Defender of Rome (29 page)

XLI

THE WALLS OF
the villa shone like a beacon in the moonlight as Decimus Torquatus urged his mount along the metalled road with Rodan at his side and twenty dust-stained Batavian cavalry at his back. It had been a long day and promised to be a longer night. The information had taken more time to extract than he would have believed, but his anger was somewhat assuaged by the outcome of the interrogation. If he had calculated correctly, Poppaea should still be here with her parasitic friends and he would sweep them up like songbirds in a net, her treason plain for all to see in her association with the bandits she had succoured. In a perfect world, he would be accompanied by more troops, but the century of Praetorian infantry marching behind wouldn’t reach the villa until after dawn. He consoled himself that a force of twenty veteran cavalry was more than enough to cow a few religious fanatics. A man of little emotion, he was surprised by the flare of pleasure with which he anticipated their meeting. She would go on her knees to plead for his forgiveness. Perhaps she might even be persuaded to offer up a little more?

The thought brought a smile and he kicked the horse into a gallop. The only thing sweeter would be the moment when he presented her to Nero and forced her to confess her guilt.

* * *

‘Quickly, get Olivia into the house,’ Valerius shouted to his father, but Lucius stared back at him as if he was mad. The Christians waiting beside the pool milled around like chickens who have scented a fox but have nowhere to hide. Marcus, Serpentius and Heracles appeared at a run.

‘The house!’ Valerius snapped. He took one end of his sister’s bed and signalled Marcus to pick up the other. At last, at Petrus’s urging, the Christians began to move towards the villa. It was the only way. He couldn’t get them out before the cavalrymen arrived, but he might be able to protect them in the great warren of intersecting rooms that made up Poppaea’s villa. With luck, they would somehow find a way to escape.

He felt a hand pluck at his arm. ‘Olivia,’ Lucius cried. ‘We must wait. She must be baptized.’

‘Do you want to see her burn, Father?’ Valerius shrugged off the clutching fingers. ‘Because she will if we stay here. Don’t you understand? Torquatus wants Poppaea, but the only way he can prove her guilt is to take you as well and make you denounce her in front of the Emperor.’

Lucius recoiled as if he had been struck. ‘We would sooner die than betray our faith.’

Serpentius, running past them with a child in each arm, laughed. ‘It’s easy to be brave before you feel the heat of the fire, old man.’

By now they were at the far end of the pool, where a doorway led to a corridor connecting the pool complex to the main villa. Valerius led the way at the run. He found himself in a room with a large fishpond at its centre. Next door was the
lararium
where the family performed their daily homage to the household gods, and beyond it a room lined with the terracotta death masks of Poppaea’s ancestors. Finally he reached a wide hall with stairs leading to the upper floor. Close by was a short passage to the villa’s main entrance. He hesitated, tempted to take his chances in the open. But he couldn’t leave without Poppaea and it might be too late in any case. He made his decision.

‘Take Olivia upstairs.’ He handed his end of the burden to Heracles. ‘And get the rest of these sheep up there.’ Petrus bridled at the insult, but Valerius ignored the old man.

‘What about you?’ Marcus demanded.

‘I’ll fetch the Empress. If I don’t get back hold on as long as you can. I doubt they’ll dare to burn the place, but if they do you’ll have to get the Christians out any way you can.’

Marcus nodded. ‘Depend on it.’

Valerius turned to go, but a strong hand gripped his shoulder. ‘I will go with you,’ Petrus said.

He brushed the Judaean aside. ‘Your place is here with your flock. Get them to make themselves useful. Remember our bargain and stay alive.’

Petrus didn’t argue and Serpentius herded the Judaean and the other Christians up the stairs. Marcus and Heracles followed with Olivia and carried her into a nearby room where her father took his place by her. Two of the Christians offered to help and Marcus set them to collecting beds and couches to barricade the stairway and anything heavy that could be used as a weapon. The others held their wives and children and stared dumbly at the walls, like cattle waiting for the slaughter.

