Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7]

by Douglas Jackson

  The ordo, the council of one hundred, was the administrative heart of any provincial Roman town. Its members were elders of the property-owning classes and usually had substantial personal wealth. They acted as magistrates, set taxes, officiated over planning disputes and decided on water rights, but their authority was illusory. Real power lay with the duoviri iuri dicundo, the two senior members of the council. No decision could be ratified without their presence and they decided who was appointed to which court, and even which cases they tried. As Pliny had explained it, the system was ripe for exploitation in a place like Asturica. A plaintiff might bribe a certain friendly member of the ordo to take his case, but before that could happen part of the bribe would first have to travel upwards to ensure the duoviri appointed the correct person. It was one of the duoviri whom Proculus had suggested Valerius meet.

  Normally the council would conduct business from a large room at the centre of the basilica, but Valerius discovered that because of the construction work Aulus Severus ran his little empire from his home in the east of the town. He changed his tunic for a toga and left his sword and other valuables in the mansio’s strongroom. His shadow stood hunched in a doorway down the street, more conspicuous now with his bandaged head and swollen eyes. Valerius felt a little sorry for him.

  The slave was still some way behind when they reached Severus’s splendid house. A doorkeeper stood between the twin pillars to repel unwanted guests, but the seal on Proculus’s letter and a short exchange persuaded him to allow Valerius through the atrium and into a waiting area. The room had a polished mosaic floor depicting an alarmingly lifelike brown bear standing on its hind legs with its bloodied mouth open. Birds of different species pecking at grapes and nuts in a leafy canopy surrounded the central image. The workmanship wasn’t particularly fine, but whoever had designed the mosaic had done the subject justice. Valerius studied it until the waft of a particular scent told him he had company.

  He turned to look into the eyes of one of the most striking women he’d ever seen. Her eyes, the aquatic green of a sunlit Aegean bay, seemed to strip him bare. Tall enough that she topped his shoulder, her dark hair fell in waves of tight curls and tendrils to a slim neck the colour of ivory. He barely registered the dress of bright red silk, cut low to show off the swell of her breasts. In Rome, she might have been mistaken on the streets for a courtesan, but this was not Rome and Valerius knew he was looking at the lady of the house. They studied each other for what seemed a long time before she smiled.

  ‘My husband is indisposed.’ She had a soft voice with a hint of affected sibilance. ‘I am here to entertain you till he is free.’

  Valerius ignored the unmistakable hint of suggestion and returned her smile. ‘Then I fear I am going to be very poor company. I’m here on a business matter and I hope your husband can help me. I’m sure you are not interested in business.’

  ‘No,’ she admitted, her eyes still holding his. ‘But I would be happy to hear about Rome.’

  The smile froze on Valerius’s face. ‘What makes you think I have come from Rome?’

  ‘Your courtly manners and the way you deal with a lady’s impudent suggestion.’ The full, reddened lips twitched. ‘But mainly the rather fine cut of your clothing. We are ardent followers of the latest fashions in Asturica. My dress, for instance, what do you think of it?’

  Valerius knew a trap when he saw it and under those knowing eyes he decided he’d never faced a more dangerous one. The truth would never do. A lie would be instantly detected. Faced with no other choice he was forced into the soldier’s last resort, an orderly retreat.

  ‘I’m afraid I know nothing of fashion, my lady; all I can say is that such a dress has never graced a finer form.’

  He thought he’d gone too far, but after a moment’s puzzled hesitation she laughed. ‘So I was right about your courtly manners. Let us see what else I can get right. You have been a soldier, I would guess.’ His left hand went up to touch the line of puckered flesh on his cheek. The right had been part-hidden in the folds of his toga, but he guessed she’d seen it, so he drew the wooden fist clear.

  ‘A memento of Britannia,’ he said wryly. ‘It happened when I was very young and I barely notice it now.’

  ‘Do not apologize for it.’ She took a step closer and the scent of her perfumed oil threatened to overpower him. ‘It makes you …’ He thought she was going to say interesting, but the word that emerged was ‘… distinctive.’

