Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7]

by Douglas Jackson

  A snort of derision, but she didn’t storm from the room or fly at him with her long nails. ‘You think you know me, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Because I am a woman you have the presumption to treat me as if I am weak and powerless. Yet you are much mistaken.’ Her tone changed and her words emerged like lashes of the whip, each stinging more than the one that had gone before. ‘My family owned a small cloth-making enterprise in Carthago Nova, but my father was a drunkard and we would have been destitute if my mother and I hadn’t taken control. By the time I was fifteen I was running the business. Five years later I had expanded it tenfold. Severus didn’t marry me for my beauty, or even the promise of this body. He married me because of my ability, my intelligence and my strength of will. It was I who encouraged him to join the ordo, and who gave him the ambition to become a duovir and made him a power in Asturica Augusta.’

  ‘Then you know, or at least suspect, what Severus is involved in.’ Valerius waved his wooden fist to encompass the room, with its sumptuous wall hangings and marble statuary. ‘You undoubtedly benefit from the proceeds. Perhaps you approve. I like to think that you do not, but maybe it excites you to be part of something illicit?’ He waited for her to interrupt, or deny, but she just stared at him. ‘But have you considered what it means to even share a house with Severus? Innocent or guilty, your silence and proximity implicates you in what he has been doing. If Severus and his friends are arrested, the first thing the governor will do is confiscate their property. At best, you will be left destitute, at worst, you will lose your liberty or your life.’

  In the long silence that followed the only sound was the whistle of the light breeze through a gap in the outer door. Calpurnia’s face betrayed nothing, but he noticed the fingers of her right hand were twisted in the folds of her stola. To stop them shaking? But with anger or from fear? After what seemed an eternity, she said: ‘Your words are like the ravings of a deranged soothsayer, but I’m curious. If there was any truth in them what would you have me do?’

  Valerius knew the question held a trap, but he had no alternative but to plunge on. ‘There must be things you know that would help someone charged with investigating this matter. You will have seen who comes and goes from this house. Overheard conversations. You know the names of the men he has power over, and perhaps those who have power over him.’

  ‘You would have me betray my husband?’

  Her voice held a contemptuous edge that irritated him beyond constraint. The words were out before he could stop them. ‘You seemed happy enough to betray him when you visited me the other day.’

  The look on her face told him instantly that he’d gone too far. Fury seemed to make her grow and he could see she was only just holding herself in check. ‘I think you should leave,’ she hissed.

  He opened his mouth to urge her to consider what he’d said, but the slightest shake of her head silenced him. He turned to go.

  ‘Of course,’ the words that followed him were perfectly composed, ‘there is another, much simpler solution. If my husband is the dangerous criminal you suggest, all I have to do is ask him to bring me your head on a silver plate.’

  Six fruitless and frustrating days later, Valerius slipped out of his lodgings to meet Cornelius Aurelius Saco at a house in the north of the city, in the Street of the Engravers. ‘It is the home of one of my managers,’ the builder had explained. ‘You will recognize it when you see where the signatores have been at work urging voters to elect honest Lucius Octavius Fronton as aedile instead of the less deserving Cornelius Aurelius Saco.’

  Saco’s man Claudius slipped in behind him as he approached the house and whispered confirmation that he hadn’t been followed. The builder was waiting just inside the door.

  ‘I wish I had better news for you,’ Saco said as they shook hands. ‘I fear I am no closer to finding Petronius’s source or identifying the guiding force behind this nest of thieves. Claudius made enquiries among the neighbours about Petronius’s movements, but either he seldom left the house or he covered his tracks well. No one had noticed any visitors.’

  ‘Petronius would have been careful,’ Valerius acknowledged. ‘Though much good it did him in the end.’

  ‘I will keep looking, but I do not hold out much hope.’ The builder sounded disheartened.

  ‘There may be another way,’ Valerius said. It was something he’d been considering since the confrontation with Calpurnia. ‘If we can’t find Petronius’s source, perhaps we can create one of our own. Severus, Ferox and Fronton can’t be working alone. To siphon off that much gold and cover up its existence would require any number of well-placed people.’

