Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7]

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘Poor Petronius?’

  ‘I should have told you.’ Valerius took a sip from his cup. ‘Severus sent a servant to show me the house where Petronius lodged. The place had been thoroughly cleaned, but I discovered what I believe is blood in one of the rooms. I think Petronius was killed there, his body disposed of and his papers either burned or stolen.’

  ‘Killed? Here?’ Melanius looked shocked. ‘In my city?’

  ‘I can’t be certain,’ Valerius admitted. ‘But I believe so.’

  ‘Then the killers must be found.’ Melanius was a picture of outraged determination. ‘My contacts extend to certain less than honest individuals – a man cannot always be fastidious where he gets his information. I will make enquiries. If the man or men responsible were from Asturica someone will know.’

  ‘Please don’t put yourself at risk,’ Valerius urged him. ‘If the killers are still here we’ll find them soon enough.’

  ‘How would that be?’ Melanius asked, picking at a tray of pomegranate seeds.

  ‘Because they will come after me.’

  The older man studied Valerius for a long time. ‘Perhaps …’ He hesitated, clearly uncertain whether to continue. ‘Perhaps it would be safer if you returned to Tarraco. You will forgive me for making the suggestion, but I don’t believe Pliny would have sent you here had he understood the danger you would face. I am in a far more secure position to carry out this investigation. If you would only let me know how you make secret contact with Pliny I would place all my resources at his disposal and pass on any information I can discover.’

  It was a good offer, and, with the local knowledge and contacts Melanius possessed, even a sensible solution. Valerius understood he was meddling in matters of which he had little or no experience, in a place and among a people he didn’t know. Melanius was right, it might get him killed or drive the conspirators underground. Neither would be of any help to Pliny. Yet he’d made his promise.

  ‘I am sorry, Melanius, I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept.’

  Melanius smiled. ‘I thought that would be your answer, Valerius, but it was an offer I had to make. What will you do now?’

  ‘The more I learn of this matter, the more certain I am it can’t be the work of one man.’ Valerius reached up to touch the scar on his cheek, but quickly withdrew his hand. It had become a habit since he arrived in Asturica and habits were a weakness. ‘I keep being told the gold yields are down, but a tunnel manager at the Red Hills took great pride in informing me the amount generated from his mines has never varied. If the gold is being stolen it is being taken either from the storehouses or while it’s being transported. Who provides the wagons for the convoys?’

  ‘There are various suppliers, but the main contractor is Aurelius Saco.’

  ‘Saco again, but he can’t be doing it alone. If the figures being sent to Rome are wrong, someone must be falsifying them. What do you know of Ferox, the praefectus metallorum?’

  ‘Officious and arrogant,’ Melanius shrugged. ‘A born bureaucrat from the tips of his toes to the topmost lock of his perfectly groomed hair. He knows his job, though, and is utterly rigorous and merciless towards anyone incapable of doing theirs.’

  ‘Then surely if there is a conspiracy such a man must be at the very heart?’

  ‘We are not friends,’ Melanius held his gaze, ‘but in my experience he is also faultlessly honest. A man of the utmost probity. Why would he be so quick to give you access to the mines if he was doing something dishonest?’

  It was something Valerius hadn’t considered. In his eyes Ferox had always been suspect because of his position. ‘You are probably right, but I still think I need to speak to him.’

  ‘I will do what I can to arrange it, but I’m not certain what pretext we can use this time. He has already donated time and resources to you at my request. He may feel he has done enough.’

  ‘Then perhaps it’s time I used my warrant from the Emperor as legatus iuridicus metallorum?’

  He saw Melanius grimace. ‘That would certainly ensure you are granted a meeting, but will it gain you his cooperation, a cooperation you have already identified as vital? Think on it, Valerius. Firstly, he will know that you – and I – deceived him. As a man of faultless honesty he would be outraged. Secondly, you would be usurping his position and authority as praefectus metallorum. As a man of honour he may well feel unable to continue in his role. I beg you to reconsider. The time will come for such a step, but I fear it is not now.’

  ‘Very well, but if not Ferox, who?’

  ‘Perhaps one of my people could find one of his staff. Someone who is amenable to talking with you in confidence in return for some trifling gift?’