  She took a step away and turned smoothly as a short, balding man enveloped in a toga appeared in the doorway behind her. ‘Husband.’ She bowed her head in welcome. Aulus Severus might have been her father, rather than her spouse. He had the wizened, irritated face of a newborn kept too long from its mother’s tit and a voice that dripped sarcasm.

  ‘My dear, I told you to take our visitor to the receiving room.’ His Latin, like his wife’s, had an over-quick sing-song quality. He turned to Valerius. ‘Sir, if what my atriensis tells me is correct, you will be desperate for refreshment.’ He nodded at the woman with a tight smile of dismissal. Valerius watched as she walked from the room with a swivel of the hips that would have done an Armenian veil dancer credit.

  ‘I arrived in Asturica last night, but I’m well rested. A little wine would be welcome, though.’

  Severus gestured for Valerius to follow him through to another sumptuously decorated room with a pair of couches facing each other over a low table. He waved a hand to one and took the other as Valerius settled himself on his side.

  ‘My atriensis spoke of a letter of introduction from Tribune Proculus at Legio?’

  ‘That’s correct, sir.’

  ‘May I see it?’

  It would have been good manners for Severus to formally introduce himself, but Valerius ignored the slight and pulled the scroll from the folds of his toga. The doorman appeared at his shoulder with his hand out for the document. Valerius handed the scroll over and the man passed it to his master.

  Severus peered at the document through narrowed eyes as the atriensis held an oil lamp behind his head to improve the light. ‘If I read this correctly, Proculus informs me that you are a Hero of Rome,’ he frowned. ‘I apologize, sir. Aulus Aemilianus Severus welcomes you to his house. If only I had been informed of your status – the Corona Aurea, after all – I would have received you in a suitable style, rather than in this wretched fashion. We do things in the proper style in Asturica Augusta, you know.’

  ‘I apologize, sir.’ Valerius bowed his head. ‘In the circumstances modesty forbade me from making an issue of my position.’

  ‘But the protocol …? Zeno, bring us some wine.’ He returned to the letter. ‘He says you seek my help in some matter.’ A sniff and a little groan to let Valerius know what it was costing him. ‘Perhaps I should explain. My fellow duovir, Regulus, has been indisposed for several months and I carry the burden of running Asturica alone. Of course, we will do everything in our powers to bring your visit to a satisfactory conclusion, but …’

  ‘I would be very grateful, sir.’ Zeno placed a cup in front of Valerius and filled it. Then did the same for his master. Valerius took a sip and only just managed to suppress a cough. Experienced as he was in the rawest tavern piss, this made his eyes water. It tasted as if someone had marinaded a legionary’s foot wrap in vinegar.

  ‘And the matter is?’

  ‘I have a friend.’ Valerius cleared his throat. ‘An old army comrade. He saved my life in Armenia. I received a letter from Asturica Augusta asking for my help. Unfortunately, by the time I could reply it appears he wasn’t in a position to answer.’

  Severus frowned. ‘His name?’

  ‘Marcus Florus Petronius. He was an engineer. I believe he was interested in your celebrated mining techniques.’

  ‘Of course,’ Severus preened. ‘We lead the world.’

  ‘But you have had problems?’ Valerius accompanied the suggestion with a puzzled frown.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Suspi
cion and alarm combined to give the older man’s face an almost comical expression.

  ‘There was a suggestion in his letters.’

  ‘No, no,’ Severus assured him. ‘We have the same problems every mining area does. Collapses, mass asphyxiations, flooding, but nothing to be concerned about.’ He stood up and walked to the door. ‘I can assure you I will do all I can to find this fellow Petronius if he is in this city. As duovir it will be strange if I cannot track down his whereabouts. It may take a few days, but …’

  ‘I am happy to wait upon you whenever is suitable.’ Valerius took the hint and rose from his couch. ‘I’ve heard Asturica is a region of natural wonders and as a student of such things I am keen to witness them.’

  ‘Then I will send you a note. But wait, we cannot have a Hero of Rome staying in the mansio. The ordo keeps houses for honoured guests. Zeno will call on you and arrange your transfer.’