Marcus studied the stairway. It was perhaps four paces wide and quite steep. Anyone who attacked up it was going to have to be quick and brave, but that suited the veteran gladiator well enough. The faster and braver they were, the quicker they’d die. But he understood that he couldn’t defend the stairhead for ever. He called to Serpentius. ‘I need to know what’s up here. Check out every room and every potential way off this floor. Four of us can hold the stair as long as we can hold a sword, but only if they don’t get behind us.’

‘What if they have archers?’ The Spaniard identified the flaw in Marcus’s reasoning. A single bowman would pick the defenders off from the stairwell with all the ease of a child plucking peaches in an orchard.

Marcus spat against bad luck and pointed to the Christians. ‘Tell those bastards to pray that they don’t,’ he growled. ‘One way or the other we’re going to find out tonight if their nailed god is any fucking use.’

Serpentius set off along the balcony. Marcus heard a soft cough and turned to find the two Christians carrying a padded couch about six feet long and of heavy construction. ‘Good,’ he rasped. ‘Put it here,’ he indicated the top of the stairway, ‘with the feet outwards where they’ll make life awkward for anybody trying to get close. But we need more. Couches, chairs, beds, cupboards. Get those other sheep to help you.’ He grinned to give the men confidence. ‘We’ll make them fight for every inch of stairway and by the time they get up here they’ll be begging us to kill them.’ But not yet, he thought. He needed to leave the stair open until Valerius returned with Poppaea.

But where was he?

Valerius slipped silently along endless lamplit corridors. At every turn he expected to meet a slave or servant, but it was evident Poppaea had found some scheme to empty the house while Petrus and his Christians were here. He passed through the family shrine and the
lararium
back to the indoor pond and paused to get his bearings. Where were Poppaea’s private apartments? Not near the pool, certainly, or he would have come across them already. So they had to be on the ocean side of the villa. He turned right towards an opening on the far side of the room. And stopped in his tracks.

The fish in the pond were dancing.

It was the only word for it. Hundreds of the tiny, rainbow-coloured creatures leapt and flipped, walking on their tails and somersaulting across the surface of the water. Below them hundreds more jerked erratically and swam elaborate patterns as if waiting their turn to escape. Natural curiosity made him hesitate, but he didn’t have time to be distracted by the antics of a few fish. As he neared the rear of the villa the sound of a soft voice alerted him. In a luxuriously appointed room with broad windows overlooking the sea, Poppaea, Empress of Rome, knelt before a painting of the Christian symbol Valerius had seen on the wall of the baptism chamber.

Poppaea had changed from the simple white baptismal dress into a heavy robe of imperial purple and her long chestnut hair was tied neatly in place. She looked up in confusion. A week earlier she would have felt nothing but relief to have the reassuring figure of Valerius by her side, but now she had a more powerful protector.

‘What do you mean by entering my private apartments?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I don’t have time to explain. Torquatus is coming.’

She lifted her chin and the dark eyes flashed. ‘Then let him come. I have no fear of Torquatus.’

Valerius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Why are you people so eager to die? Isn’t it possible your God is giving you a chance to live? Come with me and I may be able to save you. Stay here and you give Torquatus everything he wants.’

She shot him a venomous glance and he started for the door. ‘Wait,’ she ordered. He bit back a comment as she gathered up the painting and placed it face down below a couch. Better that she should have burned the evidence of her new loyalty, but there was no time. At least she was prepared to follow him.

‘Which is the quickest way to the stairs?’

He followed her as she made her way unerringly through one corridor after another, one room after another. As they walked she questioned Valerius. ‘How did Torquatus know to come to the villa?’

Valerius guessed that Fabia had betrayed him, but he saw no profit in paying her back in the same coin. ‘At the moment, lady, that is less important than the fact that he is here. Perhaps you can ask him when you meet, although I’m sure he has many more important questions for you.’

‘Do not play games with me,’ she snapped. ‘Would he be content with me alone?’

