‘Then let us continue, and at greater speed,’ Serpentius said with passion. ‘I feel the same and if I am any judge the torch has only a few minutes left in it.’
Josephus acknowledged him with a weak nod and passed back the torch. With a last wistful glance at the inscription he followed in the wake of the fading glow, his feet increasing speed with every step.
Valerius counted another six hundred paces before they noticed that the pitch darkness of the tunnel turned to a leaden grey a little further ahead. He exchanged a glance with Serpentius and the Spaniard dashed the spluttering torch into the water where it died with a hiss of complaint, plunging them into total darkness. Valerius sensed Josephus freeze and took his arm before he could cry out. ‘Courage. This is where you must play your part. Tell me what awaits us beyond the tunnel.’
The Judaean took a moment to compose himself. ‘As I understand it, we should emerge at the Pool of Siloam, which was the main water supply in the time of David.’
‘But you’re not certain?’
‘How can I be certain? I have never come this way before.’
‘So the exit could be guarded.’
‘It is possible, but I do not believe so.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the outflow is usually three feet underwater.’
‘But that means …’
‘It has been an unusually dry period,’ Josephus agreed. ‘I doubt we would have made fifty paces otherwise.’
‘And if there had been a sudden storm?’
‘I knew that God would be with us.’
‘Can we stop discussing the weather?’ Serpentius interrupted. ‘We’re here and we’re alive, but if we don’t get this done before daylight we may not be for much longer.’
He led the way slowly forward, guided by a low arch of not quite darkness fifty paces ahead. As he approached it, the tunnel widened and he whispered to Valerius to join him. After the total darkness the power of their eyes seemed intensified. Despite the gloom they could see the still waters of a large rectangular pool laid out before them, flanked by steps on every side. Beyond the steps to Valerius’s left a massive wall blocked the view. He guessed it was the actual outer fortification of this part of the city, or perhaps it was an inner wall of equal strength. Titus’s fortress within a fortress, within a fortress. To his right the steps were backed by a pillared portico. He imagined it filled with chattering women making the most of the opportunity to socialize while they were collecting water. But now it was empty and as far as he could tell there were no guards. Serpentius must have thought so, for he swung himself out to get a view of this northern end of the complex.
‘Simple,’ he said, and reached up to haul himself upwards. A moment after he’d vanished a hand appeared and Valerius allowed himself to be helped up on to a raised platform. They grinned at each other in a moment of spontaneous relief at being in the open after the long ordeal of the tunnel.
‘Don’t just stand there.’ Josephus’s urgent plea emerged from the darkness. ‘Get me out of here.’
Together they pulled him clear of the tunnel and he spent a moment rearranging the skirts of his robe before studying his surroundings. ‘Yes, it is exactly as I remembered it.’ He led the way round the pool to the portico where a gateway led to what was presumably the street. The door was closed.
Valerius pushed at it, but it held firm. When he looked closer he saw it was bolted, the bolt fixed with some kind of padlock.
Josephus pushed past him, rummaging in his bag. ‘An ingenious contraption, but for any lock there must be a key.’
He fiddled with the padlock for a moment before Valerius heard a sharp snick and the rasp of the bolt sliding back.
‘I thought you said you hadn’t been here before?’
‘No, I said I had not been through the tunnel. I hoped this was where it would emerge and God favoured me.’
Serpentius pushed at the door and peered through the opening into the street.
‘Looks like we’re on our own,’ he whispered. ‘Which way?’
They’d broken into the besieged city of Jerusalem. The question was whether they’d ever get back out again.
XXXII
‘Look again.’ Despite the peril of their situation the level of anxiety in Josephus’s voice surprised Valerius. ‘They told me we would be met.’
Serpentius opened the gate and looked up and down the broad avenue outside. ‘Nothing,’ the Spaniard confirmed. ‘Lights in a few windows, but most are shuttered.’
‘Then we wait.’
