[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome (17 page)

‘Why are you here?’

‘No joyous welcome for an old comrade?’ Despite the admonition, Paternus visibly relaxed. ‘Given your particular circumstances that’s probably understandable. I am ordered to join the army of General Titus as aide to his chief of staff Tiberius Alexander. A storm forced us into Tripolis, but the rebels had cut the coast road. My guide advised that the Emesans might provide safe passage, and here I am.’

‘No, I mean why did you follow me here?’

The disfigured face twisted into what passed for a grin. ‘I caught glimpses of a legate’s helmet and cloak during the march yesterday and it naturally made me curious. The Emesan cavalry troopers of my guard talked of a Roman officer with one hand who had won King Sohaemus’s favour. The single hand stirred a memory. I was under the care of Paulinus’s personal
medicus
when we camped somewhere close to Verulamium. He’d given me some herb concoction and I was only semi-conscious, but I remember him treating a man who’d lost his hand. He was quite proud of the leather cover he designed to protect the stump. When I saw you leaving the camp I decided to follow. It seemed the best chance to introduce myself.’

A plausible enough explanation for his sudden appearance, with the added advantage that Valerius remembered the man who’d treated him in the hospital tent. A Greek. What had his name been? Cornelius? No, Calpurnius, that was it. Tiberius Calpurnius. He’d wanted to remove more of Valerius’s arm for the sake of neatness, and been quite put out when Valerius refused. Still, something didn’t quite fit.

‘You say it seemed the best chance to introduce yourself, but wouldn’t it have been a little odd if I’d been at the latrine?’

The scarred face creased into a perplexed frown. ‘What kind of man takes a sword to the latrine?’

Valerius raised his
gladius
so the point touched the other man’s breastbone.

‘A careful one.’

‘The legate’s uniform and armour were the only things that made me think I might be mistaken,’ Paternus explained as they walked back through the trees to the camp. ‘It would have been a sudden and unlikely elevation for a man in your position.’

Valerius turned to stare at him. ‘You mentioned my
particular circumstances
. What did you mean by that?’

‘I heard what happened to you in Rome.’ For the first time the scarred tribune looked uncomfortable. ‘I was on garrison duty in Achaea during the troubles, and glad of it. My commander declared first for Galba, then Otho. Dithered in terror for six months when Vitellius came to power, before declaring for Vespasian. By the time the Palatium recalled me to Rome it was all over, though the ruins of the Capitoline still smouldered and they were cleaning blood from the Forum. Mucianus, Domitian and Primus apart, Gaius Valerius Verrens was the talk of the city. To some …’ He looked to Valerius, wondering if he should continue, but the one-handed Roman gave him no hint.

I heard what happened to you in Rome
.

Just how much, Valerius wondered, had Paternus heard and from whom? Pliny would have told him that Valerius risked his life to reach Aulus Vitellius, persuade him to give up the purple and spare Rome from sack and massacre. He would have said the Vitellian attack on the Capitoline, in which Valerius had taken part, and the burning of the great Temple of Jupiter were the result of the cowardice, intransigence and downright foolishness of Vespasian’s brother Sabinus. Domitian’s allies, on the other hand, would have condemned Gaius Valerius Verrens as a traitor who betrayed his friends and his Empire and quite possibly threw the brand that razed the temple to the ground.

Paternus read the message in Valerius’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry if this causes you pain, but if we are to travel together I feel it is wisest to be frank. To some, you were the traitor who had destroyed and defiled Rome’s most sacred site. Still, I wondered how such a man could escape execution. I spoke to a young tribune who’d been deputy commander of the Seventh Galbiana …’

‘Claudius Ferox?’

‘I believe that was the name,’ Paternus nodded. ‘He had a different story. Of a soldier who had lived up to his reputation as a Hero of Rome, saved Primus’s command on the road to Cremona, and somehow become involved in negotiations too secret ever to be revealed. He didn’t believe what he heard at your trial. His version went some way to explaining why Domitian chose to sentence you to exile instead of crucifixion, so I reserved judgement. I had no idea you were travelling east.’

Valerius knew Paternus expected some kind of reaction or explanation, but what was the point? Words would change nothing. The only way he would regain his reputation was on the battlefield and only Titus could give him the opportunity. Still, politeness required a response. ‘I suppose you should …’ The words froze in Valerius’s mouth and his sword came up in a blur of light as a figure appeared on the slope above them.

