Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] (12 page)

‘Why should a crippled upstart with ideas above his station concern me?’ Domitian sneered.

‘You understand exactly what I mean, brother.’ Titus allowed his voice to harden. ‘Verrens is on a mission vital to all our interests. If he is not allowed to complete it you and I may end up in pieces on the Gemonian Stairs like uncle Sabinus.’

‘If he does not complete this
vital
mission it will not be because of anything I do, it will be because you selected a dangerous fool for the task.’

They glared at each other for a moment. Vespasian tutted. ‘You must
never fight, my sons. Our unity is our greatest strength. We three are the future of Rome. Come, Domitian.’

They followed their father out on to the balcony overlooking the lake. ‘This is where I will build our legacy. We will drain the lake and build the greatest arena the world has ever seen’ – he turned to his sons with a smile – ‘and a hundred generations of Romans will give thanks to the Flavians. I will place Nero’s colossus at the gates … with a few alterations, of course. It would be a pity to waste it.’

But Domitian’s thoughts were elsewhere. Rome’s future? His father was in robust health and might live another twenty years. Titus could last another forty and there was no reason he should not yet beget an heir. Only by a happy accident would Titus Flavius Domitianus ever wear the purple. And then there was Verrens. Had his brother been telling the truth about the urgency of this mission?

In a way it didn’t matter. An arrow loosed could not be returned to the bow no matter the good intentions of the archer. He had loosed the arrow and the arrow would take its course. But he had seen what was left of his uncle Sabinus on the Gemonian Stairs and he had no intention of ending up there. It would bear thinking about.

They reached Legio on the afternoon of the twelfth day. A Roman fortification had existed here since the time of Augustus and the Cantabrian wars, and Valerius could see why. The fort stood in a perfect defensive position on a raised plateau cushioned in the junction of two rivers. The stone walls and wooden palisade dominated everything around and it could only be attacked directly from the north. Valerius’s little column was approaching from the south, travel-weary: even the seasoned cavalrymen of the Faithful Vardulli admitted to being saddle-sore after close to two weeks on horseback.

Now their minds were focused on a cool bath to wash away the all-encompassing dust of the journey, a cup of sour wine in a local tavern and the ministrations of a comely whore. In truth, it wasn’t much of a place. Valerius could see the red-tiled roofs of stucco-walled barrack blocks and administration buildings. A civilian settlement lined the road from the
porta praetoria
and sprawled on to the south bank of the smaller of the two rivers. They passed wooden shops and workshops, a forge where a smith’s apprentice was turning out iron hobnails for a nearby cobbler, and a stinking tannery where the women scraping hides didn’t even raise their heads as they passed.

Two men stood guard at the bridge, but they called out when they recognized Marius.

‘You’ll get it hot,’ one of them predicted with a grin. ‘Proculus was expecting you days ago. Everyone reckoned the Ghost had taken you.’

Mention of the Ghost took Valerius back to his conversation with the young courier a week and more earlier. Nathair. The snake. At first he’d been certain this Ghost must be his old Spanish comrade. The name and the description of his fighting qualities were too much of a coincidence. But the more he considered it, the more unlikely it seemed. More than two years had passed since he’d left Serpentius in Judaea being treated for a terrible sword wound that would have killed him if it had been more expertly placed. The Spaniard also suffered spasmodic fits after a legionary had smashed his skull during the fall of Rome. If he survived, Titus had provided the former gladiator with enough gold to buy a small estate where he could settle down and perhaps take a wife. Why would such a man turn bandit?

Yes, Serpentius had never hidden his bitterness against the Romans who burned his home and killed his family, but that had been twenty-odd years ago. The Spaniard was no fool and in all the time Valerius had known him he’d never talked of revenge. Yet the bandit raids were one of the factors the authorities in Asturica Augusta claimed were responsible for the lack of gold reaching Rome. Perhaps discovering more about this Ghost should be one of his lines of investigation.

‘I am afraid you may find our commander a little distracted.’ Young Marius didn’t seem put out by his welcome. ‘He has many conflicting responsibilities and few resources to fulfil them.’

‘You said he is the legion’s
praefectus castrorum
?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the courier confirmed. ‘Tiberius Claudius Proculus. The legate is with the main detachment of the legion at Moguntiacum on the Rhenus.’

