
Portillus pursed his lips a moment before he replied. 'Centurion Milo, sir. He was promoted from the legions a year ago.'
'Then he shouldn't have gone soft yet. Fine, Milo it is. He is to choose his standard bearer, optio and clerk as he sees fit.'
'Yes, sir.'
'As for the rest of the men, they are going to work in the town at first light. They are to leave their kit here in barracks, but keep their swords, and divide into two teams. Half can deal with rescuing people from the ruins and carrying the injured up here to be treated.
The others are to forage through the ruins for any supplies of food and wine. You can detail some of them to start carrying water from the nearest streams to start filling the cisterns.'
'But that'll take ages, sir.'
'Well, we're not going anywhere for the moment, are we, Portillus?'
'No, sir.'
'Fine, then those are the orders for tomorrow. Make sure the men are told that there is to be no pilfering, mind. If they encounter any civilian looters they are to put a stop to it. Knock heads together if you must, but don't go straight in with the blade. The people out there have suffered enough already. One final thing. According to Corvinus we have some tents in stores. They're old and probably haven't been used for years, but they might be serviceable for the local people. Have some of the men set them up on the slope facing the acropolis, outside of the town.'
Portillus nodded, and then chewed his lip. 'Sir?'
'What?'
'Something just occurred to me. Most of the food in Matala was stored down in the warehouses. Near the main market.'
'So?'
'The wave destroyed the area, and carried away most of the debris when it receded. What's left will have been ruined. The only other food will be what was in the houses when the earthquake struck.
That won't amount to much, sir.'
'Hmm, you have a point.' Macro sat back and stroked his jaw. 'So we'll find what we can and then look for other sources of food. Any estates near to the port?'
Portillus thought for a moment.' The nearest one is further along the coast, owned by Senator Canlius. It produces olive oil and grain.'
'That's good for a start then. I'll send some men with wagons.
They can take what we need and let the landowner bill us when word gets back to him in Rome.'
'Senator Canlius won't like that, sir.'
'Probably not.' Macro sniffed. 'But it won't be my problem by then, so I don't care. We have to ensure a good supply of food so our men and the people don't starve while we sort things out.'
'Let's hope we can, sir.'
'Oh, we will.' Macro smiled. 'I won't stand for anything else. Now then, that's all for now, Portillus. I'll have the clerks draw up the assignments for each unit. They'll be with you and the other officers once they are ready. As soon as the sun rises I want the Twelfth Hispania to get to work.'
There was another knock at the door.
'Come!'
The do or opened and an auxiliary entered the room and saluted.
'Patrol's returning from the bay, sir.'
'Have they got the crew and passengers with them?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good. Soon as they are through the gates, have the men sent to the barracks. Spread them around. Once they're there, you can tell 'em they have just been inducted into the cohort and normal military discipline applies. Better explain what that means to them, eh?'
The auxiliary grinned. Yes, sir.'
'Have the women and children brought to the basilica. They can kip down in the admin hall. Then ask the senator's daughter if she would be kind enough to join me.'
'Yes, sir.' The auxiliary saluted and left the room.
Centurion Portillus raised an eyebrow. 'Sempronius's daughter? She's landed herself right in the middle of it. I doubt that the kid of a purple-striper is going to like the accommodation.'
Macro thought back to the desperate time when he had first encountered Julia during the siege of the citadel in Palmyra. She had taken her chances along with the rest of the defenders and had required no more than the meagre rations provided to the others, while devoting herself to the care of the wounded and the dying.
Julia was no whining member of the pampered aristocracy. She had proved her worth.
'She'll cope,' Macro replied. 'She's no kid. Julia Sempronia is tough enough. Besides, she has no choice.'
Portillus puffed out his cheeks. 'I'd sooner you tell her that than me, sir. Perhaps I'd better be off then. Duties to attend to and all that.'
'Yes, get on with it,' Macro responded gruffly. 'Bear in mind what I said. There'll be no slacking in this cohort from now on, and that applies to officers as much as the men.'
'I understand, sir.' Portillus bowed his head and hurried from the room. For a moment Macro was alone, and he looked at his cup of wine for an instant before greedily raising it to his lips and draining it.
'Ahhh! Needed that.' He wiped a dribble of wine from his chin and eased himself back in the chair with a gratified smile. His entire body ached with the exertions of the previous day and night, and his eyes were sore. He closed them for a moment, relishing the soothing comfort of a brief instant of relaxation. The wine still tingled in his throat and felt warm in his stomach as he folded his fingers across his belly.
'Just rest a moment,' he told himself drowsily. 'Just a moment...'
'Am I disturbing you?'
'W-w-what?' Macro struggled up in the seat and blinked his eyes open. Julia was standing in the threshold of the office grinning at him.
'It's just that you were snoring so loudly'
'Snoring?' Macro shook his head guiltily. 'Bollocks. I was just mumbling to myself.'
'With your eyes closed.'
Macro frowned at her. 'I can do two things at once, you know, miss.'
'I'm sorry, Macro. I meant no offence. You must be exhausted after all that we've been through. As are we all.'
'Where are my bloody manners?' Macro muttered to himself as he jumped to his feet and hurried to pull a spare chair over towards the table. He patted the seat. 'There you are, Miss Julia. Sit you down.'
'Thank you.' She let out a deep sigh. 'So, then, where is my father, and Cato?'
'Gone, miss.'
'Gone?'
'To Gortyna. Soon as we got here we heard that the governor, his staff and senior officers were caught up in the earthquake. Killed most of ' em outright. Your father said he had to take charge of things at once. He and Cato took two of the horses from the stables and left as soon as they could.'
