The Gladiator

'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?'

'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.'