Avenger of Rome gvv-3

by Douglas Jackson

  Domitia saw his confusion. ‘I can suffer it, tribune. I am a soldier’s daughter.’

  ‘Grease,’ Serpentius said decisively. ‘Cover it with grease and leave it for a week.’

  ‘And where will we get grease?’ Valerius demanded. ‘I’m not a magician.’

  ‘Always grease on a ship,’ the Spaniard pointed out. ‘I’ll swim out to the wreck tomorrow and see what I can find. If you can wait that long, lady?’

  ‘Of course,’ Domitia said gracefully. ‘I am glad that someone is looking after my welfare, Serpentius.’

  It was the first time Valerius had seen the Spaniard blush.

  Late in the night as he lay in the sand beneath his cloak, Valerius felt someone move in beside him. Warmth and softness and the scent of salt water and smoke.

  ‘You may put your arms around me, tribune. I am cold.’

  So he did.

  XVII

  Valerius dreamed of a river nymph with Domitia’s face dancing naked beneath a cascade of cool, clear water. Strangely, for the first time in days thirst was not uppermost in his mind. Instead, the vision stirred a feeling that had lain dormant for a long time, accompanied by a reaction that would have made Priapus proud. He woke with something soft, warm and round in his left hand and a thunderstorm building inside his skull as he realized that the thing squirming against his groin was a pair of firm female buttocks that were only just covered by the short tunic their owner wore. He tried to release Domitia’s left breast, but her hand clamped over his, and when he attempted to move away the buttocks squirmed all the harder, making the sensations he was experiencing close to unbearable.

  ‘Do not move, Valerius, I beg you,’ she whispered.

  She wriggled round beneath the cloak to face him and her mouth came to his, her breath still sweet despite the days without water. He knew that the two slave girls were sleeping less than twenty paces away, but it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her and to feel her body moulded against his. More natural still that when the tunic rode up above her hips his hardness should find her softness and with a wriggle of her hips it was as if he had been engulfed in oiled silk and the heat of it made him groan. Domitia crushed her lips against his so fiercely that he could feel the individual small white teeth behind them as she fought to suppress a moan of pure pleasure. Valerius wrapped both arms around the slight figure and held her to him, the passion flowing between them, the frustration of being unable to give it full rein making it all the more intense. Suddenly she stiffened, her eyes opened wide and she shuddered against him and he could not prevent himself from following her. Slowly she relaxed and he felt her lips nuzzling his cheek.

  ‘I have prayed for this day, ever since the morning I watched you exercising with your soldiers.’

  Valerius smiled. ‘I thought you were looking at Tiberius.’

  ‘Tiberius is nothing but a boy,’ she said dismissively. ‘And I think that Tiberius is only capable of loving himself. You were different. I looked at you and saw a man.’

  ‘But not a whole man.’ It was part of the burden he carried that if the hand was not mentioned he must point it out.

  She wriggled closer. ‘Your wooden hand is as much a trophy of war as the phalerae you wear or the Gold Crown of Valour you hold. Even with a missing hand you are twice the man of any other I have met.’

  He shook his head. ‘It should never have happened. I should not have let it happen.’

  A soft finger touched his lips. ‘Do not say that, my love. It was meant to be. It is possible that by tomorrow or the next day we will be dead. Why should I allow the gods to deny me any longer?’

  He had no answer, but he still knew it was wrong and he had a feeling that her gods would demand a reckoning in their own time.

  ‘It must not happen again, Domitia. Your father…’

  ‘Is hundreds of miles away. You are such a fool, Valerius. For us, there is no future. Only now.’

  She slipped away and woke the two girls and together they went to wash away the smoke and the ashes of the previous night in the surf. Serpentius was already up and checking the bodies from the battle for signs of life. The skin on his shaved head was blistered and his face still black from his rescue of the slaves during the night. Valerius wondered just how much he had heard of what had happened earlier, and received a cool look that confirmed his fears.

