‘Please, lord …’
Valerius remembered that Rautio was the overseer accused of taking advantage of the widow. She happened to have responsibility for cleaning the family area, including Lucius’s bedroom. He would have known the boy’s every movement. ‘So, Rautio, give me a reason why I shouldn’t flog you to death.’
‘I don’t—’
Valerius flicked the whip so the knotted thongs cracked within inches of Rautio’s ear. The overseer collapsed to his knees, whimpering. ‘Let’s begin with the identity of the person who ordered this.’
‘A man,’ Rautio whispered. ‘He said he would have me flayed alive if I didn’t do what he told me.’
‘Vitalis.’ Valerius called one of the guards. ‘Search his quarters – thoroughly, mind – and bring me anything that doesn’t belong there.’ He turned his attention back to the overseer. ‘How long have you been working for him?’
By the time Vitalis returned, Rautio had given up all he knew and was grovelling on the floor, sobbing. His description of his contact might have fitted a hundred others. Naturally he didn’t know the man’s name, but Valerius had no doubts as to the source of his troubles. He dropped the whip, glad he hadn’t been required to use it, but any sympathy he might have had for the overseer vanished when Vitalis placed a leather pouch in his hand. ‘He’d hidden it beneath a loose tile.’
Valerius weighed the pouch in his hand, making an estimate of its value before opening the leather thongs with his teeth and pouring the contents on the floor.
‘Fifty gold aurei.’ Valerius nudged the coins with his foot. Five thousand sestertii. Half a year’s pay for a legionary. Fresh minted, too, with a decent likeness of Vespasian’s wrinkled, hook-nosed features showing sharp and clear. Further proof his suspicions were correct. ‘Enough for a prudent man to start a new life. But for that I would need to be dead. How much more were you to receive when you’d killed me? I’m genuinely interested in how much my head is worth.’
But Rautio knew anything he said would only condemn him further and was prudent enough to keep his mouth shut.
‘Lock him in the wine store, so he may ponder his fate through the night. Make sure no harm comes to him, but I want him ready at the second hour, roped to the saddle of my best horse. He won’t be needing his sandals.’
‘The gold, lord?’
Valerius picked up a coin from the dust and flicked it to Vitalis. The guard caught it with a grin. ‘One for each of you. Take the rest of it to Cassius. Ten aurei for his manumission fund, and what’s left split between the slaves. They might as well profit from their troubles. Oh, and tell him to be generous to Julia. She might have a face that would sour milk, but she’s a better interrogator than I am.’
III
‘Is this wise, Valerius?’ Tabitha asked as he prepared to set out the next morning. It was a reprise of a discussion that had gone on long into the night. They stood in the atrium, Tabitha wrapped in a shawl against the morning chill. Valerius held her to him, her head resting on his shoulder.
‘I can’t allow him to think I will let him threaten my family and do nothing.’
‘Still, the Emperor’s reaction …’
‘Is unpredictable,’ Valerius accepted, ‘but he is a fair man, and a man with few illusions.’
‘Then be careful, my husband.’ She lifted her head to kiss him on the lips, and whispered, ‘I will prepare for your return with extra care.’
Valerius felt a liquid glow run through him. The words were a kind of code and contained a certain promise. ‘Then I will definitely return at speed. In the meantime, make sure Lucius doesn’t stray.’
‘He has learned his lesson,’ she said. ‘I believe it was instructive to see his father in all his terrible glory. Master of life and death.’
‘And his mother.’ Valerius smiled. ‘You frightened me as much as those scorpions. But if you hadn’t been there …’
‘It will not happen again?’
‘You have my promise. I will send such a message today that the gods will hear it.’
She released him and he strode out to the courtyard where his horse waited. Vitalis held the reins at its head. Rautio stood clear of its tail, his wrists bound by a length of rope attached to the saddle. His narrow, unshaven features wore an expression of dread and his eyes darted between the twitching beast’s dangerous hooves and the vengeful crowd of slaves who had gathered to see them off, hissing insults and curses.
