The Gladiator - Scarrow Simon (бесплатная регистрация книга txt) 📗

'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.

'Because I am not a soldier, nor will I ever be. Furthermore, I will protest about my treatment here through the highest channels. My father has political contacts in Rome. Once they are informed that a lowly officer has dared to pluck a free man from his home and forcibly conscript him at the point of a sword, there will be no limit to the retribution that is brought down on your head.' Pandarus was pleased with his brief monologue and offered a placating smile to Macro. 'It's not too late to put an end to this sad little drama of yours. Comedy, more like.' He turned and gestured to the line of men standing in the sun, waiting to be seen by Macro. There was a muted chorus of support. 'Let us all go, and I will do you a favour, Roman, and not report your criminal activities to your superiors in Rome.'

He drew himself up and crossed his arms as he stared down at Macro. The latter stared back for a moment and then lowered his stylus on to the wax slate with a weary sigh.

'Have you finished, Pandarus?'

'Finished?' Pandarus frowned, then be came angry. 'You don't think I'm serious, do you?'

'Oh, I'm sure you're serious; it's just that I am not inclined to take you seriously' Macro replied. 'I mean, look at you. Dressed up like a cheap tart. Is that perfume I can smell?'

'It is a male scent. An extremely expensive scent.'

'So you look like a male tart, and you smell like one. That I can forgive...just about. What I cannot forgive is that people like you think you're too good to get your hands dirty by taking up a sword and defending what's yours: this city, your family and your friends - assuming you have any. What makes you so fucking special that you should be excused from taking your place alongside the other men who are prepared to fight?'

'My father pays his taxes,' Pandarus protested.' He pays them so that his family doesn't fight, and we can leave that to little people like you.' He could not resist the sneer, yet the moment the words were spoken he realised he had made a mistake. 'What I meant to say was — '

'Shut your mouth!' Macro shouted into his face. 'You miserable little coward! You're the little people. You and all those others who have so little heart, so little courage, so little sense of honour and duty that they think that money can buy themeverything. Well, money is the least of your worries now. There's an army of slaves out there who are waiting for their moment to launch an attack on this city. Do you really think they are not going to butcher you and your family because you have connections in Rome? Fucking idiot.'

Macro shook his head in anger and exasperation. 'There is only one way we are going to survive this, and that's if every man who can fight is up there on the wall, ready to kill or be killed. Right now I could not give a toss whether you are some dandy pervert or the son of the emperor himself. You will take up a sword with the rest of the men in the line. You will be trained to fight with the auxiliaries. You will fight like a lion to keep those rebel bastards out of the city, and if need be you will die like a bloody hero, sword in hand, spitting curses into your enemy's face. Do I make myself clear?'

Macro thrust his face forward, inches from that of Pandarus, and the latter nervously backed off a step.

'I m - meant no offence.' Pandarus flapped his hands.

'Sir!' Macro shouted, hooking his booted foot behind the young man's heel and then thrusting him hard in the chest so that he stumbled back and crashed to the ground. Macro pounced on him, knee on Pandarus's chest as he snatched out his dagger and thrust the blade to within an inch of the other man's eyes. 'Last time I say it. You call me sir when you address me. Got it?'