‘What about patrols?’ Valerius said. ‘If someone comes along and checks this door …’
‘Not in this area.’ Josephus couldn’t hide his irritation at the delay. ‘They expect the attack in the north and John of Gischala can’t spare the men for street patrols. Likewise, much of the city is full of refugees, but this is the original city of David. Like the Upper City it is reserved for the elite of the civil service and the priesthood. If, by chance, we are approached, act like mutes and allow me to do the talking. That way we may get out of here alive.’
Serpentius stayed by the gateway and Valerius took a seat on a stone bench beneath the portico and closed his eyes. Over the years, they’d spent many hours like this, biding their time in wait for the right moment or the right contact. It was nothing new to them. But Josephus paced the side of the pool muttering to himself as he counted the passing seconds and checking the position of the moon. Eventually, he could take no more.
‘We don’t have time.’ He picked up his discarded pack. ‘We must go now.’
‘What about the guide?’
‘He was to guarantee our safe passage. I know our destination and I can easily take us there, but …’
Valerius registered the mental shrug and understood immediately what it conveyed. Was the absence of the guide a result of accident, carelessness or something more sinister? But there was no point speculating. They had no choice but to continue.
Once more, Serpentius took the lead, heading north up a long paved and stepped incline between fine houses. Josephus followed, intermittently whispering directions and talking to himself as he hurried along behind. Valerius took up the rear, periodically checking his back and willing himself not to start at every shadow. His foot slipped on a patch of something wet and he winced at what it might be. It never occurred to him that it was the blood of a man lying with his throat cut in an alley a few dozen paces away. Or that he was missing four fingers of his right hand, removed by his torturers to obtain the information they needed.
The Spaniard set a fast pace up the slope, keeping to the shadows where he could and with an eye for every door and alleyway. Josephus, despite his inbred aversion to revealing unnecessary information, decided his companions needed to know their destination in case they became separated. He gave his instructions in a low whisper punctuated by gasps of exertion.
‘The building we seek is a palace built by the Hasmoneans, and is close to the first wall. It is flanked by the High Priest’s house and the great market, on the boundary between the two rebel factions and acceptable to both. John of Gischala, may God curse him, holds a dagger-shaped enclave that takes in most of the eastern flank of the city. It is not large, but crucially it includes the Antonia fortress and the Great Temple. Simon bar Giora holds the rest of the Upper City, the Lower and what is known as Bezetha, the New City, between the second and third walls. John has fewer men, but they are well positioned. Simon has the larger force, but even that cannot compensate for the amount of wall he must defend.’
They reached an open space and in the gloom Valerius could make out a massive, pillared structure. Serpentius hissed at them to stay where they were while he checked out the route ahead. Josephus peered at the doorway of the large building they’d reached. ‘The Synagogue of the Freedmen,’ he said, half to himself, ‘and that must be the Hippodrome. We should turn west until we can cross through the first wall, by Herod’s Theatre.’
Va
lerius was more interested in their interrupted conversation. ‘Why do they fight each other when there are Romans to kill?’
He sensed the Judaean’s shrug. ‘Because John is driven mad with ambition and Simon is a good hater and a bad enemy to have.’
‘Against a divided and outnumbered enemy, Titus must win, even behind these walls.’
‘And so we must persuade them,’ Josephus said firmly. ‘The blood of thousands of innocents depends upon it.’
‘All clear.’ The whispered signal came out of the darkness and Valerius and Josephus moved towards the source. Serpentius was waiting for them at the corner of the next street. ‘There’s a building at the top of the steps that looks like the Theatre of Marcellus in Rome. Is that it?’
‘Yes,’ the Judaean confirmed. ‘It is in the Roman style. From there we go north and the palace lies directly ahead.’