Valerius wore his finest toga, a voluminous affair not ideal for horseback travel, but he pulled himself up and settled awkwardly into the saddle. He reached back to test the rope, almost pulling his captive off his feet. ‘Come, Rautio,’ he said, loudly enough for the watching slaves to hear. ‘We have a long journey ahead of us and we can’t afford to dally. The exercise will do you good. You’ve been putting on weight lately.’
He flicked the reins and they set off up the cobbled track, the slaves jeering and Rautio half running to keep pace. It was close to eight miles from the villa to the centre of Rome, and by the time they were halfway Valerius could hear the wet slaps as Rautio’s bloodied feet hit the roadway. The former overseer had pleaded for water, to stop for a rest, but Valerius kept the mare to a steady walk that suited her. He didn’t consider himself a cruel man. Rautio’s ordeal was nothing to the fate he deserved. The wrath of his fellow slaves would have been the least of it. He had a feeling Tabitha would have been happy to spend an instructive hour with the man who had tried to murder her child. Valerius, on the other hand, had a more fitting punishment in mind.
He closed his ears to the whines and complaints and concentrated on the path ahead. The Via Salaria was the ancient road used by the Sabines when they harvested salt from the marshes at the mouth of the Tiber. Nowadays it linked Rome with the towns of the Apennine Hills and the trading centres of Amiternum and Ausculum on the Adriatic side. At this time of the day it thronged with the last of the farmers hurrying their cattle and pigs to the markets at the Forum Boarium and the Forum Suarium, and the produce of their fields to the Forum Holitorium on the Campus Martius. Valerius pushed his way through the heavily laden donkeys and past little families herding a single cow or a pair of squealing sows. The more curious among them noticed the exhausted, half-naked prisoner with the bloody feet struggling to stay upright at the end of his tether, but his plight evoked little reaction. Nobody much cared about a slave in trouble, not even another slave.
Soon they reached the straggle of houses, factories and warehouses that had grown up outside the city walls, and the crumbling tombs that lined the road. The guards at the Porta Collina were familiar with Valerius and waved him past without scrutinizing the Imperial warrant allowing him access to the Palatine night and day. They barely glanced at his prisoner.
Down the familiar cobbles of the Alta Selita and the left fork that would take him through the Subura. As he forced his way through the crowded, narrow street in the shadow of the towering insula apartment blocks he wondered again at the irony that such a festering pit of humanity could survive the Great Fire of Nero’s reign when so much of value had been entirely consumed. There was a sharp cry behind him as Rautio slipped on something unsavoury and fell amongst the filth and the rushing feet. Valerius reined in for a moment to allow him to struggle to his feet. He had a moment of regret that he hadn’t cut the assassin’s throat and had done with it, but he quickly thrust it aside. Rautio was only a minor player in this drama; a bystander to be struck down in the final act. This was not about him. It was about ensuring the safety of Valerius and his family. To disguise his feelings he gave the rope a tug to jog Rautio into movement.
In the narrow gaps between the buildings he could see the familiar outline of the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, completely restored after its destruction eight years earlier in the civil war. Vespasian had vowed it would be even more magnificent than before, in memory of his brother Sabinus, captured there by the Vitellians and later murdered on the Gemonian Stairs. A great gol
den chariot now adorned the summit, with a likeness of Sabinus at the reins, and eagles and horses lined the roof. Valerius thought it gaudy, but he understood that an emperor’s ambitions must be seen to outdo those of ordinary men.
The road widened as they reached the street known as Argiletum. Rather than his usual route by the Victory Road across the northern face of the hill, he took the Clivus Palatinus to the main entrance to the palace complex. He dismounted when he reached the gate and unhooked the rope attaching Rautio to the saddle. The former overseer slumped to his knees, mumbling to himself. Valerius handed the reins of his mount to the black-clad gate guard and asked him to call a groom to take the beast to the nearby Imperial stables. He hauled Rautio to his feet and allowed him to drink from the stone trough beside the gateway.
‘Are you expected, lord?’ The guard commander checked his list with one eye on the swaying, unkempt Rautio.
‘The Emperor sent a courier demanding my presence,’ Valerius told him. It had happened several times in the past. ‘He will want to hear what this man has to say.’