  Valerius knew there was no refusing this offer of hospitality if he wanted Severus’s cooperation. ‘You have my thanks, sir.’

  Zeno escorted Valerius to the door. Severus waited a suitable interval then summoned back the slave. ‘Now get me some proper wine.’

  A familiar scent tickled his nostrils. ‘He seemed to impress you, Calpurnia. What did you think?’

  ‘I think he was lying.’

  XIV

  The light of a full moon turned the river into a ribbon of molten silver and confirmed Serpentius was on course. Fourteen men had escaped the tunnel; now they were only nine. They’d barely travelled three miles before the weakest had pleaded to stop and rest. Serpentius ignored them and carried on without a backward glance, his loping leopard’s stride covering the ground with relentless stamina. The others had hesitated, but they knew their pursuers couldn’t be far behind and soon the desperate cries faded.

  Nine, but the best of them. Clitus and Thaumasto, a grinning thief called Placido, and five others who were just names to him: Elius, Floro, Felix, Gentilis and Celer. They wasted precious moments before they found a crossing point a little way upstream from a triple-arched Roman bridge. Serpentius knew they’d have made faster progress using the road, but three times already they’d been forced into cover as single riders passed at the gallop. Without hesitation he plunged into the water and forced his way thigh deep through the powerful flow. The others followed readily enough, but as they climbed the far bank Serpentius winced at a sharp cry. He looked back to see Thaumasto bent over and holding his ankle, teeth gritted against the pain.

  Clitus went back to check on his friend. ‘It’s just a sprain,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ll help him until it eases.’

  ‘No you won’t. He can manage on his own.’ Serpentius met Thaumasto’s eyes and hardened his heart against the plea he saw there. ‘We’re wasting time.’

  Serpentius carried on, but Clitus stood his ground. ‘We wouldn’t have got out of the mine without him,’ he persisted. ‘He fought while others lay there and did nothing. Have you no compassion?’

  Serpentius stopped and let out a long breath. He turned and strode back to where Clitus stood by the injured man. ‘Do you hear that?’ He put his face to Clitus’s. At first the only sound Clitus could hear was the rush of the river, but gradually he made out a faint baying that froze his blood. ‘They’ll be here soon,’ Serpentius continued. ‘If we cross the river two or three more times we can delay them long enough to give ourselves a chance. What do you think will happen if we carry Thaumasto?’ He drew the dagger from his belt and placed it in Thaumasto’s hand. ‘You were brave at the mine,’ he said quietly. ‘Now you must be braver still.’

  He turned and led the men through the scrub that lined the river bank. After a few moments he sensed Clitus by his side. The river snaked its way through the valley, sometimes hemmed in close by the hills on one bank, and sometimes the other. Twice more in the next hour they crossed. The dogs would lose the scent where they entered, but the hunters would carry on in case they were being tricked before they finally decided to cross. The ruse cost precious time, but for what Serpentius had in mind it was vital to put confusion in the minds of his pursuers.

  The sight of the Roman bridge had brought back a memory. He knew exactly where they were. And that meant they still had a chance.

  A mile ahead he recognized the place he was looking for. ‘We cross here,’ he said. ‘But we only go a hundred paces before we cross back.’ The others looked at him in puzzlement. ‘You must trust me.’

  They crossed and recrossed. At the point where they returned to the bank a large rock jutted out from the hillside.

  ‘Wait here,’ Serpentius ordered, as the men gathered in the shadow of the boulder.

  They watched bemused as he continued north for forty or fifty paces before retracing his steps.

  ‘Now …’ He chewed his lip and stared at the flat rock face that rose ten feet above them before it angled to meet the near sheer hillside. ‘Clitus? Placido? Stand here and join hands, like this.’ He made his fingers into a cradle and the two men did as he asked despite their bewilderment. They stood facing each other about two feet from the rock. Serpentius took three steps back. ‘When I shout, you heave upwards with all your strength. Do you understand? Wait for my shout.’