  Once again Valerius marvelled at Melanius’s seeming ability to conjure up a source at will. Clearly Pliny had underestimated his friend’s capabilities or he’d have had him investigating this nest of vipers in the first place.

  ‘If that was possible …’

  ‘Only time will tell, but come, you have not told me of your immediate plans. I would be most happy if you would stay for dinner.’

  ‘It would give me nothing but pleasure to accept your kind offer,’ Valerius bowed. ‘But I’m concerned that if I stay here any longer my presence might place you in danger.’ Melanius puffed out his cheeks in mock exasperation. ‘In any case I must begin drafting my preliminary report to Pliny.’

  ‘Very well, I concede, but if there is any help I can give with your report. The use of a scribe …?’

  ‘I will consider it,’ Valerius smiled. ‘Once more I must thank you for your generosity.’

  Valerius caught the familiar scent as he reached the top of the stair. He slowed, checking his surroundings, and his hand reached for his sword as he pushed the door slowly open with his right fist. Flickering oil lamps created ever-changing patterns of light and shade on the walls. She lay back on a couch beside a table laid out for dinner. When he walked into the room she poured a cup of wine and as she offered it to him the front of her dress fell forward to reveal the curve of her breasts.

  He allowed his hand to drop away from the sword. ‘Shouldn’t you be with your husband?’

  ‘How do you know he didn’t send me here?’

  He shrugged and tried to suppress a smile. ‘I confess I hadn’t considered the possibility.’

  ‘This is Asturica Augusta,’ she smiled back. ‘A provincial backwater, not Rome. You would be surprised what people have to do to survive here.’

  Valerius unhooked his cloak and handed it to a servant who appeared then disappeared just as quickly. He accepted the cup and lay down on the couch opposite, eyeing the heavily laden table.

  ‘I thought you would be hungry after your exertions of the last few days, Valerius.’

  ‘You have me at a disadvantage, lady.’ He allowed his voice to harden, ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever been given your name. I’m also curious to hear what you know of my exertions.’

  ‘My name is Calpurnia.’ She didn’t flinch from his gaze. ‘And my husband Severus did not become the head of the ordo by ignoring what goes on around him.’ She waved an elegant, slim-fingered hand towards the painted walls and silver platters. ‘You are our honoured guest and a Hero of Rome, of course he would be interested in your activities, particularly after your concerns about this mysterious Petronius.’

  ‘Mysterious? You knew him?’

  ‘Knew of him,’ she admitted. ‘They say he was like a hunting dog on the scent, always poking his nose where it wasn’t appreciated. He kept strange hours.’

  ‘How would you know that?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘Your husband was having him watched?’

  She took a sip of wine. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then he may know more about his disappearance than he acknowledged?’

  ‘You would have to ask him.’

  Valerius intended to. ‘Why have you come here?’

  She stared at him and the reflection of
the oil lamps turned the dark eyes into pits of fire. Did he really have to ask? ‘Because Calpurnia Severa knows what she wants. I find you desirable, Gaius Valerius Verrens.’ She stood up and rounded the table until she was standing over him. He didn’t move as she bent to take his face in her hands and brought his lips to hers. A slight shadow of confusion crossed the beautiful features at his lack of reaction. ‘And in Asturica Augusta she gets what she wants.’ Still Valerius didn’t respond and she took his head again and pulled his face to hers, lips pressing almost painfully hard against his. Eventually she pulled away, cheeks pink with indignation. ‘Are you made of stone?’

  Valerius laughed and rose to his feet. ‘By no means.’ He shook his head. ‘You are a very attractive woman, but I am a married man.’

  ‘A married man who has not seen his wife for many weeks …’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And who I sense has lacked female company.’

  Valerius felt the blood rise to his face. ‘There is also the question of your husband. The servants …’

  ‘My husband questions neither my movements nor my actions.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I cannot afford to alienate him.’

  The fire in her eyes subsided but when she stepped closer he could smell the desire on her. ‘Why are you here, Valerius? Why are you in Asturica?’

