The Gladiator

'There.' Macro pointed. 'See how it lands with one point facing up? It'll do that every time, and if you scatter those in grass the enemy will not see ' em until they tread on them. The spike goes through the foot and cripples the victim. It'll break a charge almost every time.' Macro gazed at the caltrop fondly. 'Lovely piece of kit.

Saved my neck more times than I care to mention.' He looked up.

'The question is, can you make these in quantity before Ajax and his mob turn up?'

One of the blacksmiths came over to the desk to have a closer look. He picked it up, felt the weight and nodded. 'Easy enough to make, but can I suggest a refinement?'

'Be my guest,' Macro invited, intrigued to know how the Greek could hope to improve on the Roman design.

'As it is, the points are fairly easy to remove. While you will have injured your enemy, he might not be incapacitated.'

'Really?' Macro cocked an eyebrow. 'I should think that having a fucking great spike shoved through the bottom of your foot might just take the smile off your face. Wouldn't you say?'

'Oh yes,' the Greek agreed. 'I'm sure it would. The thing is, the victim of this device might yet be able to limp into a fight, or off the battlefield. But what if we barbed the ends? Then it would be almost impossible to dislodge and the enemy would have to stop and cut it out, or wait to be carried from the battlefield.'

Macro shook his head.' No. If the bloody thing is barbed, then it's removed from play with the casualty. What's the point in that? If it does its job and is discarded, then it is still on the battlefield ready for the next victim. See?'

'That's true,' another blacksmith interrupted. 'But you're ignoring the fact that the removal of a casualty requires at least one other man. Thus, a barbed caltrop will rob an enemy of a minimum of two men.'

The first Greek clicked his fingers. 'And what if those who were helping the man from the field were also to tread on these things? Why, the increase in the casualty rate would be exponential.'

'Expo - what?' Macro blinked, then held up his hands. 'Stop right there! Look here, I just wanted you to tell me if you could make some more of these. That's all. Can you do it?'

'Of course we can do it. The Greek looked offended. 'But why not improve on it at the same time? That's my point.'

'We could form a design committee,' some one suggested helpfully.

'No!' Macro protested.

'If we tested a few designs I'm sure we could provide you with a far more efficient weapon, Centurion.'

'There's no time.' Macro was getting exasperated. 'And the bloody thing works well enough as it is. Right?'

The Greek pursed his lips unhappily. 'Within limits, I suppose.'

Macro clenched his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them, stabbing his finger into the blacksmith's chest. 'Just make them. As many of them as you can. To this design and no other. Is. That. Perfectly. Clear? No, don't talk, just nod.'

The blacksmiths assented meekly.

'Thank you.' Macro breathed a sigh of relief.' Then please get on with it. Send word the moment you have the first batch ready.

Now go.'

Macro strode to the do or and wrenched it open, ushering them out of his office. As soon as the last one had gone, he shut the door, returned to his desk and sat down, gazing at the caltrop as his temper began to subside.

'Greeks...' he muttered. 'Never use one word when a thousand will do.'

In addition to the improvements to the city's defences, Macro took charge of recruiting men to supplement the fighting strength of the auxiliaries. At first Sempronius had appealed for volunteers, but when fewer than a hundred of the city's menfolk turned up at the parade ground Macro had marked out a short distance beyond the wall, sterner measures were called for. Several sections of auxiliaries were sent out to scour the city for fit men and have them marched out to the parade ground. There, they were brought before Macro, where he made his selection of those he would use to bolster Gortyna's garrison. Details of each man's name, family, home street and occupation were carefully noted before he was presented to Macro, sitting at a campaign table under an awning.

It was dispiriting to see a succession of unhappy or angry men who were capable of bearing arms but resented the opportunity to defend their families and their city. One such was a tall, well-muscled young man in an expensive tunic. His dark hair was neatly cut and a finely trimmed beard graced his jawline. At first Macro could not place him, then in a sudden flash he recalled that he had been amongst Glabius's coterie up on the acropolis the day the tax collector had been deposed.

'Name?'

'Pandarus, son of Polocrites.'

Macro glared at him.' From now on you call me sir. Is that understood?'

'I see no need to call you sir, Roman.'

'And why is that?' Macro smiled invitingly.