'Typical,' Julia said with a trace of bitterness.' No last word for me, then?'
'Er, not as such, no.'
'And Cato?'
'Oh, he said to be sure to send you his love and that I was to take care of you until he got back.'
Julia stared at Macro and shook her head. 'You're a poor liar, Macro. Better leave that sort of thing to people who are trained for it, like my father.'
'If you say so.'
Julia looked round the office and then through the window towards the hillside opposite the acropolis. A handful of fires had already been lit and tiny figures clustered about the glow of the flames. 'I could hardly believe what I saw on the way up here,' she said quietly. 'I thought we had had it bad on the ship. But this?'
'We did have it bad on the ship, miss. We're lucky to be here. But you're right, it must have been terrifying when it struck the port.
Portillus told me there was a bloody great roar and a rumbling sound, and then the buildings started to shake and collapse, the weakest and oldest ones first. Naturally, that was where the poorest people in Matala were packed in. Thousands of them are buried under the ruins. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Poor souls who were left alive must have thought it was all over.' Macro shrugged.
'Until the wave hit the port, and swept up through the gorge some distance, destroying everything and everyone in its path. Portillus reckons that as many again were drowned as had died in the earthquake.'
Julia stared at him for a moment, then she shook her head and muttered, 'Dear gods...What can they have done to deserve this?'
'Who knows the will of the gods?' Macro yawned. 'But whatever the people of Crete have done to piss them off, they've paid a high price.'
Julia glanced out through the window, her mind still struggling to take in the scale of the destruction she had seen on the way up from the ship. It was impossible to imagine that many more towns and cities had shared the fate of Matala. Suddenly she froze. 'Do you think it's over? Do you think it could happen again?'
'I've no idea, miss. I'm just a soldier, not a soothsayer.' Macro leaned forward and tried to sound reassuring as he continued.
'There's been no more tremors since we arrived. We can only pray to the gods to spare us any more suffering.'
'Yes, there is that. If you really think prayers can help.'
'Well, they can't hurt.'
'I suppose not.' Julia was quiet for a moment before she fixed her gaze on Macro again.' Do you think they're safe out there? My father, and Cato?'
'Don't see why not. They have their swords, and people have too much on their minds already without causing them any trouble.
They'll be fine, miss. Cato's a tough lad. He'll see that your father gets through to Gortyna, and then they can start sorting things out. Trust me, Cato knows what he's doing. They'll be all right.'
'They might have followed us.'
'I doubt it. We must have covered at least two miles before the horse gave out.' Cato paused as another burning spasm shot through his leg. When it had passed he let out a deep breath and continued.
'I'm sure they'd have given up the chase long before then.'
'Let's hope so.' Sempronius tied off the knot and checked the makeshift dressing to ensure it would not slip. 'There. That should do it. It's my fault, Cato. I should have slowed the pace once we were clear. It was madness to keep galloping along the road in the dark like that. It's a miracle your horse didn't fall earlier on, or mine.'
'Well, we've only got the one now ' Cato smiled grimly. 'So no question of galloping anywhere.'
They had abandoned Cato's wounded horse back on the road where it had collapsed, bloody froth in its mouth and nostrils.
Sempronius had hauled Cato up behind him and they had continued another mile before taking a narrow track off into a grove of pine trees and then stopping to tend to Cato's wound. The prong had passed through the muscle at the back of his leg without striking bone, or severing any major blood vessels. The wound was bleeding freely, but despite the pain, Cato found that he could still bear weight on his leg. He walked a few paces to the spot where he slumped down and let Sempronius examine and dress the wound as best he could in the dim light cast by a crescent moon and the stars.
Sempronius eased himself back and sat on the ground clasping his hands together in his lap. 'What do you think we should do now?'
'I don't fancy blundering into any more gangs of renegade slaves.
Best to wait until first light when we can see the way ahead and avoid any trouble.'
'Yes, you're right.' Sempronius turned his head to look back in the direction of the road. 'Are you sure they were slaves?'
'I think so. They were all in rags, and we were near that estate where we saw...' Cato flinched at the memory and cleared his throat noisily. 'They must have gone to the road looking for easy pickings. We were lucky to get away. If those slaves, and what we saw back there, are typical of what is happening elsewhere on the island, then we've got more of a problem than I thought.'
'How so?'
'What if we find ourselves fighting a slave revolt?'
'A revolt? I don't think so. There's bound to be some temporary disorder. It's only natural that they would take advantage of the situation to turn on their overseers. Once they've drunk themselves insensible and woken up with a hangover, I'd be willing to bet they'd have no idea what they want to do next. Some might run off into the hills to try and join the brigands, but the rest will drift around the estate until some one comes along and sorts them out.'
'You think so?' Cato said doubtfully. 'I think you underestimate the danger, sir.'
'They're only slaves, my boy. Chain - gang slaves - the lowest of the low, little better than beasts. Trust me, they have no experience of making their own decisions. Without overseers to lead them, they won't have a clue what to do about the situation.'
'I hope you're right. But what if they did find a leader amongst their ranks? What then?'
'They won't. I've been on enough estates in my time to know how they operate. Any one showing an ounce of spirit or independence is either sold off to a gladiator school, or broken and punished as an example to the rest. We'll have them back in hand before long. Once the ringleaders responsible for that sickening display we witnessed have been identified and rounded up, they'll be crucified and their bodies left to rot. I think that'll teach the rest a lesson they won't forget for a long time.'