The main gate of the fortress, the
porta principalis
, was on the east side and guarded by twin towers. To the north a squadron of auxiliary cavalry exercised their horses on a flat area of ground between the arms of the two rivers. Valerius was immediately struck by the style
of their armour. Abilio, the escort commander, reined in beside him and studied the riders with professional interest as they wheeled and galloped across the iron-hard earth, forming line and square as if by instinct.

‘They’re good,’ he said. ‘Not as good as us, but still good.’

Valerius smiled at the grudging respect of one horse warrior for another. ‘Their equipment is unusual.’ Something about the tall, plumed helmets and fish scale armour appeared chillingly familiar.

‘Not Thracians, that’s for certain. Moesian?’

‘They’re from the First ala Parthorum,’ Marius informed them. ‘One of the few auxiliary regiments they left us. Four hundred cavalry and six hundred light infantry.’

‘Parthians?’ Valerius had never heard of a Parthian auxiliary unit.

‘Yes, the ala has been in Hispania since the Cantabrian war. Some minor Parthian lord decided he owed tribute to Augustus and they’ve been supplying recruits ever since.’

Valerius detected something in the way he spoke about the easterners.

‘You don’t approve, Marius?’

‘It’s not for me to approve or disapprove, sir,’ Marius said defensively. ‘All I will say is that my commander is very short of mounted soldiers and they are given a latitude not allowed some other units.’

Valerius would have probed deeper, but he saw they were being watched by the officer supervising the auxiliaries. The man considered the newcomers for a few moments before guiding his horse towards them. Valerius kept his wooden fist beneath his cloak, but he needn’t have concerned himself. The officer, a dark-eyed, bearded hawk of a man in a green tunic and polished chain armour, ignored the mere civilian and addressed his auxiliary counterpart.

‘Claudius Harpocration, prefect First ala Parthorum, and you are?’

‘Abilio Sabinus,
decurio
, First Faithful Vardulli.’

‘So not the reinforcements I asked for?’

‘I’m afraid not, sir. Attached to the governor’s household, and currently on escort duty.’ He nodded to the courier. ‘Nursemaids, you might say.’

Harpocration didn’t smile. ‘And how long will you be in Legio?’

‘We’re to accompany the next gold shipment back to Tarraco. We were told we might be here for a week.’

Harpocration stared at him, then nodded slowly. His eyes passed over Valerius as he hauled his horse’s head round and rode back to his men. The one-handed Roman studied the retreating horseman. The last time he’d seen that look was from a Parthian Invincible on the field at Cepha who’d promised to take his head and use it as a drinking bowl.

‘A strange character, and very interested in your comings and goings,’ Valerius said to Abilio.

‘They are a proud people, and arrogant with it,’ Marius answered.

‘Just running an eye over us,’ Abilio said. ‘Not that we’re much to look at, only the ten of us. Now, Marius, which way to the bath house? We’ll want to get cleaned up before we pay our respects to your commander.’

The bath house lay in the south-eastern corner of the fort. Once they’d washed and changed into fresh clothes they made their way through the barrack blocks.

By the time they reached the headquarters Marius had already reported to Tiberius Claudius Proculus. The camp prefect’s secretary announced that he would receive the others individually. Valerius waited in an anteroom while Abilio, the serving officer, had his audience. The legate’s administrative offices formed three sides of a large parade square perhaps a hundred paces in width. The complex stood at the very heart of the camp, at the junction of the Via Praetoria and the Via Principalis. As well as offices it housed a basilica where the commander could address his troops under cover, and the
sacellum
, where the Sixth’s standards, including its eagle, would normally be stored in suitable dignity. In this case, Valerius suspected, the eagle would be with the legion’s legate at Moguntiacum and the
sacellum
would contain only a few cohort and century banners. Close to the
principia
stood the
praetorium
, the legate’s living quarters.

Eventually, Abilio was ushered out. He flashed Valerius a wry look
as he passed. The secretary stood by the door and Valerius walked past him into the inner office. He’d dressed in a fine toga for the meeting and the man behind the desk looked up in surprise.