  Clitus and Placido nodded. The other men stood watching, their faces a mask of suspicion. Serpentius knew what they were thinking. Was he going to abandon them? But that wasn’t his problem. He launched himself forward. One, two. On the third stride he lifted his right foot into the cradle created by the four hands and pushed himself upwards. ‘Now!’ He used the lift to propel him high enough so his hands hooked over the edge of the boulder, hung for a moment with bolts of fire shooting down his arms, then, with an acrobatic flip, twisted his whole body on to the top surface. He lay with his back to the cold stone breathing heavily for a few seconds. The sound of barking could be heard clearly now. It would be so easy just to get up and leave them to their fate.

  Shrugging off the thought, he raised himself on one knee and untied the leather sword belt he’d taken from the dead guard. The scabbard was attached by two loops and he pulled the belt from them and lay on his stomach on the lip of the boulder. ‘Clitus? Get someone to lift you and grab hold of this.’

  Placido was the last man and they retrieved him by tying three sword belts together and lowering them down to him. Ten minutes later they were two hundred feet up an almost invisible track that zig-zagged its way across the mountainside. Serpentius would never have found it, but for the fact he’d passed this way once on the return from a plunder raid on one of the valley settlements. The ‘path’ was a mere inches-wide ledge of dust and pebbles that sometimes disappeared completely, and even the Spaniard was forced to watch where he put his feet. His companions clung to the rock wall and edged their way forward as best they could, always conscious of the long slope below. It wasn’t a sheer drop, but anyone who slipped wouldn’t stop tumbling until they hit the river bank.

  As he climbed, Serpentius was constantly aware of the rising volume of the hounds’ cries. He knew the type of dogs the mine overseers used to hunt down escapers: big rangy beasts, long of leg and deep of chest, bred to bring down deer and boar and see off wolves. They’d been trained to hate men in rags and to follow the scent of fear. If their handlers were slow to reach them they could tear a man apart. He registered the moment they lost the scent downstream, soon confirmed by the shouts of the hunters.

  ‘Stay,’ he hissed to Placido, the man behind him. He dropped to a crouch and the others followed suit. The moment the hunters recrossed the river would be the most dangerous, when they were looking directly towards the mountain and had time to allow their eyes to drift upwards. Better to stay still and avoid the chance of making a noise that would attract attention. A single rolling pebble would be the death of them all.

  They waited, frozen in place while the hunters and their dogs climbed the near bank in the shadow of the big boulder, followed by a half century of what looked like auxi
liary infantry. The dogs found the scent again almost instantly and set off on the false trail Serpentius had created, only to lose it just as quickly. He heard the hunters curse and risked a glance as they huddled together to discuss whether to carry on or cross the river again. The officer in charge of the soldiers harangued the men for a decision and soon they were climbing down the bank and recrossing the rushing waters. Serpentius could almost feel the relief in the men around him, but he knew this was only a temporary reprieve. Eventually the hunters would work out what they’d done and they’d soon discover the path. He waited until the sound of the hounds faded before rising and setting off again, shoulders hunched against the slope.

  Serpentius allowed them a short rest when they reached the top and shared out the food they’d found on the bodies of the guards. As he chewed on the hard bread he felt a rare moment of uncertainty. He knew where he wanted to go but not what he’d do when he arrived.

  The other problem was getting there.

  The full moon provided a certain amount of visibility and confirmed his memories of the place. From here the mountain rose in a series of boulder- and scree-strewn slopes and false crests, broken ground carpeted in scrubby trees. Treacherous terrain even in daylight. These were Serpentius’s mountains, but he knew the dangers of travelling by night.

  Should he risk waiting for dawn and the certainty of reaching his destination, or forge ahead and risk losing more men?

  He let his eyes drift over them. Clitus he could depend on up to a point, and Placido and possibly one or two others. The rest were too weak or too beaten by their captivity to be of help in a fight. He could survive alone in these hills, so it was obvious: wait till they fell asleep then slip away and let them live or die on their wits. Wasn’t that the way it had always been? The strong survived and the weak perished.