[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome (32 page)

Titus frowned, but nodded his approval. With a bow to Berenice the two men walked out together. When they emerged into the cool of the palace courtyard the night air was still and Paternus took a deep breath and looked to the skies. In the vast darkness above the stars twinkled like a multitude of tiny jewels.

‘It is on nights like these a man truly understands that it was worth surviving, don’t you think?’ He turned to Valerius, the ravaged face close and his voice low. ‘You must have felt diminished by your injury. A man with one hand is only part man, after all. Just as a man with half a face is. There must have been times when the point of a sword would have provided a welcome release.’

‘You knew Tiberius Crescens.’ It wasn’t a question.

The right portion of Paternus’s features creased in a bitter smile. ‘So you have guessed? I am surprised it took you so long. People once said the family resemblance was remarkable. His half-brother. A little older, some would say a little wiser. Not quite so quick, but then Tiberius was truly remarkable, as I’m sure you would agree.’

‘He was good.’

‘But not quite good enough, because you killed him. At least, as I heard it, you were responsible for his death.’

‘I would have saved him if I could.’

‘Yet you didn’t, Valerius.’ Suddenly Paternus’s words came in short, fierce bursts. ‘You allowed him to die in the most brutal, vile manner imaginable. A young man, a boy almost, on a mission to dispense justice for the legitimate Emperor of Rome.’

‘Nero had already lost his mind when he sent Tiberius to kill Corbulo. The general didn’t deserve to die.’

‘Neither did Tiberius.’

They faced each other, eyes only inches apart. For a dozen heartbeats Valerius was frozen by the memory of Tiberius Crescens’ terrible end, beaten to death by his comrades after he’d failed to assassinate Corbulo. He knew Paternus’s fingers were on his dagger, but he kept his arms by his side and the moment passed. A groom brought the scarred tribune his horse and handed him the reins. When they were alone again Valerius’s left hand went to his belt and he drew his
pugio
before the other man could react. Paternus felt the point against his breast. His eyes widened as the one-handed Roman spun the knife so it ended with the hilt towards his accuser.

‘Tiberius was my friend,’ he said quietly. ‘And not a day passes when I do not mourn him. If you truly think his shade will be satisfied by my death, take this and use it.’

He could see Paternus considering the possibility, but with a glance at the palace doorway the scarred soldier shook his head and pulled himself into the saddle. Before he could ride off Valerius grabbed the reins. ‘Did Domitian send you to kill me?’

Paternus gave a snort of laughter. ‘If he had you’d already be dead. When you were spared in Rome I knew you would run to your friend Titus. I arranged to be transferred to his staff – I still have friends in the Palatium. It was a coincidence we met in Emesa.’

Valerius wasn’t sure if he believed him, but he didn’t see any advantage in arguing the point. ‘Why, then?’

‘At first I wanted you dead, but when I discovered there were so many conflicting versions of Gaius Valerius Verrens I was intrigued. It became important to know the true value of the man who killed my brother.’

‘Yet you refused my offer of the dagger.’

Paternus leaned down so his mouth was close to Valerius’s ear. ‘In some trials it takes time to come to a verdict. Be assured, Valerius, if you are found wanting I
will
kill you.’ With a wrench he tore the reins free and spurred his horse towards the roadway where his escort waited.

Valerius was still staring down the track when he heard footsteps on the gravel.

‘He hates you, I think.’

Her mere presence made him smile. ‘Worse, he’s not certain whether he does or not.’ He turned and she was standing close; close enough for him to smell the perfumed oil on her body and close enough to touch. But not yet.

‘I have to see Titus.’ He shrugged. ‘Then, who knows.’

‘Titus has retired with my mistress,’ her voice turned mock serious, ‘to discuss policy, or perhaps the merits or otherwise of Josephus, or …’ He placed a finger on her lips and she smiled. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘The war can wait another day.’

So he did. And he was content.

The next morning Valerius sent a message to Serpentius to join him with Titus on the western flank of the city. He waited while Vespasian’s son said his farewells to Berenice, their heads close together and hands lingering a little too long. Tabitha stood in the background, a demure handmaiden with a look of innocence that belied Valerius’s memories of the previous night.