Valerius shook his head. ‘Even if he was satisfied with you today, he would come for the rest of us tomorrow or the day after. We would never be safe. And when he has you, he will use you to get to others. Nero will slaughter the Judaeans in Rome and your new religion will wither away.’

‘The faith will go on,’ she said with certainty. ‘Jesus did not suffer and die on the cross for nothing.’

‘Then let us hope it isn’t put to the test.’

* * *

Serpentius returned from his reconnaissance. ‘Nothing to worry about up here. There’s a big room at the back with a balcony that looks out towards the sea. A couple of sitting rooms and a couple of small rooms for guests. The rest is servants’ quarters.’ He held up a thick gold chain. ‘A man could get rich by mistake in a place like this.’

Marcus shook his head, but he didn’t order the Spaniard to replace the jewellery. If you were about to go to war with the Praetorian Guard what was the point of worrying about a necklace? ‘This balcony. How high is it? Can they climb to it?’

Serpentius pushed the chain inside his tunic. ‘Not without a ladder.’

‘Plenty of ladders on an estate, lad. You!’ He pointed to the Roman lawyer who was sitting huddled beside his wife. ‘Get out to the back and shout if you see any movement below the balcony.’ The Christian hesitated. ‘Now!’ Marcus roared, and the man scurried off, leaving his wife whimpering. ‘Mars’ arse, what have we got ourselves into,’ the gladiator muttered.

The two foragers returned with another couch, their fourth, this time laden with a pile of marble and bronze busts. Marcus picked up a head that was instantly recognizable as Nero: pouting lips and a weak chin that even the sculptor couldn’t hide. ‘Nice to know he’s good for something. A few more wouldn’t go amiss.’

The younger of the two men stepped forward. ‘I am Isaac,’ he said. ‘I can fight.’

Marcus looked him up and down, taking in the athlete’s physique, and nodded. ‘Good.’ He handed the man Nero’s head. ‘When they come, give them this with my compliments.’

They were interrupted by the sound of hooves clattering into the courtyard.

At last Valerius recognized the stairway. He gestured to Poppaea to go ahead, but in the same instant a crash shook the walls and the front door smashed in as the first Praetorians burst into the house.

‘Get back,’ he whispered, ushering her behind him. ‘We need to find another way.’

‘Where?’ she demanded.

‘First we need to get out of the house—’

‘You!’

Valerius looked up to find Rodan standing next to a cavalryman in the doorway a dozen yards away with a triumphant grin on his burn-scarred face. He waited for the moment when the Praetorian would recognize Poppaea, but Rodan’s expression didn’t change and he realized the Empress must be hidden by the angle of the wall.

‘Make for the sea,’ he whispered. ‘I will join you there if I can. Go.’ He felt her hesitate. ‘Please go, lady.’

With relief, he heard a soft shuffle fading into the distance and he turned his attention back to his enemy.

XLII

THREE MORE CAVALRYMEN
had joined Rodan, all wearing armour over their black tunics. Rodan carried the short legionary
gladius
, but the other men were armed with the big
spatha
cavalry swords Valerius had seen used to such good effect in Britain. The
spatha
could be fearsome when wielded from horseback and the weight of the sword cleaved helmet and skull, but it was cumbersome if the user was out of the saddle. Their armour and weapons made them slower, which was to his advantage, but more difficult to kill, which was definitely not. Valerius had no doubt he had to kill these men. The only way any of them were going to get out of this alive was if he defeated Rodan and Torquatus.

If Rodan had been alone he would have taken his chances and rushed the Praetorian. But five opponents called for a more cautious approach. He had to hold them long enough to give Poppaea time to escape. He’d worry about what came next later, if there was a later.

‘We don’t need this one.’ Rodan ushered the cavalrymen forward. ‘Kill him.’

‘Too frightened to fight me yourself?’ Valerius’s challenge made two of the men hesitate and look to their leader.