  ‘To find Petronius.’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head so the mane of dark curls danced in the lamplight. ‘Petronius’s disappearance may be the excuse, but not the reason. There is more to it.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I see it now. The visit to the mine. All these questions. You haven’t come to find Petronius, you have come to replace him. But what is it you seek? And what if I could help you discover it? What then, Gaius Valerius Verrens? Would you accede to a lady’s whim if she helped you to achieve your mission?’ She reached out to place a finger on his chest, testing the hard muscle there. ‘An inconsequential night of freedom. Two fine bodies taking pleasure from each other.’ She drew in a breath at the image she created. ‘And such pleasure, Valerius. Pleasure as you have never experienced it before or will ever again.’

  Her hunger was so powerful Valerius had to take a step back. ‘You flatter me, Calpurnia.’ He knew there was no point in denying her instinct about Petronius and his mission. ‘But I have nothing to offer you.’

  Her nostrils flared, but she made no move towards him. ‘Very well, Gaius Valerius Verrens, but remember this. One day you will need a friend in this city and you may discover I am not a forgiving woman.’

  XXV

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It was as you said,’ Tito told his father as he dismounted from his pony. ‘They have weakened the guard on the convoys from the mines to Asturica Augusta.’

  ‘To draw us in and destroy us.’

  The younger man nodded. ‘The hook-noses had left their tracks all over the hills north and south of the road. There are hundreds of them. A half-cohort of legionaries too, camped in a gully, but on the alert.’ Serpentius noticed he had something bundled behind his saddle. Tito untied it and hefted it from the horse’s back. It was obviously of great weight and he dropped it at Serpentius’s feet. ‘A gift,’ he said solemnly, ‘from one warrior to another.’

  ‘Where did you get this?’ Serpentius studied the tight-knit mail shirt, noting the brighter patches where it had been repaired and the places where the rings had been forced together by the impact of a blow. Men had fought and died in this relic. Still, it was of good quality. But what was this? Tito was watching him as he inspected it. ‘I said, where did you get this,?’ Serpentius demanded with more urgency.

  ‘There was a man. He was being hunted by the hook-noses. A Roman … I wasn’t sure what to do, but there was something about him.’ He shrugged, unable to fully explain his actions. ‘I decided to help. He gave me the mail in thanks. Did I do wrong?’

  Serpentius ignored the question and fingered one of the mail’s leather straps where it had been repaired. ‘What was he like, this Roman?’

  ‘Tall, lean and dark, with a scar on his cheek, here,’ he ran a finger down the left side of his face from eye to lip.

  ‘No, what was he like?’

  Tito searched for the correct words. ‘Not frightened. Angry. Fierce. He looked down upon his enemies like a hawk waiting to strike, but they were too many and well armed.’ The young man stared at his father as his thoughts converged on a conclusion. ‘Menacing. He reminded me of you.’

  Serpentius shook his head and his expression took on a faraway look. ‘And was there some mark – other than the scar – that would identify him?’

  ‘His right hand was made of wood.’

  Tito watched his father’s face for a reaction, but Serpentius had long ago learned to keep his emotions to himself. Inside, his mind was racing. Valerius here? But how? And more important, why? Their last meeting had been in Jerusalem with Serpentius lying face down on a bed with an open sword wound in his back, delirious from pain and fever. He had only the vaguest memory of their parting, but he was certain there had been a mention of Rome and Tabitha, the Judaean princess who had stolen Valerius’s heart. A marriage? Why then would he leave his new bride to come to the seething snake pit of Asturica?

  Gaius Valerius Verrens was a dangerous man, almost as dangerous as Serpentius himself. Yes, they had been friends, but time and circumstance could erode the strongest of friendships. Valerius was a Roman and in Serpentius’s experience most Romans were the most pragmatic of creatures, willing to sacrifice whatever it took as a means to an end.

  Someone had been stealing gold the Romans claimed as their own, though it came from the earth Asturians had hunted, ploughed and lived upon for a thousand generations. Someone had decided Serpentius made a convenient scapegoat for the banditry and murder. He’d been meant to die deep in the mine at the hands of Cyclops. And there his crimes would have died with him, leaving the true perpetrators to find new, more subtle avenues to satisfy their avarice. Now he was on the loose, a hunted beast in the mountains he had once called home. That same someone knew exactly how dangerous he was, both as a warrior and as a threat to the conspiracy. The Parthian auxiliaries were scouring the hills for him, but how much more appropriate to send a friend, equally dangerous – a sword masked by a smile – to draw him out?

