The Gladiator

More voices joined in, and a moment later the air was full of the cries of contempt, jeers and whistles of the slaves as they watched the Romans retreat. Macro could not help a wry smile as he steadily backed away towards the rest of the column. Despite their noise, the slaves did not seem to be in much hurry to turn the tables on the Romans and chase them back to the wagons. Their leader must have felt the same, sensing the opportunity to counterattack slipping from his grasp. Calling to his immediate entourage, he strode through the milling ranks of the slaves and towards the auxiliaries, beckoning the rest to follow him. One by one they drifted forward, and then as a mass, closing on the outnumbered Romans.

'Shit,' Macro muttered irritably.' Thought it would take them a bit longer to get their balls back.'

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the column had moved on since he had led the wild charge. Now they were abreast of the last wagon, and the other sections of the century were continuing with their orders, staying close to the animals pulling the wagons.

'Right then, lads!' Macro called out.' When I give the order, break and run to the last wagon. Then we'll form the rearguard... Now!'

They turned and ran across the fifty paces of open ground separating them from the tail of the column. Behind them the slaves let out a great shout and broke into a charge, leaping over the bodies of their stricken comrades as they surged after Macro and his men.

As soon as the auxiliaries reached the last of the wagons, Macro turned and presented his shield. The others fell in on either side, forming a tight shield wall as they braced themselves for the impact of the charge. The first of the slaves struck at Macro's shield, ham me ring at the surface with a crude club. An instant later all his men were engaged, blocking blows and stabbing back as they gave ground, staying close to the wagon. Macro glimpsed the slave leader to his right, duelling with a thickset auxiliary. The slave sought for a gap between the shields to strike with his weapon, a finely decorated gladiator's sword that glittered in the afternoon sunshine. The auxiliary struck out, and the slave nimbly leaned to one side, before thrusting his point back at the auxiliary, narrowly missing his face as the tip glanced off a cheek guard. The slave looked up and caught Macro's eyes for an instant.

There was a flicker of recognition there, Macro was certain of it.

Then the slave launched into a furious series of blows that battered his auxiliary opponent against the side of the wagon. Too late the auxiliary saw the danger, and the solid timber disc of the wheel knocked him down and rolled over him, crushing his hips and snapping his spine, leaving him looking startled. As his mouth opened and shut and his arms flailed uselessly, he began to die in agony.

The one-sided nature of the melee told once again as the ground behind the wagon was littered with fallen slaves and only three of the auxiliaries. The leader of the slaves called his men off, and they ended their pursuit of the Romans and stood, chests heaving, glaring after the column as it rumbled its way up the track towards the Gortyna road. Macro waited until the gap had opened up to a hundred paces before he sheathed his sword and strode along the column to check on his men and the condition of the horses and mules. The rocks and stones had caused numerous minor injuries to man and beast alike, but they still continued steadily along the track.

'Not far to the road now, lads!' Macro called out cheerily.' Those bastards have learned their lesson. They won't be bothering the Twelfth Hispania for much longer.'

He spoke too soon. Once a safe gap had opened up between the wagons and the slaves, their leader led his men forward again, keeping level with the Roman column. Macro regarded them warily, but when they made no attempt to close the gap, he took satisfaction in the knowledge that every step along the track was taking them closer to the safety of Matala. Now that he thought about it, he felt there was a good chance his column might get through after all, and the people of Matala would be fed for a few more days at least from the stocks piled on the wagons.

'Sir!'

Macro turned towards the voice and saw one of his men on a slight rise in the track at the front of the column. He was waving his spear to attract Macro's attention.

'What is it?'

The first wagon ground to a halt as it reached the rise, and Atticus stood up on the driver's bench and stared ahead along the track.

Macro trotted forward, past the other wagons.

'What's the bloody hold-up? What the fuck are you stopping for?'

'Look!' Atticus thrust out his arm.