Paternus placed a hand on his arm. ‘My servant, Gavvo. He must be searching for me.’

Valerius studied the man, who stared back impassively. He reflected that the last time he’d looked into eyes with quite that hint of menace had been on the day he’d first met Serpentius. Nondescript and so ordinary as to be almost featureless, he none the less possessed a stillness that sent a message to anyone capable of understanding it. Valerius lowered the sword.

‘You pick your servants well,’ he said with heavy irony. Paternus laughed and they continued up the slope. Valerius avoided making eye contact with the lithe, shaven-headed figure who sat unnoticed among the trees on a stump, cleaning his fingernails with a fruit knife.

Later that day the column left the river for a broad valley and made good time on another of the well-found roads that spoke so eloquently of Rome’s long-term presence. At first the surrounding country appeared barren – a few isolated farmsteads eking out a living on the thin, dry soil – but with every mile south the land became more fertile. Soon they rode through a landscape of well-cultivated wheat fields and vineyards. Valerius the farmer noted a familiar golden tinge to the wheat crop that warned a landsman to start preparing for harvest, and the individual ears had begun their characteristic bow in homage to the sun. It didn’t look like a place ravaged by civil war for five years.

‘The land all the way to Heliopolis and beyond belongs to the city of Berytus, which is loyal to Rome,’ Gaulan, who accompanied them, responded to a question from Paternus. ‘Most of the farms you see are owned by the families of retired legionaries settled here by Augustus. They are Roman citizens and Rome’s rule here is absolute. You are as safe in the valley as you would be in Antioch or Apamea, even Rome itself. That is why the men are so relaxed. Any Judaean rebel who ventured this far north would find the entire countryside against him. We will not reach Judaea proper for another three or four days. Then it will be different.’

If Paternus realized that Valerius was doing his best to ignore him he took no obvious offence. The scarred tribune seemed to assume his fellow Roman would be desperate for news of Rome. Valerius faced the choice of listening politely or dropping back to ride beside Serpentius a few files back.

‘You know about the Temple of Jupiter and the Castra Praetoria, of course? Domitian, who rules as city prefect, has pledged that his father will rebuild them in greater splendour than before. He sent two of the three legions that took the city south under Primus to mop up the last of the rebels. The third provides security until a new Praetorian Guard has been formed.’ Valerius heard Gaulan curse as they came up behind a farmer driving his herd of skinny goats to another field or a nearby market. Despite the muttered grumbles from his rear, the ragged herder showed no inclination to allow the column to pass and they were forced to slow. Paternus frowned irritably at the delay, but he could see no solution and continued: ‘Most of Vitellius’s supporters died when the city fell or in the bloodletting that followed.’ Valerius had to grit his teeth. Had the man no feeling? Valerius had
been
there; he’d seen the chopped-off limbs, gaping mouths and staring eyes. ‘But Vespasian has pledged that any man who takes the oath to him will be pardoned. For his own reasons Domitian claims not to have received the instruction. He continues to hunt down any former Vitellian he can find, especially those involved in the murder of his uncle, Sabinus. Despite his youth he commands respect as well as fear among the populace, but he will never be liked for himself. Any popularity stems from the efforts of the lady who is to be his wife, Corbulo’s daughter Domitia, who it is said works tirelessly for reconciliation.’

Valerius flinched at the mention of the name. Had things been different Domitia Longina Corbulo would have married him. Instead, she’d sacrificed her future to save his life, pledging herself to Domitian. Valerius still didn’t know whether to admire or hate her for it.

‘It is Domitia,’ Paternus continued, ‘who controls the effort to feed the poor and hungry, who are legion in a city where most of the supplies burned during the fighting. She persuaded Domitian to send aid to the city of Cremona and to incorporate the survivors of the old Guard into the legions rather than executing them …’

I am my father’s daughter.
Valerius heard the words ringing in his head as the goatherd bustled his animals on to a track with whistles and the use of his staff. That was her fate and what defined her. Of course she would use Domitian’s power to help the poor and the dispossessed. What power could Valerius have offered? Ruling over the little farming estate at Fidenae they’d have shared with his sister Olivia and her husband? It would have been like putting her in a cage. And what was the alternative? An army wife playing hostess at a crude fort on the Danuvius frontier or in the wilds of Britannia? How could he ever have dreamed she would be his?