  ‘So we fight our way out of one trap to fall straight into another?’ the Spaniard grumbled as he hauled Susco’s headless corpse towards the sea where he’d already sunk three of the dead mutineers. ‘By Mars’ sacred arse, he’s beginning to stink already.’

  ‘A slave should mind his own business,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘I believe it was you who told me that.’

  ‘How could I mind my own business when you made enough noise to wake Susco here?’ the Spaniard complained, letting the body drop to the ground as he straightened to face the Roman. ‘And even a slave knows that when an old tom cat plays with a leopard kitten he’d better watch out for the leopard.’

  Valerius noticed that Serpentius didn’t mention Corbulo by name, but the surge of guilt he felt was like a spear in his guts. How could he have let it happen? He was a man full grown, he knew the boundary between sex and love. And he had never allowed himself to cross it since his time with the British girl Maeve at Colonia. There had been slave girls aplenty in the proconsul’s palace at Carthage where he had spent eighteen months as military aide to Aulus Vitellius. Yes, Domitia had come to him in the night, but a sane man would have sent her away again. Instead, he had allowed himself to be hypnotized by the heady brew of her youth and beauty and sensuality, and betrayed himself and her father.

  He saw Domitia watching him from the shadow and he wondered what was going through her mind. Their coupling had been urgent and as unstoppable as the waves that had battered the Golden Cygnet to pieces. While it was happening she had whispered words like ‘love’ and ‘for ever’, but how much of it had been driven by the intensity of the events of a few hours earlier? He had experienced before how a combination of fear and the unlikelihood of survival could swamp the senses and warp the mind. Would she end up despising him for his weakness as much as she had praised him for his masculinity? He looked up and found the Spaniard still staring at him. ‘The leopard is far away and I’m more likely to die of thirst than on another man’s sword.’

  Serpentius nodded thoughtfully and changed the subject. ‘Maybe Susco had a point.’

  ‘You think we should try to walk to Judaea?’

  ‘Not Judaea. But I have been thinking there must be some kind of trade between Egypt and the Judaeans and the most likely route for that trade is surely along the coast. Perhaps if we strike inland we can find the road?’

  ‘And if we can’t?’ Valerius said. ‘What then?’

  ‘Will we be any worse off?’

  The Roman nodded to where the three women now lay beneath the sailors’ awning. The sun had barely risen, but already they could feel the threat of its fierce glare. By midday it would be unbearable even beneath the shelter of the canopy, every drop of moisture leached from their bodies by a furnace heat reflected from the burning sand. Domitia’s slave girls had been affected more than any of them by the dehydration and their condition had not been helped by the terror of the previous night. They moved with an almost pitiful lethargy and no longer responded readily to their mistress’s commands.

  ‘How long do you think they would last out there?’ He pointed inland where the red dunes marched away in relentless tight-packed ranks beneath the blistering sun. ‘At least here we have shade and we’re conserving our energy. There may be a few things on the ship we’ve missed. No, we stay here and wait it out.’

  ‘Then we’re dead if Tiberius hasn’t got through.’

  ‘Tiberius is not the man to give up.’

  ‘If he was coming back he should have been here by now.’

  Valerius looked the other man in the eye. ‘If you want to try it alone, I wo
n’t stop you.’

  Serpentius shook his head. ‘You were right. We have to stay together. These poor fools didn’t understand that and look where it got them.’ He picked up Susco by the arms and resumed dragging him away. ‘When we’re finished here, I’ll go out and give the ship another search. I’m certain there’s no more water, but I should be able to find some grease for the general’s daughter in the galley or where they stored the horse harness.’

  Valerius nodded absently and stared westwards across the desert as if he could conjure a rescue party by the force of his will.

  ‘He’s out there, I’m certain of it. If we can only last another two or three days we will survive.’

  The dribble of water Valerius poured into his mouth did nothing to relieve his thirst; if anything it made the need sharper. Domitia saw that he was more generous to the others than he had been to himself and insisted he take more.

  ‘We all drink or none drink. We all live or none,’ she said.

