‘The simple answer is greed,’ Nepos said glumly. ‘By the time Melanius persuaded them to stop it would have been too late. But he’d already insisted they stockpile a fifth of what they’d stolen for contingencies and in case of emergency.’
‘Stockpile where?’ Serpentius growled.
‘That I never discovered,’ the engineer insisted. ‘But I suspect Ferox would have allocated him a storehouse in one of the mine complexes for his own use. Where better to hide a hoard of stolen gold than in a place you’d expect to find the metal legitimately?’
‘How did you arrange your meetings with Petronius?’
Nepos’s face fell as he realized that nothing he’d said had changed anything. Valerius still wanted him to steal the documents.
‘Sometimes we arranged them in advance, otherwise I would place a message behind a loose brick in the wall behind this house. Petronius had it checked every day.’
‘Then we will do the same. We will meet at a time and in a place of your choosing. Somewhere you feel secure. Do you understand, Hostilius?’
‘Yes, lord,’ the mining engineer bowed his head.
‘You have a week,’ Valerius smiled.
XXXV
‘I was wondering …?’
‘Yes?’
‘Why would you be getting our fat little friend to risk his neck for some pieces of papyrus we won’t even be able to read?’
They were heading north from Asturica through a maze of deep valleys and Valerius took his time before he answered. ‘You mean apart from the fact that he’s a dishonest little weasel who’d sell his sister if he thought it would save his neck?’
‘Apart from that.’
‘Because even if we can’t read the cypher I’m gambling that a man as clever as Pliny will be able to find a way. We might only have one chance. Besides, who knows what else he might bring us?’
‘You’re harder than I remember, Valerius.’
Valerius reined in his mount and sighed. ‘I just want to finish this and go home, Serpentius. Get back to Tabitha. Complete the villa and settle down to a normal life. I seem to have been fighting battles or chasing shadows most of my life. I’m sick of it.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Serpentius sounded almost wistful. ‘Sometimes a man just wants to sit back and watch the crops he’s planted grow and ripen. When you’re younger you think you’ll live for ever, but since Jerusalem I’ve felt as if death was riding on my shoulder and counting down the days.’
Valerius contemplated his friend. ‘That’s just the hole in your head talking.’
‘Makes a change from talking out of the hole in my arse.’ The Spaniard urged his horse into movement and Valerius followed. Moments later Serpentius returned at the trot and grabbed Valerius’s reins, hauling his horse off the track and up a tree-filled gully. ‘Hook-nose cavalry,’ he hissed. ‘Two sections and heading this way.’
Valerius held his breath and prayed his horse wouldn’t make any sudden movement. He drew his sword from its scabbard. Not that it would help much against sixteen or seventeen auxiliaries, but it made him feel better. He saw Serpentius had done the same, clenching and unclenching his fingers on the leather-wrapped hilt as he stared at the road. His teeth were gritted and he was breathing hard. If Valerius hadn’t known him better he would have believed he was seeing signs of fear. But this was Serpentius.
The sound of hooves on loose stone and a glimpse of movement between the trees. Valerius’s unfamiliar mount began to dance under him and he almost lost his sword as he used the reins to curb the animal’s antics. Below, he watched the two sections of Parthians pass at a walk in their familiar green tunics and chain armour, seven-foot spears held upright with the ash shafts rammed down the legs of their leather boots.
It was the Parthian way to carry three days’ supplies in bags hung from the saddle, but these men seemed particularly heavily laden. Valerius felt Serpentius tense beside him and he twisted in the saddle to see his friend with a look of impotent fury on the savage features. When he studied the passing riders more closely he understood why. The round bundles tied to the Parthian saddles weren’t supplies, they were heads. Bearded males with wide, gaping mouths, women, young and old, bound to the pommel by their long hair, and fair-headed children staring blank-eyed in fours from hay nets.
Valerius had seen severed heads before. Auxiliary units in Britannia took them to prove they’d dealt with bandit gangs or village chiefs who hadn’t paid their taxes. But this was different. These were innocents whose only crime was to want to be left alone.