When they parted her logic had been simple. Josephus would stay close to Titus, and wherever Titus was, Berenice would be. ‘Just stay alive for me, Valerius, and we will be together.’

By the time they left, dust clouds already filled the air to the west, marking the positions where Titus’s legions, long on the march, were making their way to their new positions. Valerius rode at Titus’s side, the toga he’d worn the previous evening covered by a nondescript cloak. The young general wore full armour, his gilded breastplate gleaming and his crested helmet glittering in the sun. Every man could see him for what he was – Valerius smiled at the memory – a prince of Rome. Aides clustered around him and couriers fluttered back and forth between the legions and their commander for all the world like bees supplying a hive.

Their route took them across a slope about a mile from the city walls on the north side of a steep valley. Titus’s guards were taking no chances of another Judaean sortie of the kind that almost trapped their commander the previous day. The Tenth legion remained on the Mount of Olives, sweating as they constructed the massive siege machines that could save so many lives in the weeks to come. The Fifth and Fifteenth marched on the slope below in full battle order so their might could best be appreciated by the defenders. Each man carried his shield on his back and a pair of
pila
javelins in his right hand. Even so, squadrons of auxiliary cavalry wheeled and demonstrated on the flank of the formations, making patterns like smoke swirling in the breeze. The legions’ tents, personal baggage and supplies followed them, along with the field artillery and dismantled siege catapults. Clemens’ Twelfth Fulminata had taken a different route, for their destination was to the south-west of the city.

The slope provided Titus and his headquarters staff with a fine view of the walls. They could see the thousands watching warily from the parapets and the many towers that dominated this sector. Beyond the walls the roofs of scattered buildings were visible. Normally this was the least populated section of Jerusalem, but the sea of tents erected to shelter the Passover pilgrims trapped by Titus’s edict could clearly be seen.

‘That will be our first objective.’ Titus made his decision as they circled a group of anonymous tombs and crossed the main road leading north. ‘Josephus styles it Bezetha, the New City.’ He turned in the saddle towards the Great Temple. ‘Its time will come, but the New City will be the first part of Jerusalem returned to Rome’s rule.’

They followed the course of the wall until they reached an area of cleared ground between two rocky spurs. Three thousand legionaries of the leading unit were already preparing a camp large enough to accommodate two legions. Men hacked ditches from the rocky soil, while others shovelled the residue into a passable bank. Engineers marked out the tent lines and the area set aside for the headquarters, the cavalry lines and the hospital. Later they’d set up the armoury and the workshops where the siege engines would be constructed.

It required an enormous effort, both in men and material, but they’d completed it a thousand times before and it came as second nature to them. Valerius didn’t envy them their task, for the western flank of Jerusalem didn’t have the advantages of the east. Unlike their comrades in the Tenth, these men would have to scour the countryside for sufficient timber to create three or four siege towers for each legion.

While Titus conferred with his staff, Valerius dismounted and studied his surroundings. The city wall to his front curved in an arc from the northern spur, where it followed a diagonal line down the flank of the southern. There, it joined a second, much older wall, presumably built to protect the more populated area of the city it embraced. Among the countless towers crowning the wall, one, built of white marble and the height of at least a dozen men, stood out because of its surpassing beauty.

A bulky figure dressed in eastern robes rode up the slope. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Josephus patted his horse’s neck to quiet her. ‘The world’s greatest hope or the world’s end, depending on the point of view of the man who stands here and witnesses it.’

‘Just stone walls,’ Valerius replied. ‘And stone walls cannot stand against Rome. I’d have thought you’d have learned that by now.’

‘Not stone walls.’ Josephus ignored the provocation and slipped from the saddle to stand by Valerius’s side. ‘What you see before you is a nation, a people, a pride.’

‘Are you saying Titus would be better to walk away?’

‘Not at all. I have business inside those walls.’

Valerius was reminded of his promise to Titus, and Berenice’s tirade against the Judaean the previous night. ‘Business?’ He tried unsuccessfully to keep the suspicion from his tone.

‘We are not all soldiers.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Valerius agreed. ‘But anyone who enters those walls had better be prepared to fight like one.’