  They lay beneath the awning, but the sun’s rays were so strong that the shelter of the thin canvas was largely illusory. Valerius did what he could to shade Domitia and her women from the worst as they lay panting in the sand, their flesh desiccated by the relentless heat, but soon he could only collapse beside them.

  Suki, the elder of the girls, went mad as the noonday sun reached its highest point, her mind consumed by the knowledge that the next drink, or perhaps the one after, would be their last. She ran into the sea and no one had the strength to follow her. The last Valerius saw of her she was flailing her way towards the Golden Cygnet, but the next time he looked up all he could see was the glare of the ocean. Her fellow slave did not even raise her head.

  Someone, it must have been Serpentius, found the fortitude to dole out the last of the water just as darkness fell, and none of them knew whether it would be sufficient to see them through to the next dawn. Valerius was beyond torment now, and beyond guilt. His last thought before he lapsed into unconsciousness was to cover Domitia’s body with his own to fend off the chill of the night.

  But he did not dream of Domitia. He dreamed of Maeve, the beautiful British girl who had captured his heart and then torn it in two when she had betrayed Colonia and the Temple of Claudius. He dreamed of lush pastures and soft rain; rain that fell on his cheeks and moistened his lips. The dream was so real that he could feel the water trickling down his throat, but he had lost the ability to swallow and choked on it.

  ‘Not too much, or you will kill him.’

  XVIII

  ‘Titus Flavius Vespasian at your service, tribune.’

  Through eyes swollen to narrow slits Valerius saw he was being addressed by a fellow tribunus laticlavius, but the name told him his saviour was a much more exotic member of the species. Titus was a fresh-faced, handsome man perhaps a year or two younger than Valerius, with strong, thoughtful features and the kind of natural authority that so often comes with good breeding. Valerius tried to speak, but the other man shook his head gently.

  ‘There will be time for explanations later. I will send my physician to you once he has treated the lady Domitia. In the meantime I must make arrangements for her transport. You should rest now.’

  Titus left and Valerius lay back and closed his eyes. Despite his physical condition he felt at peace. They were safe. Domitia was safe. After all that had happened — pirate attacks, shipwreck, mutiny and thirst — it was difficult to believe he was once more in a legionary’s leather tent, with water and food to spare. He had a niggling feeling he had forgotten something important, but every time he tried to pin it down it slipped deeper into the recesses of his mind. Whatever it was, it could wait.

  When he opened his eyes again he found himself staring into the face of something only half human. The features were puffy and distended, with alternating red blotches and patches of wrinkled skin covered in a revolting green salve, and the top of the shaven head seemed to glow bright red. Further inspection showed that the arms, legs and torso of the apparition were covered by loose bandages.

  Tiberius read the look in his eyes and a grin creased the grotesque features. ‘Before you say anything, tribune, you don’t look a great deal better yourself.’

  Valerius laughed and felt as if his throat had been cut.

  ‘We have you to thank for our lives, Tiberius,’ he whispered. ‘I will be for ever in your debt.’

  The young tribune said to him, ‘Thank Fortuna. If it were not for her we would all be dead — and General Vespasian’s son, of course.’

  He slumped in a corner of the tent and Valerius insisted he tell the story of his long ride west. Tiberius recited the tale in a dispassionate voice that only changed when he reached the moment he realized he’d strayed off course and would have to retrace his steps for twenty miles.

  ‘I came close to despair then, though it is not my nature. Only my pledge to you kept me in the saddle. When Hercules foundered I knew I would not last the day. The only thing that saved me was getting lost. I must have become delirious, because I had wandered into the desert and was walking in entirely the wrong direction. Numidian cavalry auxiliaries returning from a reconnaissance patrol saw me wandering in circles. They thought they had found one of their own, because I had been burned almost black and I could barely speak. It was a whole morning before I was able to explain to their Roman officers who I was. Of course, I wanted to return immediately, but the Numidians were also short of water and there was no point in coming without it. We took another day to reach the desert oasis where Titus had his headquarters, and he insisted on returning with me when I explained about the general’s daughter. Apparently their fathers are friends. We had to wait until they had loaded the camels with water skins, but he drove the column until man and animal were on their knees to reach you in time. Still, I thought we would be too late. But they put me in a litter on the back of a camel and here we are.’

