'No...' Hirtius slumped back with a deep groan, face muscles clenched as he fought a wave of agony. At length his body relaxed and beads of sweat trickled from his brow. His breathing was ragged as he stared at the ceiling and muttered, ' My wife, has she been found yet?'

'Wife?' The senator turned to the doctor and whispered,

'What's this?'

'Antonia. Apparently she left the feast shortly before the earthquake. Hasn't been seen since. But we're still finding bodies in the rubble. I fear it's only a matter of time before we find hers.'

'I see.' Sempronius gazed at the stricken governor for a moment and then turned to the surgeon. 'I'll leave him in your hands. Do your best for him.'

'Of course, sir.'

The senator lowered his voice. 'A brief word with you, if I may?'

He rose from the bench, gesturing to the others to follow him. At the do or he paused and spoke softly to the surgeon. 'Will Hirtius live?'

'I'm doing what I can for him. With enough time, he might recover—'

'Spare me the bedside manner. Will he live? Yes, or no.'

The surgeon licked his lips and then shook his head. 'Both legs are crushed. He has internal injuries, crushed ribs and organs. I doubt that he will last more than a few days.'

'I see. Well, do what you can to make him comfortable then.'

The surgeon nodded.

Cato looked towards the couch.' One other thing. Hirtius is to have no more visitors. Isn't that right, sir?'

'Yes,' Sempronius agreed.' Of course. That is my strict order.'

'Not even Glabius?' asked the surgeon.

'Him especially, understand? He is not to disturb the governor. As far as everyone is concerned, Hirtius is glad that I have arrived to take charge. He has confidence in me and has granted me full powers over the province, until he has recovered or a replacement is sent from Rome. That's our story, and you will stick to it. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good, then I want you to examine the centurion's wound. Clean it up and put on a fresh dressing. I need him as ready as he can be when I go to relieve Glabius of his temporary appointment.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Macro mopped his brow and squinted up at the midday sun blazing in the clear sky. From the gatehouse of the acropolis he could see the teams of auxiliaries working amid the ruins, carefully searching for survivors beneath the rubble. Once they had been located, the long process of digging them out began. Some were found easily enough, but many were trapped under several feet of masonry and had suffered terrible injuries. Still, he conceded, Portillus and his men were proceeding in a methodical manner as they worked their way across the city towards the gorge that led to the port. A number of slaves worked alongside the soldiers; those who had chosen to remain after the earthquake. Most of the surviving slaves had taken the chance to run away. They would be recovered in due course, and punished, Macro reflected. Many slaves were branded and would find it hard to blend in amongst those who were free. Their only other choice was to hide in the wilderness, a precarious existence that had few attractions over slavery.

On the slope outside of Matala the goatskin tents from the auxiliary cohort's stores had been set up, and several hundred people were now sheltering from the sun in their shade. There were still another two thousand people who had lost their homes and had to make do with sleeping in the open, or finding what shelter they could in the clumps of trees that grew higher up the slope. There was a stream up there, and a plentiful supply of water flowed from the mountains that formed the spine of the island. Macro could see a number of townspeople carrying full skins and amphorae back to the tents, and at the base of a small waterfall near the top of the hill a handful of children were splashing happily in the glittering silver cascade.

Even though they had a good supply of water, the most pressing problem was food. It had been three days since he had taken command of the cohort, and at once it was clear that the port was desperately short of supplies. A small amount had been gleaned from the estates of Canlius and the ruins of Matala and added to the meagre reserves in the acropolis. Macro had been forced to issue an edict that any private stocks of food must be surrendered to the cohort. From there a daily ration would be issued to the survivors.

Those who were caught hoarding food, or dealing food in the black market, would be denied rations and banished from the city and its environs. If they attempted to sneak back in and were caught then they would be locked into one of the cisterns, which Macro had chosen for a temporary prison. The last item on the edict warned that those who were caught attempting to steal food from the cohort's stores would be summarily executed.

There had been protests when the edict had been read out in the camp, and the mob had readily accepted a mouthpiece in the form of the father of the merchants' guild, a stocky individual named Atticus, who could have passed for Macro's brother, if he had had one. Macro held firm in the face of the protests and raised his hands to calm the crowd, and when that had not worked he drew his sword and rapped it sharply on the rim of one of his men's shields. When the last angry murmur had died away, he drew a deep breath and pointed at Atticus.

'I don't care what you think. We must ration what food we have, or people will starve. Once the food supply to the town is restored, then things can return to normal. Until then we must have discipline, and patience.'

Atticus snorted. 'And you would have us believe that you and your men don't take more than your fair share, I suppose?'

'I will see to it that the food is fairly shared,' Macro replied in his parade-ground voice, so that all might hear him. 'Priority will go to those who are helping to find survivors and supplies in the ruins, and those who are responsible for ensuring order.'

'Ha!'Atticus raised his hands and clapped. 'I knew it. The army takes care of its own and damn the rest of us! Well, Centurion, we won't stand for it.' He turned to address the crowd. 'I say we keep whatever food we have for ourselves! Let the soldiers fend for themselves!'

The mob cheered his words and Atticus milked his support for a while, pumping his fists in the air, before crossing his arms and turning back to Macro with a smile.

'Quiet!' Macro bellowed.' QUIET, I SAID!'

But this time there was no response from the crowd, who continued to jeer and whistle and shake their fists.

At length Macro gave up and turned to the twenty men he had brought with him to lend force to his authority. 'Let 'em hear it, lads!'

The soldiers drew their swords and began to pound the inside of their shields, filling the air with a deafening drumming that drowned out the din of the crowd. Gradually they fell quiet and Macro gave the order for his men to still their weapons.

'That's better. Now then, I have told you how I intend to run things, and it will be so. I will not tolerate any attempts to undermine my authority as acting prefect of the cohort. If anyone wishes to increase their rations then they will have to work for it by helping the cohort's work parties searching the ruins. In addition, I could use more men to replace those lost in the disaster. If there are any men out there with previous military experience then they may apply to enlist at the acropolis.'

'Don't do it!'Atticus called out to the crowd. 'Don't betray the rest of us. If we stand up against this bully, then there's nothing he can do!'

'Right!' Macro clicked his fingers. 'That does it. First section! Arrest that man, at the double!'

Atticus's mouth opened in surprise, but before he could react, the auxiliaries had surrounded him and two of them sheathed their swords and pinned his arms behind his back. He struggled uselessly for a moment while the crowd began to protest angrily. Macro kept his calm and gave the order for his men to march back to the acropolis, pursued by the jeers and insults of the mob. He took up position beside Atticus and the men holding him.