  ‘True,’ Saco agreed. ‘But how many of them would be in a position to supply the kind of evidence the governor requires?’

  ‘All it needs is one.’ Valerius understood the shortcomings of his plan, but they had to start somewhere. ‘You know how things work in Asturica Augusta. Think about how you would go about stealing the gold. Who would you have to corrupt to make it happen? Make a list and together we’ll identify their strengths and weaknesses, starting with the main conspirators.’

  ‘Severus is an opportunist.’ Saco’s lip twisted with contempt. ‘He is driven entirely by greed and he won’t give up what he’s stolen lightly. Ferox knows the fate of an Imperial official who is caught with his hands on Vespasian’s gold. It would be difficult – I think impossible – to turn him against the others.’

  ‘Fronton?’

  Saco nodded slowly. ‘It’s possible. A man frightened of his own shadow. He won’t even look me in the face if we meet on the street. It would depend,’ his eyes drifted to Valerius’s wooden hand, ‘whether he was more frightened of you than he is of Severus and the others. By approaching him you’d risk forcing them to take direct action against you. Let me put together the list you asked for. You know,’ he said, with a rueful smile, ‘in a way it’s a pity. All those people on the thieves’ payroll have contributed to making Asturica Augusta the fine city it is. They buy jewellery for their wives. Horses for their children. They buy the houses I build and rent the apartments I own. Even the lowliest clerk massaging Ferox’s figures. If you – we – succeed, this city will never be the same again.’

  They agreed to another meeting and Valerius returned to his lodgings. As soon as he entered the main room he sensed something had changed. He’d always been a tidy man, even a creature of habit. Tabitha laughed at the way the oil for his stump must always be in the same place. His shaving gear placed precisely so in reach of the bed. The bag containing his spare clothing had been in a certain position, but it had been moved ever so slightly. It was the same with everything else in the room. Servants cleaning? But it had been done only yesterday. The writing materials he’d laid out to record his lack of progress in finding Petronius were also out of place. The scroll case containing Marius’s map. Valerius picked it up and opened the flap. The rolled-up map was still there.

  But the Emperor’s warrant that had been hidden inside it was gone.

  XXXII

  The sound of thunder woke Valerius from a troubled sleep. It took a moment before his stunned mind worked out someone was hammering at the outer door. He’d slept with his wooden fist attached to his wrist and he tightened the laces before pulling a tunic over his head. A new round of frantic knocking reverberated through the house. Where were the servants? At least one of them should have been awake.

  He stepped out of the room. The house was in darkness apart from a single oil lamp illuminating the stairs. There was still no sign of the household staff Severus had allocated him. He ran down the stairs as the hammering continued, but by the time he was able to unbar the door it had stopped. He hesitated for a heartbeat waiting for it to begin again, but all he could hear was the sound of hoarse breathing.

  When he pulled the door inwards a shadowy figure in a hooded cloak slumped towards him and he stepped forward to take the weight of the falling body in his arms. The hood fell back to reveal the twisted, blood-dra
ined features of Cornelius Aurelius Saco. Saco’s right hand clamped convulsively on Valerius’s arm and a soft groan escaped his lips. Valerius looked into the dying man’s eyes and saw a moment of recognition there. Saco tried to say something, and Valerius bowed his head so his ear was close to Saco’s mouth. All that emerged was a long sigh and he felt the all too familiar sensation of life fading from a body. The moment when a living, breathing human being became nothing more than an inert piece of meat. One look at the sightless eyes confirmed his fear and he lowered Saco to the marble tiles.

  The sound of urgent voices echoed in the street and Valerius saw the flicker of torches in the distance. His mind spun. He looked down at what had been a white tunic to see it stained with Saco’s blood that also covered his left hand. A running figure carrying a torch appeared from a cobbled alleyway opposite, quickly followed by another. With relief Valerius recognized the first man as Aurelio, Marcus Atilius Melanius’s servant. Aurelio stared at him and Valerius was about to step into the street to explain what had happened when the grim resolve on the other man’s face transformed into a broad smile.