They didn’t have to die; the dozens of families who stumbled after the horses in roped bunches were proof of that. Someone, likely Claudius Harpocration, had allowed the Parthians to slake their bloodlust before fulfilling his primary mission of gathering labour for the mines. The rest of the Parthian squadron followed the prisoners with Harpocration at their head, a long whip in his hand to encourage any dawdlers. As he passed the trees where Valerius and Serpentius waited on their horses he seemed to sense something because his head swivelled. For a moment he appeared to be looking directly at them. Valerius’s fingers tensed convulsively on his sword hilt, but the moment passed and Harpocration kicked his horse forward and flicked the whip at a limping straggler.
Serpentius waited till the last of the Parthians had disappeared out of sight. ‘I will kill that man. I swear it on the head of my son.’
Valerius let out a long breath. ‘The only way to return your people to their lands is by stopping Melanius and his gang and bringing this place under direct Roman rule again. I pledge Vespasian’s word that they will be sent back to rebuild their communities.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ Serpentius conceded. ‘But either way he’s a dead man.’
As they travelled deeper into the mountains they discovered that the Parthians had left a blackened corridor through the Asturian settlements. Stone would not burn, and the individual houses still stood, but their contents and anything flammable that lay to hand had been piled inside and set alight.
‘It is as if it is not enough to remove us from the land,’ Serpentius said as they watered their horses in a stream outside one burned settlement. ‘All evidence of our existence must be destroyed, too.’
Valerius surveyed the headless corpses scattered around them. ‘The blood is on Harpocration’s blade, but Melanius is responsible for this. It suits his purpose that men should fear the Parthians and know there will be no mercy for their families if they make trouble.’
‘If he’s going to move, he must act soon.’ The Spaniard stared at the blackened stones that had once been someone’s home.
Valerius nodded. ‘It’s getting late in the season.’
‘You understand I have no choice in this?’ Serpentius said moodily. ‘I do not have the authority or the right to ask my people to stand in their way.’ He looked up to meet Valerius’s eyes. ‘They are many. They are well trained and well armed. We have a few true warriors and some farmers. If it comes to a fight there will be only one outcome.’
‘I understand, Serpentius. A man can only do so much.’
‘I have chewed on the matter like a dog with a bone, but it always comes out the same way.’
‘I understand,’ Valerius repeated. ‘We need Nepos to steal the documents. Afterwards you and I will ride south and hope we reach Pliny in time to pull together some kind of force capable of stopping Melanius.’
‘If the Sixth—’
‘We’ve done what we can. Now it is up to the gods. You trust your man in Asturica? He understands the urgency of the situation?’
‘Allius is a good man and he is not known in the city. He will check the loose brick before noon and after dusk every day. If he finds a message he will bring it directly to us.’
He looked to Valerius for some response, but the one-handed Roman was staring into the distance.
‘I’ve been a fool. I think we must give Pliny a chance to act even without the evidence from Nepos.�
�� He shook his head. ‘Too much the lawyer, Valerius. Too scrupulous about the process.’ He turned to Serpentius. ‘We have the names, we have their methods and we can provide reasonable grounds for suspicion that Melanius is prepared to act against Rome to save his neck. Once Pliny has the information it will be up to him what to do, but he must have it. Is there any chance of laying our hands on some writing materials?’
‘Tito insisted we carry stylus, ink and parchment from Fronton’s estate. He had some notion of young Julia writing a plea to her father to give up the information he has in exchange for her life.’
‘Her life?’
Serpentius gave him a wry grin. ‘He follows her around like a moonstruck calf and she’s no better. If anyone goes near her his hand twitches for his sword. He reminds me of me, but,’ his tone turned sober once more, ‘it is all very well committing the details to parchment. How do we get it to Pliny? I couldn’t guarantee any of my men bar Tito would ever find their way to Tarraco, and he won’t go unless the girl goes with him.’