The guard commander hesitated only for a moment, such was Valerius’s reputation not just as adviser to the Emperor and friend of Titus, but as holder of the Corona Aurea, a Hero of Rome. There were also certain whispered tales of service to successive emperors that were no business of any soldier who wished his career to prosper in the Imperial service. Gaius Valerius Verrens was a man to reckon with, and not one to delay.
‘Very well, sir. Shall I send someone along with you to keep this brute in line?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ Valerius pointed to the man’s feet, strips of torn flesh straggling at the centre of a pool of pink water. ‘As you can see, he’s in no condition to trouble anyone.’ He hauled at the rope and led Rautio stumbling through the gates and up the slope. A hundred years ago the Palatine had been home to anyone rich enough to buy a house on the summit. That had changed since the time of Augustus, who had taken over the entire hill. A succession of emperors had left their mark since, building palaces that their successors had felt the need to improve and enlarge. Now it was a warren of luxurious complexes surrounded by manicured gardens. It housed not only the Emperor, his retinue and their favourites, but also the Palatium, the offices of state that took up most of his waking hours, without which the Empire would crumble and fall.
Valerius gave the guard time to watch him march Rautio towards Vespasian’s palace before changing course. The Domus Transitoria, where Titus had set up home, lay to his right, but he continued straight ahead through the gardens. His destination lay in the centre of the Palatine, close to the Temple of Apollo where he’d witnessed the augury on the fateful day the Praetorians butchered Servius Sulpicius Galba and ignited the civil war that brought Vespasian the throne.
He approached a wide two-storey building with white columns, walls of pale gold and a red-tiled roof. A line of soldiers emerged from a hut near the palace entrance. Naturally, there would be a permanent guard, even here in the centre of the Palatine. It was a measure of the insecurity of the man he was about to confront.
‘Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, seeks an interview with Caesar Domitianus, suffect consul,’ he announced to the officer in command of the guard.
The centurion was young for his rank, probably not long in the Imperial service, with piercing blue eyes and a long nose. He would have been personally appointed by the Emperor and his expression said he was impressed by neither the senator’s stripe on Valerius’s toga nor his outdated military honours. He waved two of the guards to cover Rautio with their swords. ‘What is the subject of this interview?’
Valerius ignored the sneer. ‘I seek the consul’s advice on a private matter. Please pass my request to him.’
The centurion didn’t like it, but he sensed Valerius would provide no more information. He was an admirer of Domitian, a forward-looking patrician of his own age. Caesar Domitianus would know how to deal with this upstart with his airs and graces. With an irritated shake of the head he marched up the palace steps and disappeared inside. A short time later he reappeared and motioned Valerius forward into the cobbled courtyard. ‘You may approach … that is far enough!’ he snapped.
Halfway to the steps, Valerius obeyed the order without protest. Naturally Domitian would want to inspect him before he came within range of sword swing. As he waited a figure appeared on the balcony overlooking the courtyard and stood, unnaturally still, staring at the tableau below. Valerius could almost feel the throb of hatred in his enemy’s temples. If the eyes had been spears, he’d already be dead. Domitian had never hidden his homicidal loathing for Valerius, especially since the day the one-handed Roman dangled him from a similar balcony on the Esquiline Hill.
‘Have you searched him?’ The high-pitched voice was the same, but Domitian had filled out in the shoulders and chest since their last encounter. Vespasian’s youngest son was no longer the arrogant boy Valerius had scorned and dismissed. The centurion cursed beneath his breath and marched forward to run his hands over Valerius’s toga. ‘If he finds so much as a fruit knife,’ the young consul continued, ‘I would have every right to have you executed.’
‘No weapons,’ Valerius assured him. The guard commander nodded his confirmation. ‘I’m here to talk and bring you a gift.’ He pulled Rautio forward. ‘On your knees, slave.’
‘Centurion Polio hinted that you needed some advice. Is this some kind of Saturnalia jest, or has country life driven you mad? I seem to remember madness runs in your family.’