  ‘Murderer!’

  The cry came from the second man, Saco’s secretary Claudius. A chill ran down Valerius’s spine as it was taken up first by Aurelio then a dozen others who appeared and began to run towards the house. He snatched up the bar with his good hand and kicked the door shut, ramming the wooden crosspiece into place.

  Fists hammered at the door and he could hear Aurelio urging the crowd to action and Claudius extolling the virtues of his late master. Valerius closed his eyes and tried to think. Reason with them? He remembered the look on Aurelio’s face and dismissed the thought. With a last glance at Saco’s body he dashed upstairs to his quarters, blocking the door with a couch and a bed frame. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and waited, heart pounding, knowing this siege could have only one outcome. Better for the orchestrators if the mob tore him limb from limb, but, whatever the outcome, Aurelio would ensure he never appeared before any magistrate.

  Aurelio! Suddenly everything became clear. Saco’s guiding hand belonged to that fat goat’s turd Melanius. Working together it would only have been a matter of time before Valerius and Saco came up with the answer. Melanius couldn’t risk that. Claudius must have been spying on Saco from the start. No wonder they’d been able to act when Petronius was about to make his breakthrough. Valerius remembered the fawning welcome and sumptuous hospitality, the brotherly pats on the shoulder, and prayed that one day he’d have the chance to ram his sword down Melanius’s throat.

  Not that it seemed likely, with the muffled roar of a growing crowd audible on all sides. He checked the windows on to the adjoining street and they must have seen his shadow because he was greeted with a hail of stones for his trouble. Go down fighting then. But could he kill innocents who’d been duped into arresting him by Aurelio and Claudius? He whipped round at a sound from the inner room. Mars’ arse, they’d found a way in already. He ran to the door and hauled it open. And froze.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Don’t just stand there like an idiot.’ A tall, whip-thin figure threw a satchel and Valerius dropped his sword and caught it with his left hand. ‘Put together whatever you think you’ll need to get by in the mountains.’

  ‘The mountains?’

  ‘Would you rather stay here? What started all this?’

  ‘They think I killed someone.’ Valerius found his cloak and stuffed it into the leather satchel.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Not this time. How did you know I was—’

  ‘There’s no time for that now.’ Serpentius sniffed the air. ‘I think I smell smoke.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘Jupiter’s wrinkled balls they’re in a hurry to kill you. What have you done, apart from killing …?’

  ‘Cornelius Saco.’

  ‘A pity, he was a good man.’

  ‘This will have to do.’ Valerius hitched the bag over his shoulder and picked up his sword. ‘What now?’ White smoke billowed from beneath the door and they could see the red glow of fire in the gap. He looked to Serpentius. His old friend had aged in the years since they’d last seen each other. The short stubble that covered his skull was a dull silver and the lines in his ravaged face had deepened, giving him the sunken, decaying look of a week-old corpse. But he was as decisive as he’d ever been.

  ‘The roof,’ Serpentius answered Valerius’s question. ‘Help me with this.’ He pushed a bust from a high table to smash on the marble floor tiles. Valerius sheathed his sword and took an end and they carried the table to the garden room at the rear of the house. It was edged with plant pots and had an opening in the roof to allow rainwater to gather in a small impluvium. ‘This is the way I got in.’

  They positioned the table below the opening and the Spaniard leapt on to it. Balancing as easily as a cat he bent his knees and sprang high enough to allow his claw-like fingers to grasp the edge of the opening. With a swing of the legs and an acrobatic flip of the hips he used his own weight to help drag himself out on to the roof. ‘You now,’ he said to Valerius. ‘What happened to your neck?’ he asked when he saw the raw red line.

  Valerius clambered on to the table with a little more difficulty and stood swaying beneath the opening. ‘Someone tried to kill me. Here, take this.’ He threw the satchel up and Serpentius caught it and pushed it out of sight.

