The Gladiator

The shadows were lengthe ning on the slope leading up to the acropolis, casting gloom over the narrow alleyways between the houses that clustered there. Up on the wall that ringed the top of the hill, a handful of Glabius's men patrolled along the sentry walk, dark shapes against the brilliant glare of the sky. Sempronius was wearing a white tunic, fringed with the broad red band that signified his social status.

Across his shoulder was a sword belt, from which hung a richly decorated scabbard and hilt - a weapon that had been in his family for generations and survived the capsizing of the Horus.

As the gradient steepened and the route began to zigzag up the slope, Macro turned to Cato and mumbled, 'This is never going to work. We shouldn't have let him talk us into it.'

'The plan will work, if we keep quiet.' Cato tapped his mouth with a finger.

Macro clamped his lips together and shook his head in resignation. He walked a little awkwardly, thanks to the knife bound against his spine under the tunic. Cato also moved warily, and with a slight limp, as he was still recovering from his wound. He wore a felt skullcap to help conceal his identity if they encountered any of Glabius's men who might have visited the senator's headquarters. He had met Glabius once, and the man was sure to recognise him when they came face to face, but by then it would be too late for the tax collector to do anything about it.

A vague movement to his side drew Macro's attention and he saw a file of auxiliary troops stealing along the narrow alleys that threaded the houses and small shops crowding under the looming mass of the acropolis. This part of the city had not suffered nearly as badly as the rest, but even so, Centurion Plotius and his men would be forced to pick their way quietly over the occasional heaps of rubble in order not to alert the sentries on the walls above them.

The two guards at the gate rose to their feet and hefted their spears as the senator and his followers approached. Cato saw that they were big, heavy men with the broken noses of boxers, or perhaps from time spent in the street gangs that were a feature of every large city across the empire. They moved to bar the way to the closed gate and one raised his hand to halt Sempronius.

'State your business, sir,' he said bluntly.

'I'm here to see Marcus Glabius. He is expecting me.'

The guard smiled faintly as he replied. 'Governor Marcus Glabius left word to admit you, sir. He said nothing about any companions.'

Sempronius bit back on his anger. 'These men are my personal secretaries. I need them to make notes at the meeting. Now let us through.'

The senator took a step towards the gate. The guard whistled and the other man on duty blocked their path.

'Get out of my way' Sempronius growled.

'Not so fast, sir,' said the first guard. 'I have to search these bags before I let you enter.'

He turned to Macro and Cato and nodded towards their haversacks. 'Put ' em on the ground and step back two paces.'

They did as they were told and watched as the guard knelt down, opened each bag in turn and rummaged through the waxed slates and styli before flipping the flaps back and stepping away. 'Pick ' em up.'

Cato could sense Macro bristling with anger at his side as they retrieved their bags, and willed his friend to control his temper. The guard approached the gates and bellowed out the order for them to be opened. There was a dull grating from inside as the locking bolt was slid aside, and a moment later one of the doors groaned on its hinges as it swung inwards. The guards stepped aside as Sempronius clicked his fingers and led Macro and Cato into the acropolis.

Like many Greek cities, the acropolis was dominated by temples and shrines to those gods most revered by the local people. In addition, there were a number of administration buildings and barracks built close to the walls that ran around the edge of the hill.

There were no priests in view. A handful of men dressed in comfortable tunics were sitting in the shade of a grove as they drank wine from a slender-necked amphora.

'Seems like the quality of Gortyna are doing all right,' Macro muttered.

A large group clustered around a ga me of dice outside one of the barrack blocks, and another six men were patrolling along the walls, occasionally glancing down over the city, or out across the plains in the direction of Matala, and up into the hills behind Gortyna. The earthquake had flattened one of the smaller temples, and large sections of the roofs of the others had fallen in. The two-storey administration building was largely intact, save for the portico, which had collapsed and now lay in piles of rubble on either side of the entrance.