‘Soldiers are only interested in the here and now,’ Josephus continued as if Valerius hadn’t spoken. ‘Some of us must consider the future.’

‘So. Josephus the prophet?’

‘No.’ The Judaean’s eyes turned bleak. ‘Josephus the realist. I know what must befall my people when these walls fall. I have seen it at Gamala and Jotapata. Rome will prevail, and when Rome prevails she will impose order and discipline on those who have been unwilling to accept it in the past. That is inevitable, and I welcome it.’ A frown of concentration creased his features and his gaze focused on a single area of the city. Valerius followed it to the Great Temple. ‘What I would not welcome is the imposition of Rome’s gods.’ Valerius opened his mouth to protest, but Josephus silenced him with a wave of his hand. ‘Very well, I accept that Rome does not
impose
its gods on the conquered, let us say then the
assimilation
of its gods.’ He turned to Valerius and the Roman saw again the messianic zeal he’d witnessed previously. ‘My people’s religion is what defines them
as a people
. It
must
survive, or once again they will become a nation of slaves destined to be passed from master to master throughout the ages. But to survive it must adapt. Never again can it be allowed to divide us. Instead it must become the single factor that unites and strengthens us.’

‘As I understand it,’ Valerius said, ‘the laws of your religion were laid down by your god a thousand years ago. Even if you challenge them, only your god has the power to alter them.’

‘Not only God,’ Josephus’s brown eyes shone brighter still as they locked on the temple again, ‘but the words of God.’

As they walked their horses back towards Titus’s headquarters group, Valerius felt the Judaean’s gaze on him. ‘Titus tells me you are to be my watchdog. I suppose I should feel honoured that a person of such rank and lineage has accepted the task.’

‘Let us not say watchdog,’ Valerius responded to the baseless flattery with a dry smile. ‘Perhaps companion would be more appropriate, and there will be two, though the other merits the description wolf rather than dog.’

‘Very well, my
companion
.’ Josephus’s smile was like a piece of sea ice. ‘We Judaeans have a passage in our sacred texts that speaks of
walking the valley of the shadow of death
. Many of my people believe it refers to the Valley of Hinnom yonder, whose stink fills your nostrils. It is where the unwanted dead were once left and where the abominations of the old gods were carried out. I am not so certain. I think it may be that the valley of the shadow of death is that place inside us that must be confronted when we knowingly place ourselves in peril.’

‘I don’t know your books,’ Valerius said evenly. ‘But that sounds a reasonable proposition.’

‘Well, I hope you and this wolf of yours are prepared to walk in the shadow, for that is where Joseph Ben Mahtityahu intends to lead you.’ As he said the words he glanced significantly back towards the city. Valerius saw his mouth drop open. ‘What is that?’ The question emerged as a strangled gasp.

Valerius followed his gaze and found it difficult to believe what his eyes were telling him. ‘The temple is burning.’

Simon bar Giora could have wept. First the news that Titus had refused free passage to the pilgrims. Now this.

‘John has gone mad.’ Zacharias’s voice quivered with suppressed fury as he stared at the smoke billowing from the temple storerooms. The tangy, bitter scent of burning grain tantalized the hungry populace even as the haze hung over Jerusalem like a funeral pall. A great murmur went up from all around as they realized what was happening. ‘Why would he burn supplies in a city bulging with starving people?’

‘He didn’t take the temple for the supplies,’ Simon told him. Privately he doubted John had fired the entire contents of the grain stores. He was shrewd enough to keep enough back to feed the men under his command. ‘He doesn’t think we can beat the Romans simply by defending the walls. When the food starts to run out, the only way to get it will be from the enemy stores. He believes hungry men will fight harder than those with full bellies, and he may be right.’

‘So the truce is over?’

‘The truce is over.’ Simon watched as a round object soared into the air over the temple wall and fell into the natural gorge that protected the Antonia fortress. Even now one of Simon’s messengers would be running to recover it. A few minutes later the man appeared, breathing hard, in the doorway of the house Simon had taken over close to the temple walls. He displayed a battered human head by its hank of bloody hair. Simon studied the twisted grimace without any hint of recognition and nodded for it to be taken out and placed with the others. ‘How many does that make?’