  ‘On three,’ the Spaniard muttered, allowing his arms to dangle as low as possible. Valerius threw himself upwards and Serpentius’s iron grip closed on his wrists. The Spaniard grunted in pain and shifted his grip. Valerius looked up into the agonized rictus of Serpentius’s face as he tensed, and with a convulsive heave pulled Valerius on to the roof.

  ‘I think you’ve put on weight,’ Serpentius said as they lay gasping side by side. They heard a crash from below and a billow of smoke poured into the garden room and out of the opening. Serpentius grunted. ‘That was quick!’

  ‘They want me badly.’ Valerius pushed himself to his feet and picked up the satchel. ‘But not badly enough to let one of Severus’s houses burn down. Time to go.’ He helped Serpentius up. ‘Which way?’

  ‘This will take us to a place where we can get down to the street.’ Serpentius led the way northwards across the roof. ‘Then there’s a little gate in the wall. I have a pair of horses waiting.’

  ‘I should thank you,’ Valerius said formally.

  ‘We’re not clear yet,’ Serpentius spat.

  ‘What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

  ‘When we get to the horses,’ the Roman gasped.

  They heard a furious shouting from behind and leapt down to a lower level just as a head popped out of the opening from which they’d escaped. Eventually they reached a point where they were able to lower themselves to ground level. Serpentius led the way unerringly to an iron gate cut low in the wall, accessed by a set of stairs hidden among scrubby bushes. It opened without a sound and Valerius realized his friend had prepared for just such a situation. He remembered Saco’s talk of the capable character who was Petronius’s eyes and ears and wondered what else Serpentius had prepared for. But that was for later.

  ‘Won’t they follow us?’ he asked as they reached the grove where a big man waited already mounted and holding two horses.

  ‘This is Placido,’ Serpentius informed Valerius. ‘He’s a good man. They’ll send the hook-noses.’

  ‘The Parthians?’ Valerius remembered the bearded native’s name for the auxiliaries.

  ‘That’s right, but it will take them time to gather them. After that,’ Serpentius shrugged as if outdistancing his enemies was an everyday event, ‘we know ways they don’t.’

  ‘And these are very good horses.’ Valerius patted his impressive mount’s shoulder.

  ‘They should be,’ the Spaniard grinned. ‘The day before yesterday they were owned by Lucius Octavius Fronton and he reckons himself
the best judge of horseflesh in the whole of Asturica.’

  They headed north, staying off the roads and moving through gullies and along remote paths barely worthy of the name, bypassing settlements and never seeing another human being. Once or twice Serpentius reacted to some inner sense and drew them into shelter and they listened as a column of horse moved past at a fast clip. When the pursuers were gone the Spaniard would look thoughtful before leading Valerius and Placido off in a different direction.

  As they rode, they swapped stories.

  ‘Vespasian sent me,’ Valerius began. ‘Vespasian and Pliny. The gold yields from the Asturian mines have dwindled since the civil war, as I suspect you know …’ He grunted as his mount lurched across a dried-up stream bed and up the other side. ‘You are this Ghost they all talk about?’

  ‘Someone created a bandit,’ Serpentius said contemptuously. ‘They gave the name to me, but it is all smoke.’ He grinned at Valerius. ‘I wouldn’t have left them with a single bar of gold. No one except the Parthians has ever seen him. The wagon drivers will say nothing because they’re frightened of losing their jobs, or worse. All the wagons are supplied by the same small circle of men, just as all the miners are supplied by the same circle of men, and the bread to feed them, and the timber for pit props and to build the storehouses and the smelting rooms …’

  ‘I was sent here to look for our old friend Marcus Florus Petronius.’ Valerius was watching Serpentius’s face and saw the Spaniard’s bony jaw harden.

  ‘Petronius is dead.’ Serpentius’s voice was as cold as a year-old grave. ‘They accused you of killing Saco. With me it was Petronius.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘I saw him dead. I’d been watching a convoy for him. He suspected the wagons which were supposedly taken in these raids had already been stripped of their gold and he was right. When I went to his house to confirm it he was lying across his desk with his throat cut. He was a good man, and clever, but he was too trusting. Someone betrayed him.’