  Yet the Serpentius who had ridden at Valerius’s side struggled with this logic. Honour and loyalty were Gaius Valerius Verrens’ code. A code not just to live by, but to die for. Serpentius had been his slave, his tentmate and his friend. He couldn’t believe a man like Valerius would betray that friendship.

  Unless it was in the greater interests of Rome.

  It came to him in a tumble of half-formed memories. At one of their meetings Petronius had let slip that the man he reported to was the most important official in Hispania Tarraconensis. Just after he arrived in Asturica, Serpentius had heard a whisper that a man called Gaius Plinius Secundus had been appointed proconsul of the province. Plinius Secundus had been one of the few men prepared to speak for Valerius at his trial for treason after the death of Vitellius. Serpentius remembered him as a man of patent honesty and intelligence. When Pliny’s eyes and ears in the north ceased to function what would be more natural than that he call on the man most capable of replacing them: Valerius.

  ‘You did the right thing,’ Serpentius told his son.

  His father’s praise seemed to make Tito grow a little taller, but he was still wary. ‘Is this man’s presence enough to make you change your plans?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ the Spaniard said thoughtfully. ‘But it depends why he’s here in Asturica. Perhaps the Parthians were trying to kill him, but there is always the possibility they only wanted us to think that. Whatever we decide he must be watched. I want to know his movements, who he meets, where and when. You were right. He is a dangerous man, probably the most dangerous I have ever known.’

  ‘So you do know him?’ Tito’s voice held a hint of irritation: why not just say it?

  ‘I was his slave�
�’

  Tito gave a snort of disgust. ‘Then I should have killed him—’

  ‘—but he gave me my freedom and I became his friend.’

  ‘There is no friendship between us and them.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is true. He saved my life, more than once, and I his.’

  ‘Then you owe him nothing.’

  Serpentius laughed at his son’s certainty. ‘There are no debts between friends,’ he corrected.

  ‘I still think I should have killed him.’

  The Spaniard smiled. ‘You couldn’t kill me. What makes you think you could kill a man who won the Gold Crown of Valour. A Hero of Rome who fought his way from the northern fastness of Britannia to the desert wastes of Africa and Armenia. A man who broke a legionary battle line and opened the way for his men to take their eagle?’

  For a moment Tito looked almost impressed. He understood that to take a legion’s eagle, the standard placed in its care by the Emperor himself, was to take its soul and bring dishonour to every man who allowed it to happen. The look vanished as quickly as it appeared. ‘Just stories,’ he said. ‘Campfire tales that turn men into giants.’

  ‘Not stories,’ Serpentius shook his head. ‘I was with him every step of the way when he broke that line.’

  ‘You sound as if you admire him.’

  ‘He is a certain kind of Roman.’ The older man seemed to look inside himself. ‘I learned to hate the Romans. Oh, how I learned to hate them, as they howled at me to take the next life or spill the next blood. I hated them as they laughed at the agonies of a man crawling through the sand with his guts trailing behind him. Or a gladiator staring at the stumps of his wrists and his life pouring out of his veins. Let us be entertained, they would cry, and I would lust to be among them with a sword in my hand, hunting them like chickens and sending their heads flying.’ He sighed, a deep, aching sigh as if it pained him to admit what followed. ‘Yet there is another type of Roman, rare as a phoenix egg. Stern and unyielding, but brave to the point of foolishness. A Roman prepared to purchase the burned-out shell of a gladiator to save him from certain death in the arena. To treat him like a man. To give him his freedom and to offer an Asturian outcast his friendship. Valerius is that kind of Roman, Tito, the kind that allows you to understand how they could conquer the world and then rule it when they were done. Titus, the Emperor’s son, is another. But with a harder edge. Fail him and you will end up hanging from a cross. There is no hatred or malice in Valerius. He thinks he can kill without conscience, but the shades of the men who die by his sword weigh heavily on his mind.’