‘You asked to see me?’ The voice was brittle with suppressed irritation and Proculus’s expression matched it. He had the tormented features of a man condemned to spend life chewing pebbles and broken glass and wondered when the next portion was about to arrive. An unhealthy grey shadow tinged his sunken cheeks.

‘It seemed a courtesy to present my credentials and a letter of introduction from the governor.’ Valerius ignored the coolness of his welcome and handed over a leather scroll case.

Proculus’s frown deepened as he read the letter. ‘My apologies, sir. Had I known you’d held high military office and are a holder of the Corona Aurea I would have seen you immediately. Be sure I will have my clerk whipped for his trouble.’

‘There is no need for that, prefect,’ Valerius assured him. ‘It is not something I wished widely known. A man’s fortunes and good name have a way of ebbing and flowing with each change of emperor.’ Proculus gave him a suspicious look. Was he being provoked? It took either a brave man or a foolish one to speak so freely of emperors. Valerius smiled. ‘I mean only that I am a man for whom status is not important.’

Proculus coiled the scroll and rapped it against his desk. ‘This letter from Governor Secundus asks me to provide you every help and support in some quest he does not specify?’

‘An old comrade who saved my life in Armenia asked for my help,’ Valerius explained. ‘But I was travelling. By the time I finally managed to answer his letter he didn’t reply.’

‘And you think he is in Legio?’

‘His letter mentioned Asturica Augusta.’ Valerius and Pliny had concocted the scheme before he’d left Tarraco. Better a man of some status for access, official or otherwise, than a nobody. And what was more natural than to seek out an old comrade who had saved your life. It gave Valerius a reason to ask questions about Petronius, but
didn’t link him directly to the investigation into the missing gold.

‘I have no authority in Asturica,’ Proculus complained. ‘It is governed by a civilian administration. More to the point I do not have the resources to offer you any support. Every man is needed for duty.’ He waved at a parchment map pinned to a frame near the doorway. ‘I have a quarter of the men I need to properly defend this fort, but I am told my priority is to provide security for the mines, guards for the gold trains, engineers to keep the aqueducts flowing. The entire area is plagued by bandits. I asked Governor Secundus to send me a reinforcement of two cohorts to allow me to make a clean sweep of the mountains and remove at least this threat, but no, I am instructed to stay in camp and somehow turn one man into four.’

‘I heard mention of some Ghost who leaves no tracks.’

Proculus gave a bark of disgust. ‘There is no Ghost, as I keep telling these fools. Only a man who is cleverer than the idiots I am able to send against him. He has time to make his raids, carry off the gold and cover his tracks before they come close to him. But we will have him soon enough. If you had been a week earlier you would have seen the heads of a dozen of his accomplices on display outside the fortress.’

‘Did they betray his whereabouts before they died?’

‘No,’ Proculus admitted. ‘But it is only a matter of time.’

‘Then I pray Fortuna favours you.’ Valerius bowed. ‘Clearly Governor Secundus was unaware of the difficulties you face. Be sure I will see he is given the full story when I return. In the meantime all I ask is your leave to travel in your area of responsibility.’

‘At your own risk?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then you have it.’ Proculus rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. ‘I will also tell my clerk to give you a letter of introduction to the head of Asturica’s
ordo
. Hopefully he will be able to help you find your friend. Now, if you please …’

‘Thank you for your time, prefect.’ By the time Valerius reached the door Proculus was already peering at a new list of demands.

Next morning Valerius said his farewells to Abilio and the rest of
the escort. The Vardulli commander couldn’t hide his concern when Valerius revealed that Proculus wasn’t able to provide him with an escort or guide while he was in Asturica.

Abilio rubbed a gnarled hand across his stubbled chin. ‘The governor didn’t give me any details, but when he briefed us to bring you north with the courier he hinted there was more to your visit than mere courtesy. Had he known this would happen, I think he might have wanted us to stay with you. As it is, I’ve pledged my troop to reinforce the Parthians when they guard the next gold train south.’

‘Do not trouble yourself, Abilio,’ Valerius assured him with a smile. ‘I’m well versed in the ways of staying out of trouble. I’m just another traveller seeking out an old friend to visit, to drink too much wine and tell lies about how much better it was when we were young.’