Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7]

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘Yes.’ Tito looked back to where Julia lay. ‘Of course. Our scouts reported two hook-nose columns approaching the castro from different directions. We were close to being overwhelmed by families fleeing from the other villages and we were too few to face the Parthians. It made sense to retreat to the sanctuary before they were too close.’ His face darkened. ‘I’d been told that the last of the refugees had come in, but these people must have arrived just as night fell. They had no way of knowing the route to the sanctuary and they must have been exhausted. The hook-noses would have seen their fires and waited to strike at dawn.’ He shook his head. ‘I should have left a man here to guide them to the caves.’

  ‘Better that you did not,’ Valerius assured him. ‘All he would have done is lead the Parthians to the sanctuary and you would all be dead by now. What I don’t understand is why they killed everyone when your father tells me they are desperate for labour for the mines?’

  Tito’s dark eyes drifted to where Serpentius was mustering the men into teams to gather the dead and dig pits to bury them. ‘Come with me.’ He led Valerius back to where they’d left Julia, but they bypassed the girl and instead approached one of the bandaged survivors. He lay on his back staring at the sky and Valerius felt the bile rise in his throat as he noticed the tribesman had no hands.

  ‘They let him live,’ Tito explained. ‘But they left him like this. The hook-nose commander, the prefect Harpocration, first gave him a message to be passed on to the people of these hills, then made him repeat it. When he was satisfied, he ordered his men to hold out first one arm, then the other, over a wooden barrel, and chopped his hands off.’ His eyes drifted to Valerius’s wooden fist, but his expression didn’t alter and Valerius saw that he was like his father in more than just looks.

  ‘What was the message?’ Valerius asked, though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

  ‘Cadriolo,’ Tito bent over the injured man, ‘tell the lord what the hook-nose devil told you to say.’

  At first Cadriolo didn’t seem to hear, but gradually his eyes focused on Valerius. ‘He was like a wild beast.’ His voice was a hoarse, pain-racked whisper. ‘First he killed my wife. Then my children. Why did he not kill me?’

  ‘The message, Cadriolo,’ Tito insisted. ‘Tell us the message.’

  Cadriolo raised himself on his elbows, his neck muscles bulging with the enormous effort. Pink appeared on the bandages over his stumps and quickly turned red. ‘Tell them that the Ghost brought this upon them, but …’ his voice wavered and almost died, ‘but they should know they can stop it by delivering his head to the Prefect Harpocration of the First ala Parthorum at Legio.’ With his final words the injured man fell back and resumed staring at the sky.

  ‘And that was all?’ Valerius asked him. ‘That was everything he said?’

  ‘If it is not,’ Tito turned away, ‘he will never tell us now.’

  XXXVII

  The Asturians buried their dead in four large pits, but Valerius was busy elsewhere as they wept over the innocents slaughtered by Claudius Harpocration and his Parthians. As Serpentius had predicted, Tito was able to supply stylus, ink and the finest lambskin parchment stolen from Lucius Octavius Fronton’s library. The Roman shut himself in a burned-out house that had been cleared for the purpose and for three hours laboured to distil all he’d discovered into a report that would galvanize Gaius Plinius Secundus to act immediately against the conspiracy.

  When he was satisfied with what he’d written, Valerius tied up the scroll with a strip of leather and emerged into the sunshine. Tito and Serpentius stood beside the edge of the last pit as a priest said the rites over the dead.

  Valerius had a feeling some of the villagers were unhappy with the brevity of the ceremony. Tito explained that the warriors would normally be taken up the mountain to special burial platforms.

  ‘In our religion it is the tradition that the flesh of the bravest is devoured by carrion birds who repay us by carrying their souls to heaven,’ he said. ‘The bodies of these people,’ he pointed to the grave, ‘should be burned and their ashes scattered on the fields. We have no time to make the journey to the high peaks or collect wood to cremate so many dead. Our first priority must be to repair the castro and ensure the living have shelter and to replant the fields swiftly so there is food enough for the winter.’