Valerius allowed his eyes to drift to the left. The shadowy figure standing by the curtain of a window stepped back beyond his scrutiny. ‘This slave failed in his duty to not one master,’ he said, ‘but two. I wondered how you would deal with him.’
Domitian sniffed, but didn’t hide his interest. ‘Then I would beat him twice to remind him of his duties. How did he fail them?’
Valerius fixed his eyes on the younger man’s. ‘He owed his loyalty to the one, and the other, who had bought it, gave him a small task he was too clumsy to complete.’ Valerius sensed Domitian go still. Now the young patrician understood. ‘When discovered he told everything, thus betraying his real master as well as his rightful one.’
Domitian was puzzled now. Whatever the slave had revealed was unlikely to threaten him, but he couldn’t understand how Valerius might profit from bringing him here. It didn’t occur to him that Valerius’s very presence with Rautio was all his enemy sought, and, for the moment, all he needed.
‘Then you should cut his throat now.’ Domitian laughed. ‘Or perhaps Polio should do it. You never did have the stomach.’
Valerius smiled up at him. ‘No.’ He dropped the rope and nudged Rautio in the back so he sprawled on the cobbles. ‘I only wanted to bring him back where he belongs. I’ll let you decide what to do with him.’
‘Please, lord, no. Not that,’ Rautio croaked.
Valerius ignored him. ‘As you say, I’ve always been a little squeamish. Thank you for your advice, consul.’ He turned and walked away.
‘Wait. I haven’t given you leave to go,’ Domitian cried. ‘I am not finished with you. Stop him!’
But Valerius was already beyond the line of guards. This was an argument they wanted no part of.
IV
His route took him through a park where clumps of tall cypress trees masked the surrounding buildings, so he might have been in the country rather than at the centre of the world’s greatest city. As he followed the path, Valerius considered what he’d just done. Domitian would always be a threat. Logically, the only course of action was to reduce that threat to its lowest possible level. He had left his enemy confused and, hopefully, off balance; perhaps even a little frightened. He’d made it clear any future attack would have its repercussions. In a few hours everyone on the Palatine would know what had happened between them, certainly everyone who mattered. Letters would be dictated. A message would be sent. Vespasian and Titus had placed Valerius u
nder their protection. Even the Emperor’s son was not immune from his wrath. At worst, he had bought his family a breathing space.
There would be a price to pay, naturally. A man did not kick over a hornet’s nest on the Palatine without consequences. For all their friendship, he doubted Titus would appreciate his actions. It might even harm their relationship. But he couldn’t allow Domitian to believe he could act with impunity. His honour and his duty to his family demanded he do everything possible to protect them.
‘Valerius?’
His head whipped round at a familiar voice that aroused memories and ignited a whirl of conflicting emotions. She stood in the shadow beneath one of the cypress clusters, a diminutive figure in a dress of lilac silk belted at the waist with a gold chain. A cream shawl of the same material covered her shoulders. More full-bodied than he remembered, but otherwise untouched by the passing years. The same lustrous walnut tresses, artfully styled to frame the perfect oval of her features, appraising dark eyes with hidden depths of passion, and a skin so pale it was almost luminous. Domitia Longina Corbulo. Still with that cool, almost detached air. Such a contrast to his Tabitha; the difference between ice and fire. She was the daughter of General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, commander of Rome’s eastern armies until Nero ordered him to commit suicide. Valerius had escorted Domitia to join her father in Antioch a decade or so earlier. Shipwreck and disaster threw them together and falling in love seemed natural. Unknown to Domitia, Nero had ordered Valerius to spy on the general, with a suggestion that he should kill him if the opportunity arose. Instead, Valerius saved Corbulo from assassination. Circumstances had torn them apart, only for fate to rekindle their love in the bloody chaos of the Year of the Four Emperors.
He stepped towards her, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being followed. Hers had been the presence at the window, but how had she got here? Of course, the hill was riddled with cryptoporticus, the underground passages that allowed emperors, princes and their acolytes to move freely between the palace complexes without being observed. After eight years on the Palatine, Domitia would be familiar with many of them.
Glory of Rome: (Gaius Valerius Verrens 8) Page 3