‘I have a way of getting information to the governor.’ Valerius struggled not to sound embarrassed.
Serpentius raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t trust me.’
‘Of course I trust you.’ Valerius tugged on his horse’s reins and directed him north. ‘It just didn’t come up.’
‘And what if something happened to you? Not that it is likely, of course, what with all the friends you’ve made in Asturica.’
Valerius grinned at him and shook his head. ‘There’s a tavern by the bridge as you enter Legio. A young Imperial courier called Marius is sweet on one of the barmaids …’
XXXVI
They sensed something was wrong as soon as they crossed the rise above Avala.
Serpentius studied the cloudless blue sky over the settlement where dark specks wheeled in the upper atmosphere. ‘Carrion birds.’ He drew his sword and would have put his heels to his mount, but Valerius laid a hand on his shoulder.
‘Wait. Remember the field by the Rhodanus. Buzzards and crows and a Batavian ambush.’ They’d been fortunate to survive that day by the river when the bloated corpses blackened in the sun and the horsemen burst whooping from the trees. ‘It won’t do any good getting ourselves killed. If those things scattered by the gate are what I think they are, nothing will ever do them good again.’
‘Tito.’ Serpentius’s voice cracked with emotion.
‘Tito is his father’s son,’ Valerius said harshly. ‘He’s too clever to be taken by a few dozen lumbering auxiliaries.’
But judging by the signs as they gentled their horses down the slope, there had been many more than a few dozen. ‘Two hundred at least,’ Serpentius estimated as he looked out across the trampled crops. ‘Harpocration brought most of his cavalry. If the infantry were with them …’
If the infantry accompanied them they would have been strong enough to fight their way through the passes to the sanctuary. The closer they came to the castro the clearer it became that this was no sweep to round up workers for the mines. It was a massacre.
Valerius and Serpentius took their time, eyes searching for any sign of threat, but gradually they relaxed. They were alone except for the dead.
Hundreds of bodies lay scattered across the cultivated ground around the blackened remains of the castro. They lay in little mixed clumps where the menfolk had vainly attempted to protect their loved ones, or were scattered around individually, the swiftest cut down as they’d tried to flee. Valerius looked down into the dead eyes of a dark-haired boy of ten whose skull had been cloven from brow to teeth. A halo of blood, brain and bone fragments surrounded his head and the still figure of a girl who might have been his sister stretched out a forlorn hand towards him. Her curly blonde hair fluttered softly in the light breeze.
Valerius directed a questioning glance at Serpentius and the Spaniard shook his head with a frown. Serpentius dismounted and led his horse by the reins from one little group of fallen to the next, searching the faces for one he recognized, or turning over what looked like a familiar form.
Eventually, he stood surveying the field of dead. ‘I don’t understand it. There’s no one from Avala among them.’
‘We should check the houses,’ Valerius said. ‘If nothing else we might find a couple of shovels.’
‘You’ll bury them?’
‘As many of them as we can before dark. They deserve at least that.’
Serpentius hid his surprise. Death was no stranger to them. They’d both left friends to rot in the past when necessity demanded it. Maybe they were getting old.
The puzzle of the lack of familiar faces was partially solved when they approached the settlement. Dark patches of ash and the charred remains of blackened branches showed where scores of fires had been kindled and lit.
‘They must have come here for shelter when their own villages were attacked,’ Serpentius guessed. ‘But why would Tito not have taken them on to the sanctuary?’
‘I suspect we’ll find out in the morning.’
The light was fading and their muscles ached by the time they bedded down amongst the rocks overlooking Avala’s northern flank with not a twentieth of the dead beneath the earth. One way or the other tomorrow would be a long day.
The first hint of dawn was showing as an orange-pink line that silhouetted the peaks on the eastern horizon when Serpentius shook Valerius by the shoulder. The Roman raised himself up and bit his lip to stifle a groan at the pain in his back and hips. A little manual labour and he was scarcely more than a cripple. He must be getting soft. Or old. Serpentius peered through a gap between two rocks at the village below.
