The Gladiator by Simon Scarrow

few expanses of tiles gave any indication of the original lines of the roof.
    Sempronius sucked in his breath. ‘It’s a wonder anyone survived that.’ ‘Yes,’ Cato muttered. ‘That looks like the stables over there.’ He pointed to a narrow walled yard to one side ofthe main build-
    ing-A small crowd stood or squatted outside, some holding infants or supporting others as they waited to be seen. Two army medics in black tunics were assessing the patients and admitting only those with the worst injuries. It was clear that the mood ofthe crowd was sullen, and Cato heard angry grumbling as they approached the stables.
    ‘Make way there!’ Sempronius called out. ‘Make way, I said!’
    The crowd parted in front of the horse and the expressions of those closest hardened as they stared up at the riders.
    ‘The young ‘un’s wounded,’ an old man growled. ‘See there, on his leg.’
    ‘Bastard’s jumping the queue,’ another voice called out, and at once there was an angry murmur sweeping through the crowd, and those still ahead of Sempronius refused to give way.
    ‘Take your turn like the rest of us!’
    Sempronius glared in the direction of the last shout. ‘I am a Roman senator, damn you! Now do as you are told and move aside.’
    ‘Fuck you!’ ‘One rule for the rich, another for the poor!’ another man shouted. ‘That’s right!’ Sempronius shouted. ‘That’s how it is. N o w clear a path before I clear it for you!’ He drew his sword to emphasise his words and dared anyone in the crowd to defy him.The people glared back, but as Sempronius kicked his heels in to move the horse on, they parted before him.
    As he reached the arch and passed through into the courtyard, a man raised his fist and cried out,’Bloody aristocrats! Our people die out here and they look after their own!’
    The anger was taken up in other shouts and bitter cries, but Sempronius kept his face fixed in an expression ofhaughty contempt as he walked the horse up to a rail and slipped from the saddle to tether it. Cato dismounted beside him, wincing as a shaft ofpain shot through his leg. He clasped a hand to his thigh as he looked round and saw a man in a dark tunic with red trim on the sleeves emerge from one of the stalls.
    The man gestured towards Cato’s leg. ‘I’ll have a look at that.’ He wiped some blood off his hands with a soiled rag as he approached the new arrivals.
    ‘Romans?’ Cato nodded. The surgeon pointed at Cato’s bandaged thigh. ‘How did that happen?’ ‘We ran into some escaped slaves. One of them stuck me with a pitchfork.’ ‘Nasty. I’d better see to it.’ ‘Later. We need to speak to the governor.’ Cato gestured to Sempronius. ‘We have urgent business with him.’ ‘So does everyone.’ T h e surgeon laughed mirthlessly. ‘But he’s in no condition to see anyone right now, poor devil.’ ‘That’s too bad,’ said Sempronius. ‘I must insist that he sees us.
    Immediately’ The surgeon shook his head. ‘I can’t let you disturb my patient.
    You’d better go and see Marcus Glabius ifyou want to know what’s going on.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Glabius is in charge now. He persuaded the governor to appoint him as his successor yesterday’
    ‘What office did this Glabius hold before?’ asked Cato. ‘Civil administration? Military?’
    ‘Neither. He was one of the province’s tax collectors.’
    ‘A tax collector?’ Sempronius could not hide his disgust. W h y on earth did Hirtius hand power over to a bloody tax collector? Surely there must have been an official on his staffhe could have turned to?’
    ‘No, they were all at the banquet when it happened. For some reason Glabius was late arriving. Otherwise . . .’The surgeon wearily ran a hand through his hair. ‘In any case, they’re close friends and business associates. Do I need to spell it out for you?’
    Cato could guess the arrangement easily enough. Governor Hirtius sold the tax concession to Glabius for a