  Valerius watched until the pit was filled in, the dirt covering the pale, dead faces. ‘I need your most reliable man to carry this to Legio.’ He handed the scroll to Serpentius. ‘He should go to the tavern by the bridge and ask for Marius. If Marius isn’t there he must wait, but without attracting attention.’

  ‘Caeleo can take it,’ Tito said to his father. ‘He’s sold skins at the market in Legio often enough to know his way about the place. If anyone recognizes him he’s just another familiar face.’

  He called to a small wizened man dressed in a scuffed leather jerkin and striped trews and explained his mission.

  Caeleo grinned, showing three blackened teeth. ‘A child could do this,’ he said gleefully. ‘I have a batch of pelts that are ready to go. I might even make a profit.’

  ‘Just make sure the scroll is delivered,’ Serpentius warned him. ‘You will be well rewarded. But you must stay clear of the hook-noses.’

  ‘Of course,’ Caeleo nodded. ‘And that bastard tax collector at the fort.’

  The goat hunter disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a mule that must have been secreted in some nearby cavern or hidden gully. Valerius handed him a few coins that would make a prolonged stay in the tavern less onerous. They watched as he led the mule up the eastern track from Avala with the scroll hidden in one of the panniers strapped to the animal’s back.

  ‘Well, that’s it.’ Valerius and Serpentius exchanged a glance. ‘There’s nothing else we can do until we get word from Nepos.’

  Serpentius was about to reassure his friend there were fields to dig, crops to plant and houses to clear, but Tito’s voice cut him short. ‘There may be.’

  They turned and saw the diminutive figure of Julia at his side. She stood straight and as tall as she could make herself, with a look of unshakable resolution on her fine features.

  ‘Tito made it clear to me.’ She took the bearded Zoelan’s hand and he squeezed her fingers. ‘They were my people.’ She allowed her eyes to slip over the freshly turned earth of the grave pits. ‘Roman auxiliaries may have wielded the swords that killed them, but my father and his friends were the cause. If I can do anything to stop it happening again I cannot shirk that duty, for the honour of my family. This is about the gold? The papers he keeps in the strongbox in the storeroom?’

  ‘We believe so.’ Valerius’s heart quickened. Could this be the moment of Fortuna’s favour they had been hoping for? But the feeling quickly passed. In all honour he couldn’t send this child where he couldn’t go himself. ‘But you cannot be responsible for your father’s deeds.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ She met his gaze. ‘But I have another reason. If they are discovered, his life will be at risk.’

  ‘Either his so-called friends will kill him,’ Valerius admitted, ‘for we know they regard him as a liability. Or he will find himself kneeling under the executioner’s blade when it ends, as it must. They cannot succeed, Julia.’

  ‘Then it is my duty as his daughter to try to save him,’ she said purposefully. ‘If I succeed in persuading him to give me the documents will you promise to speak for him when the time comes?’

  ‘I give you my word,’ Valerius said. ‘But you must know he is unlikely to escape punishment entirely. The best he can hope for is exile somewhere on the edge of the Empire.’

  She exchanged a glance with Tito and he nodded. ‘Then so be it.’ She swayed and a visible shudder ran through her, a sign of what this was costing her. Valerius felt a swell of admiration at the enormous fount of courage that existed in that slim form. ‘We should go now?’ The question was directed at Tito.

  Serpentius opened his mo
uth to deny them his permission, but shut it again like a bear trap. Nothing he could say would make any difference. Julia wouldn’t change her mind and Tito was just as capable as his father in this country. He knew the hidden valleys and barely passable heights that would keep him out of reach of Harpocration’s patrols.

  Valerius reached out to lay his left hand on Tito’s arm. ‘Look after her.’

  ‘Of course.’ The young man nodded and walked away to arrange the horses and an escort.

  ‘I have only met your father once,’ Valerius said to the girl. ‘But my advice would be not to push him too hard. He is under great pressure and if he feels trapped he may react in a way you don’t anticipate. If he refuses, be prepared to walk away.’ He hesitated, but it had to be said. ‘It is possible that you could be going into danger.’