They moved stealthily through the empty streets, past grand houses that stood shoulder to shoulder with tall apartment blocks, shuttered shop fronts and closed workshops that stank of charcoal and burned metal. The first wall barred their way at the top of a steep slope, but Josephus guided them to a gate that proved to be unguarded. Hugging the curve of the theatre walls they passed safely into the Upper City. Eventually a right turn led them into an area of narrower streets. Here Serpentius became warier and despite Josephus’s entreaties for speed he slowed and finally stopped. His eyes fixed on a crossroads a few dozen paces ahead.
‘What’s wrong?’ Valerius hissed.
The Spaniard moved back to join them. ‘One gleam of metal is much like another, but at a certain time and in a certain place a wise man takes heed of the message. They’re ahead of us and I’ve had a feeling for a while we were being followed.’ He shrugged and pulled his sword free. Valerius nodded and drew his own blade. Nothing to be done about it.
‘We need somewhere to fight from.’
‘The alley back there,’ Serpentius had already made his decision, ‘but we’ll need to be quick.’
‘But we must continue,’ Josephus protested. ‘The negotiations. We are so close.’
‘If we keep going the only person you’ll be negotiating with is your god.’ Valerius hustled him back towards the cramped alleyway. ‘This way at least we have a chance.’ When they reached the entrance he pushed Josephus in while he and Serpentius guarded the street, each taking a different direction. ‘See if you can find out where it goes,’ he called over his shoulder to the Judaean. ‘If there’s another way out we might be able to continue.’
Josephus reappeared moments later, his face a pale blob in the darkness and his voice raw-edged with anxiety. ‘It is a dead end. There’s a door in the far wall, but it’s barred from the inside.’
‘Then we fight.’ Serpentius pushed him roughly back into relative safety. ‘Because they’re coming.’
Led by men with torches the hunters advanced from both ends of the street, making no pretence at secrecy now they had their prey trapped. In the alley’s entrance Josephus struggled to get a view of the enemy. ‘Galileans,’ he hissed. ‘John of Gischala’s men.’
The enemy had no helmets or armour, but they carried round shields and were armed with long swords or, worse, spears. Serpentius saw the danger at once.
‘Move deeper inside,’ he instructed his companions. ‘There’s only room for two men at a time and we should be able to hold them for a while.’
What he didn’t say was that the logic of war dictated that men without shields and outranged by long spears would eventually be overwhelmed. Serpentius was a former gladiator and the deadliest fighter Valerius had ever known, but a gladiator’s strengths lay in his speed, his skill and his manoeuvrability. Those strengths would be largely nullified by the narrow confines of the alley. The spears would flick out and their owners would advance step by step, protected by the shields. Valerius and Serpentius could parry the spear points for a while, perhaps even kill one or two of their owners. But the dead men would be replaced and those behind would push the replacements forward, forcing the defenders to retreat until their backs were literally against the wall. Eventually, their arms would tire and the spear points would seek them out.
‘If you know any prayers now’s the time to say them,’ Serpentius hissed as two men made a tentative appearance in the entrance. The Spaniard’s hand flew to his chest and his arm came forward in a single flowing movement. The man on the right cried out and threw up his arms to fall backwards with one of the little Scythian throwing axes embedded in his skull. His companion dropped to the ground and dragged the dead man away by the arm. ‘That will keep them honest for a while.’
Serpentius had bought them a breathing space, but how long depended on the quality of their opponents. Valerius used the respite to study his surroundings and found no comfort in the featureless vertical walls. He could hear the sound of iron on wood as Josephus hacked at the door in a desperate but probably vain attempt to create an escape route.
It wasn’t long before the Galileans tried again. This time two pairs advanced together. The two in front were protected by their shields and held their spears ready to dart forward once they came within range. Of the pair in the rear, the one on the right was ready to bring down another shield to protect his comrades from Serpentius’s deadly axes. The other held a torch aloft so they could see who they were killing.
‘Be ready.’ Serpentius took control and Valerius was happy to let him. If they survived, and the gods only knew how, it would be because of his street-fighting instincts. ‘High and low.’