He looked up to find Paternus staring at him. ‘I asked what you expect from your meeting with Titus, but you seemed distracted for a moment. Perhaps my news of Rome troubled you. I apologize; I didn’t mean to cause offence. I have always lacked subtlety, even before this.’ He indicated the burns on his face with a tight smile.

‘Titus knows what I did to advance his father’s cause.’ Valerius cursed the lack of confidence in his voice. He’d failed utterly to achieve what Titus had asked of him. ‘Tame the tiger,’ Titus had said of Marcus Antonius Primus, Vespasian’s impulsive general of the Balkan legions. Instead all Valerius had achieved was to hang on to the tiger’s tail as he launched his army impetuously into northern Italia. Primus’s victory at Cremona changed the course of the war, but at what cost? Blood and fire. Raped women, merchants crucified on the shutters of their burning shops, and babies spitted on spear points. Primus lost control of his legions and Valerius could do nothing to stop it. Desperate not to repeat the disaster, Primus had sent Valerius to Rome to talk his old friend Aulus Vitellius into giving up the purple. But Vitellius’s soldiers refused to let him abdicate, Rome burned and Domitian branded Valerius a traitor. Valerius counted Titus a friend, but why would he reward failure or risk being tainted by dishonour? ‘All I can ask of him is an opportunity for redemption,’ he said stiffly. ‘A chance to prove myself in battle.’

‘Perhaps I could be of some help,’ the disfigured veteran offered. ‘As aide to Tiberius Alexander I will have his ear.’

Valerius shook his head. ‘I prefer to fight my own battles.’ Paternus froze and Valerius realized he’d been more blunt than the generous offer deserved. ‘Now it is for me to apologize.’ He gave the other man a conciliatory smile. ‘These past months have not been easy and I find it difficult to talk about. Titus will listen to me, I hope, and, if not, he is unlikely to be swayed by anyone else, however persuasive.’

Paternus nodded his understanding. Valerius knew what he was thinking – bad enough to lose your hand, but your reputation too? – and willed him not to say it. Perhaps Paternus had the same thought, because he wisely changed the subject. ‘What do you know of these Judaeans?’

‘Poorly armed fanatics.’ Valerius repeated Ariston’s estimate of their fighting qualities. ‘But men who will fight to the death rather than surrender. They are split into several factions, and when they’re not trying to kill us they’re killing each other. They even kill their own women and children to stop them becoming Roman slaves.’

‘Fools then,’ Paternus sniffed. ‘For even a child growing up a slave has opportunities for advancement in Rome.’

‘Perhaps,’ Valerius agreed, ‘but brave fools. An enemy that can destroy a legion and take its eagle is worthy of our respect. Titus’s strategy is to break the back of the rebellion in the countryside and force the survivors to flee to Jerusalem. But Gaulan tells me Jerusalem is like no other Judaean city. It won’t be easy to take even with three or four legions.’

‘It was simpler in Britannia where the Celts hid behind their pathetic wooden fences on top of a hill and thought themselves invincible.’

‘If Boudicca had listened to her advisers,’ Valerius pointed out, ‘and drawn us to her, neither you nor I would be here to discuss it. In the end the Celts were defeated by their own courage. Even Paulinus admitted that if he’d been forced to attack that day he would have been beaten.’

‘More brave fools,’ Paternus conceded with a bitter laugh. ‘And of all the brave fools in Britannia,’ he added significantly, ‘Paulinus awarded only one the Corona Aurea.’

Valerius might have dismissed what amounted to an impertinent question, but despite his earlier doubts he’d begun to warm to Claudius Paternus and he didn’t object. The scarred tribune reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t think who. Something in his mannerisms; the way he held himself? ‘One man was awarded the Corona Aurea,’ he agreed, remembering a similar conversation a decade earlier with Julius Agricola, Paulinus’s aide. ‘But only because the men who truly deserved it were already dead. We couldn’t hold Colonia’s walls, so we did what a legion does best and fought them on ground of our own choosing.’

‘A legion,’ Paternus frowned. ‘I thought …’