  ‘My father would never harm me.’ She said it with force, but he had a feeling she wasn’t so certain.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said gravely. ‘But you will think on my words?’

  She gave an apologetic nod and turned to her horse. Like many women aristocrats Julia was perfectly at home in the saddle, though she rode aside, with one leg hooked over the pommel beneath her skirts. Tito helped her into her seat.

  Valerius returned to Serpentius’s side and they watched the little group of riders pick their way up the hill as they headed south. The Spaniard’s lined features looked set in stone.

  ‘It’s never easy to watch others ride out to do a task you think you should be doing yourself,’ Valerius consoled his friend.

  ‘For twenty years and more I thought I was alone.’ Serpentius struggled to control his emotions. ‘If my dead wife and child appeared in my dreams I drove them away. I allowed myself to care for no one and nothing. In the arena, I stayed alive to spite the people who placed me there. When you took me from it and gave me hope of freedom I had to choose between life and death. I was forced to remember that I once had a reason for living. I chose life, but hardened my heart against compassion and friendship. Only when our lives became intertwined and the fates brought death so close I could feel the scent of it, did I understand that, even if friendship with a Roman was not possible, perhaps comradeship was. When comradeship develops into brotherhood a man would have to be a fool to refuse it.’ He turned and looked directly into Valerius’s eyes. ‘Yet you are not my son, Valerius. A son is the mirror in which you can see all your triumphs and mistakes. A son is your despair and your hope. A son is everything you wished you could be and an accusation of all you are not. And that son, Valerius, is such a son as any man would pray for. For twenty years I did not know he existed. He was nothing to me. Now I do not know what I would do if anything were to happen to him. Even seeing him ride away is tearing my heart out. To think that he would never return—’

  ‘He will return, Serpentius.’ Valerius looked up to where the little group was disappearing over the horizon. ‘Tito is as capable as you,’ his face split into a grin, ‘maybe more capable. It will take more than Claudius Harpocration’s hook-noses to bring him low. And he too has something to protect.’

  A snort of laughter burst from Serpentius; he wrapped an arm that felt like an iron ring around Valerius’s neck. ‘You think me old and spent, Roman. Well, we will see about that. There are fields to dig and wood to hew. Anything to take a man’s mind off the waiting. By the time we’re finished we will see who is old and spent, eh?’

  XXXVIII

  Tito and his band approached Fronton’s estate from an entirely different direction than the night they’d carried out the raid on the villa. Fronton would undoubtedly have discovered where they’d left the horses and his guards would take particular notice. This time a great circular loop brought the Zoelans to an almost imperceptible track that led through the hills from the west. The approach also had the advantage of being covered by a low hogback hill that would give them a vantage point to check out the villa before Tito decided whether Julia could go ahead.

  Not, she’d made him aware, that he was likely to have much say in the matter.

  During her time in Avala they’d been together often, but neither had shown the inclination for deep conversation. It was as if, Tito thought, they had been gauging the effect of close proximity before taking the next step. They had begun at a discreet distance but the gap gradually closed until they could smell each other’s scent. At this point Tito found himself, almost without his own volition, taking a daily visit to the stream that irrigated the settlement’s fields. Julia gave no outward sign of approval, but he took the fact that her nostrils no longer twitched at his presence as progress of a sort.

  They talked, but not about important things. After the first days she’d come to regard her captivity as an adventure to be savoured rather than an ordeal to be endured. She’d been frightened of his father, of course, who would not be, but from the first she’d sensed something in him – Tito – that made her feel safe. From the first time he’d seen her he’d felt a protective instinct. He would have killed anyone who’d touched her. Even his father? The question had been accompanied by an impish sideways look. His father would never harm anyone innocent or helpless. He hadn’t been sure that was true, but he was certain Serpentius would never harm Julia.

  The only serious exchange occurred after the massacre when Julia had recovered from her faint. She’d been devastated by what had been done to people who, whatever their circumstances, came from the same lineage as her own.