‘High and low.’ Valerius repeated the mantra. He had only the vaguest idea what Serpentius had in mind, but he was ready when the Spaniard exploded into action. Serpentius allowed them almost to within spear-length before the second axe whipped out in a blur of bright iron aimed at the rear spearman’s head. His shield came down so the axe rebounded with a solid ‘thwack’, but the throw had done its job. For a fleeting moment the shield blinded the two men at the back, while the two in front hesitated for a fatal heartbeat as Valerius and Serpentius attacked.
High and low. Valerius went in high. His sword swept the left hand spearman’s point aside and he forced it between the two shields, feeling the resistance as it carved into someone’s body. It must have been the man with the torch because, accompanied by a shriek of mortal agony, the alley was plunged into darkness. Valerius wrenched the gladius free as someone tried to cave in his skull with a spear shaft, hammering at the upper shield while he lashed out with his feet at his nearest opponent.
This was gutter fighting in its purest, most violent form and the art had no greater exponent than Serpentius. As Valerius made his assault, the Spaniard had executed a perfectly timed acrobat’s roll that brought him in below the spears. His sword lanced point first into the unprotected groin of the right hand shield bearer. While his victim howled Serpentius ripped the shield free from his victim’s nerveless fingers and rammed it into the face of his partner. The sheer speed and brutality of the assault was too much for their opponents. The survivors turned and ran, leaving two of their comrades twitching and bleeding in the filth on the alley floor. Serpentius hefted the shield and stepped forward to finish the dying men. He turned to Valerius. ‘The gods forgive me,’ he grinned, ‘but I enjoyed that.’
Before they knew it they were laughing together in huge whooping snorts. It was madness, of course; battle madness and relief at surviving what had appeared certain death. Their laughter echoed from the walls of the alley and Josephus looked at his companions with a mix of horror and dread. What kind of men were these blood-soaked monsters?
Gradually, the laughter faded, but the grins remained. Serpentius took his position on the right, the snatched shield on his left arm, protecting Valerius when he moved in on the left. They would fight as one. Live or die as one. Brothers in arms.
Let them come.
They didn’t come. Instead, the men in the alley heard the sound of charging feet, followed by a clash of swords
and cries of consternation. Valerius looked back at Josephus and even in the dark he could see his own puzzlement reflected in the Judaean’s eyes. He shrugged and faced the entrance, his sword at the ready.
The silence seemed to go on for ever before a commanding voice hailed them. ‘Joseph Ben Mahtityahu?’
‘Who is asking?’ the Judaean called.
‘My name is James of Rehoboth, commander of the Idumaean defenders of the free city of Jerusalem, sent by Simon bar Giora to escort you safely to the palace.’
‘How do we know you can be trusted?’
‘Stay, then.’ James’s voice was heavy with contempt. ‘There are many in Jerusalem who would like to make the acquaintance of Joseph Ben Mahtityahu come the dawn.’
‘No,’ Josephus said hurriedly. ‘We will come with you.’
‘Very well.’ A torch flared at the alley entrance and in its light they could see a tall man with a mane of straggly hair and fathomless dark eyes. ‘Sheathe your swords. You are under Simon’s truce now. John of Gischala has done his worst, but know this, Joseph Ben Mahtityahu: Do not think that because I saved your life tonight I am your friend. It will be my pleasure to take it before this is over.’
XXXIII
An avenue of torches flanked the little procession as James led the three men up the wide marble steps of the Hasmonean Palace. In the glow of the burning brands Valerius could make out a great doorway topped by two conical towers. He felt no fear in the heart of the enemy citadel, only a dull resentment at the duplicity of these treacherous rebels. Josephus had come here at Simon bar Giora’s instigation. Whatever Valerius’s doubts about the Judaean, he had placed his life at risk to avert the needless slaughter of his people. Yet this Simon had almost allowed him to be butchered, and Valerius and Serpentius with him.
[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome Page 28