‘There’s no glory in killing a cripple,’ the Praetorian sneered. ‘Or a whore. I gave your pretty whore to my century after Torquatus finished questioning her. It was very instructive. I had her first, of course. She was a good fuck, your whore, at least then. I’m not sure if it was the forty-ninth or the fiftieth that killed her.’

The image of Fabia’s obscene death lit a fire in Valerius’s brain and he had to curb the instinct to hack the smile from Rodan’s leering face. Poor Fabia, caught between Torquatus’s threats and loyalty to her friends. When she had been forced to make a choice it had cost her her life. From somewhere deep inside he found control. Revenge would come in its own time. Now he knew without doubt he was going to kill Rodan, and Torquatus too, or die in the attempt. He kept his voice steady so that the Praetorian wouldn’t know he had reached him.

‘I’m no whore, Rodan,’ he taunted the other man. ‘And I only need one arm to beat you. Old women and children are more your style. That’s why you’re afraid to face me.’

Valerius retreated half a step as he spoke. The corridor was only wide enough to allow two men to approach simultaneously and even then they would hamper each other. But no matter how well he fought he couldn’t stay in this position for long, because Rodan would soon find a way to outflank or get behind him. He was close to the corner now. One step from his escape route. He tried to recall the layout of the ground floor. Where could he make his next stand, and the one after that? If he could disable one or even two of them, it would take some of the fight out of the others. But first they had to come to him.

‘Are you women?’ he goaded the two cavalrymen. He spat in the direction of Rodan. ‘If this coward won’t fight me you will have to. I am Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, and I hold your deaths in my hand.’

He recognized the moment of decision. The trooper was lanky and spare and the mail of his auxiliary armour hung on him like an oversized tunic. Valerius guessed that he would have quick hands, but that the mail would slow him. If he had attacked alone he would have had a chance. He could have pinned Valerius in place and worked an angle to allow the second man to reach his undefended right side. But the soldier sensed the danger in this one-armed civilian and he urged his comrade with him.

Valerius saw them come and it was as if he could predict their every movement. He slid to his left and took two steps forward so that the tall man half shielded him from the second attacker. His enemy had expected him to run, or at best try to hold them, and the advance surprised him. The cavalryman was a veteran of the German frontier wars, but his most violent duty in the last five years had been putting down civilian bread riots. Though he wasn’t aware of it, he had lost the edge that means the difference between life and death on the battlefield. He was wary of the confident young man in front of him, but not frightened. Valerius saw the calculations going through his mind. Two against a cripple? It would be over in seconds. But he had never faced a left-handed swordsman, or a man who had been trained by gladiators. Speed was as great a weapon as the
gladius
in Valerius’s hand. In the split second it took the cavalryman’s mind to work out how to deal with the unfamiliar threat, Valerius was already inside the point of the long
spatha
. Roaring with the fierce joy of mortal combat he brought the
gladius
in a raking cut across the cavalryman’s eyes that left him blinded and shrieking in disbelief. As the man clutched at his ruined face Valerius smashed a shoulder into his chest, throwing him back into the second soldier. Ignoring the second man had been a gamble. Already he was swinging the big cavalry sword in a wide arc that would bring the edge down on Valerius’s exposed neck. His comrade’s reeling body had slowed him a fraction, but still the blow should have been deadly. All the long hours of repetition on the hot sands of the
ludus
had conditioned Valerius to meet any threat from the right with his shield. Today he had none, but the reaction of his right arm was automatic. He brought his forearm up to meet the attack and the edge of the sword bit deep into the seasoned walnut of his artificial hand, carving off a long splinter and slicing its way across the leather socket. Valerius screamed as his arm dissolved in a fiery bolt of pain that seared all the way to the centre of his brain. His mind told him to deal with the insult that had been done to his body, but he knew that to hesitate was to die. He had one chance. The block had opened up the cavalryman’s guard. Valerius speared the point of the
gladius
upwards into the pale flesh of his exposed throat, spraying a dark rainbow of blood across the white walls of the corridor.

As the man fell a shout of dismay rang out from Rodan, but Valerius didn’t have time to savour his triumph.

He ran.