  Valerius was curious. ‘Just where is here?’

  Tiberius pulled the knife from his belt. ‘You were wrong.’ He drew the broad curve of the coastline in the sand. ‘This is where I met the Numidians, more or less.’ He pointed to a spot at the western end of the curve. ‘We are here.’

  Valerius’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. ‘Twenty miles from the Judaean border, and I sent you to ride forty.’

  ‘Closer to sixty if you take in my diversion,’ Tiberius admitted without a hint of modesty. ‘But you were right, the rebels are very active in the border villages. They would have been more likely to cut our throats than feed us.’

  ‘Nevertheless, a ride worthy of a hero, and you can be sure I will report it to General Corbulo.’

  ‘I could ask no greater reward, tribune,’ the young man said earnestly.

  ‘Of course, you could not have done it without my horse.’

  ‘No, sir. I’m sorry about that. He was a fine horse.’ A mischievous glint appeared in Tiberius’s eye. ‘But I thought the horse was probably less valuable than the general’s daughter.’

  It wasn’t until the young soldier left that Valerius realized what had been lost in the euphoria of his survival. When he had believed death was certain he could ignore it, but now the shadow of Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo loomed like a hurricane cloud on the far horizon. And every step he took carried him closer to the moment of decision.

  ‘You fought in Britain, I understand?’

  Valerius noted the inevitable glance at his wooden hand and smiled. Titus Vespasian’s splendid uniform, his spotless armour and the quality of his horse all proclaimed his status. He was the general’s son and a young man with a glittering career ahead of him in the military and politics, but he could still be seduced by the physical proof of another man’s sacrifice.

  ‘I was with the Twentieth during the rebellion,’ he acknowledged. ‘But in the end I served as an aide to the governor, Suetonius Paulinus.’

  ‘The Second Augusta,’ Titus said. ‘But I only arrived after the rebel queen had been killed.’ Valerius
was surprised. He had known the father had served on the island during Emperor Claudius’s invasion two decades earlier, but not that the son had fought there.

  ‘You must have been very young?’

  ‘Seventeen,’ Titus admitted cheerfully. ‘The most junior of the junior tribunes and with less authority than a legionary of the second rank. It was not my most rewarding posting. You will have heard the story?’

  Valerius nodded. Every Roman soldier who had been in Britain knew the tale of the notorious Second legion. How the camp prefect Poenius Postumus, who had been left in command, had refused to march to Paulinus’s aid, brought disgrace to his unit and been forced to fall on his sword.

  ‘While Paulinus hunted down the last of the rebels, the Second was kept in the west garrisoning Isca and far from any glory or plunder, and the men resented it. Of course, they took their frustration out on the tribespeople round about. I have never witnessed such cruelty before or since.’

  Valerius remembered the gore-slick field after Boudicca’s last battle and the swords rising and falling on enemy warriors even after they had surrendered. ‘I saw enough cruelty and bloodshed in Britain to last me a lifetime.’

  ‘And yet you are still a soldier?’

  Valerius felt the shrewd eyes on him and wondered if he was being mocked, but he decided Titus was just being curious. ‘My father wanted me to be a politician, but I don’t think I’ll ever be cut out for the Senate. I discovered in Britain that I actually enjoyed soldiering, even the worst parts of it: the discomfort and the cold and the waiting. The men are a bunch of devious, thieving rogues, but there is a real sense of achievement in sharing their lives and winning their respect. To lead them in battle is to walk with the gods for a day.’

  Titus laughed. ‘We are much alike then. A junior tribune’s life is what he makes it, and my comrades preferred drinking and carousing to fighting or drilling, but my father’s advice to me was to learn everything I could. So I let them laugh at me as I dug trenches and stood in frozen rivers building bridges, and when I rose in the dark to supervise drill while they were still in their beds. Perhaps soon I will be laughing at them.’