  ‘What did they do to deserve such a fate?’ she’d asked.

  With anyone else he’d have been angry. What did she mean by ‘deserve’? What could someone do that would justify being hounded from their homes and slaughtered? That was when he’d told her about the gold and her father’s part in the plot to steal it. How Claudius Harpocration and his Parthian butchers carried out the bidding of the men involved. At first she’d refused to believe him, but gradually realization replaced disbelief – she’d experienced her father’s changing moods and odd absences – and was followed, in that mercurial way she had, by resolve. He must be saved if that were possible, but even if he could not be saved this must stop. Would he help her?

  The long ride to her father’s estate had provided a different opportunity. As the hours passed and the endless miles flowed by, her thoughts had moved on from what was to come in the hours ahead, to what might become of them. It had taken him a number of miles to understand what was happening, but gradually he became aware of what she was saying to him.

  They led different lives, yes, but that should not matter to what might happen in the future. She talked of her life, and his, and of Rome, the unifier. He bridled: Rome was no unifier, Rome was the enemy.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘That is the way it has been in the past, but you have to understand, Tito, that Asturica Augusta is not Rome. This is not the way it has to be. My father might be little more than a country gentleman, but he has entertained some of the most important men in the Empire – senators and governors – and I listened to what they had to say. The Empire offers possibilities, it offers opportunity, it offers stability. It is not in the Empire’s interest to have this constant enmity and conflict. Of one being the aggressor and one the subdued. I have travelled to Gaul, where the Gauls live their own lives and cling to their old ways and their old gods, and are allowed to do so within reason. Yes, they pay taxes to Rome and their lives are bound by a legal system created by Rome, but Gauls sit in the Senate beside Romans born on the seven hills. They have the power to change the laws they live by. Hispania Tarraconensis could be like that, but not if Melanius and Severus have their way.’

  She drew in her horse and stared at him. ‘If we can stop them, Tito, the people of this land will have an opportunity to petition Rome for change, but it cannot just be left to the ordo of Asturica Augusta. It must be an alliance of all Asturians, the people of the hills and the plains, as well as the people of the cities. That means brave men must be prepared to come forward to represent thei
r people. Men like you.’

  Tito felt the blood rush to his face at the mix of emotions she ignited within him. Was this what she really thought of him? Some kind of hero? He wanted to be the man she noticed, but he knew he was not. She’d seen the way the others deferred to him and thought he was a leader, like his father. But he was only a leader because he could knock the others down with fighting sticks when they were practising spear craft. Because he could climb faster and jump further than any man in Avala.

  ‘I would not know what to say,’ he kept his tone light. ‘I have never travelled further than Asturica or Legio. It is my father you should try to persuade, a man who has known emperors and generals and spoken to them as an equal.’ She grimaced at him and turned away and he sought to ease her disappointment. ‘Only a few days ago his friend, the Roman Valerius, told him of changes the governor in Tarraco had spoken of. Something called civitas that would be extended beyond the cities.’

  Julia brightened. ‘Don’t you see, Tito, civitas means Roman citizenship for the people of Hispania. Citizenship opens the door to the opportunities I spoke of. Those with the resources, the access and the ability will be able to rise under Rome, and with their rise will come the power to change and improve the lives of those around them. It does not have to be the way it is.’

  ‘I will think on it,’ he said, and they rode on in silence.

  They reached the top of the rise with an hour of daylight left. The villa complex lay at the centre of a huge bowl laid out before them, ringed with orchards and olive groves strung with grape vines. Below them a track hugged the bottom of the hill before curving away through the fields to the villa. Julia had already decided she would wait till dusk to make her approach. Her arrival at that hour would give her the rest of the evening to persuade her father. If she succeeded, she would slip out in the morning and bring the documents to Tito. It would not be easy to persuade her father that cooperation was in his best interests, but she was sure that given time she could convince him. There must be no interruptions, she insisted, so Tito agreed to stay with the others and wait for her signal.