‘What is it?’ Valerius whispered.
‘Movement.’ The Spaniard summoned him with a jerk of the head and moved to the side. Valerius slithered across to take his place. The ground below was covered by a layer of mist and it took him a few moments before he saw it. The sight sent a shiver through him. Disembodied torsos seeming to float on the haze. Had the dead risen? Don’t be a fool. The dead are just the dead, you’ve killed enough people to know that. He looked to Serpentius.
‘I don’t know.’ The Spaniard spoke so softly Valerius struggled to hear him. ‘They came from behind us, in the direction of the sanctuary. Maybe the Parthian commander sent a cohort of infantry to slaughter our people, then told them to wait for our return?’
Valerius thought about it and shook his head. ‘No. Harpocration might be a psychopath, but he’s no fool. He’d have left half a squadron of horse in case we were able to make a run for it. There’s nothing Harpocration would like better than to place our heads at Melanius’s feet.’
A terrible scream rent the air and Serpentius leapt to his feet. This time Valerius didn’t have the chance to stop him. All he could do was follow as the Spaniard sprang from rock to rock until he reached the fields leading down to the castro. No time to contemplate what lay ahead down there in the mist. The bright blades and the spurting blood and the blessed release of the last cut. More screams, but now Valerius recognized them for what they were. Not the scream of someone in pain, but the prolonged cries of unbearable grief. His legs almost gave way with relief. He’d been certain he was charging to his death. Great Jupiter hear my prayer. If I survive this I’ll never stray from my hearth again.
By now the sun was over the horizon and the mist cleared to a few stray wisps. Across the fields below Avala hundreds of men and women stood or knelt over the bodies of the slaughtered families. Some plainly knew the dead and their cries were painful to hear, but most just mourned the violent passing of another human being.
A few people recognized him and he heard muttering among the men. Several turned to stare at him and their hands twitched over their daggers, held back only by the sword in his hand. He was a Roman and Romans had brought this upon their people. It would only take one a little braver than the rest and he’d be cut to pieces under a hail of scything blades.
‘Gaius Valerius Verrens is a friend of the Zoelan
people,’ a harsh voice cut the silence. ‘And he is under my protection. If any one of you wishes to dispute that I will be pleased to accommodate you. For me, there are enough Asturians who will be under the earth by tonight and we will need every able-bodied man to put them there.’
Serpentius stood with an arm around his son, the first time Valerius had seen him show physical affection to another male. Julia Octavia Fronton was a few paces behind Tito’s shoulder, her face a pale ghostly white. Even as Valerius watched she cried out and crumpled to the ground. Tito wrenched himself from his father and ran to her side.
The young warrior picked her up tenderly and carried her off to where some of the women were raising water from the village well. Nearby lay a number of badly wounded tribespeople who had somehow survived the Parthian attack.
‘So they’re all safe?’ Valerius asked. ‘The people of Avala?’
‘Not all, but most.’ Serpentius’s face had a haunted look. ‘I must organize the burials. Tito will tell you what happened.’
The Spaniard strode away, leaving Valerius trying to rationalize the pointless slaughter. Did the Parthians think they’d wiped out Serpentius’s band, or was this part of some wider plan? He walked to where Tito watched as one woman bathed Julia’s brow with a wet cloth while another placed a ladle to her lips. ‘I will be all right in a moment,’ the girl whispered. She tried to raise herself, but the elder of the women pushed her back.
‘I will tell you when you can get up, girl. You may leave her with us, young Tito,’ she said with a sly smile. ‘This is no place for a man.’
Tito’s cheeks turned red and he noticed Valerius for the first time. ‘She fainted.’ The unnecessary explanation was coupled with a look of baffled innocence that made the bearded warrior appear for a moment like a ten-year-old child. ‘So many dead, and killed by her own people – it overcame her.’
‘Not her own people,’ Valerius said. ‘A band of Parthian mercenaries in the pay of a gang of Roman crooks. Your father said you would tell me what happened.’
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