[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome (36 page)

‘The building we seek is a palace built by the Hasmoneans, and is close to the first wall. It is flanked by the High Priest’s house and the great market, on the boundary between the two rebel factions and acceptable to both. John of Gischala, may God curse him, holds a dagger-shaped enclave that takes in most of the eastern flank of the city. It is not large, but crucially it includes the Antonia fortress and the Great Temple. Simon bar Giora holds the rest of the Upper City, the Lower and what is known as Bezetha, the New City, between the second and third walls. John has fewer men, but they are well positioned. Simon has the larger force, but even that cannot compensate for the amount of wall he must defend.’

They reached an open space and in the gloom Valerius could make out a massive, pillared structure. Serpentius hissed at them to stay where they were while he checked out the route ahead. Josephus peered at the doorway of the large building they’d reached. ‘The Synagogue of the Freedmen,’ he said, half to himself, ‘and that must be the Hippodrome. We should turn west until we can cross through the first wall, by Herod’s Theatre.’

Valerius was more interested in their interrupted conversation. ‘Why do they fight each other when there are Romans to kill?’

He sensed the Judaean’s shrug. ‘Because John is driven mad with ambition and Simon is a good hater and a bad enemy to have.’

‘Against a divided and outnumbered enemy, Titus must win, even behind these walls.’

‘And so we must persuade them,’ Josephus said firmly. ‘The blood of thousands of innocents depends upon it.’

‘All clear.’ The whispered signal came out of the darkness and Valerius and Josephus moved towards the source. Serpentius was waiting for them at the corner of the next street. ‘There’s a building at the top of the steps that looks like the Theatre of Marcellus in Rome. Is that it?’

‘Yes,’ the Judaean confirmed. ‘It is in the Roman style. From there we go north and the palace lies directly ahead.’

They moved stealthily through the empty streets, past grand houses that stood shoulder to shoulder with tall apartment blocks, shuttered shop fronts and closed workshops that stank of charcoal and burned metal. The first wall barred their way at the top of a steep slope, but Josephus guided them to a gate that proved to be unguarded. Hugging the curve of the theatre walls they passed safely into the Upper City. Eventually a right turn led them into an area of narrower streets. Here Serpentius became warier and despite Josephus’s entreaties for speed he slowed and finally stopped. His eyes fixed on a crossroads a few dozen paces ahead.

‘What’s wrong?’ Valerius hissed.

The Spaniard moved back to join them. ‘One gleam of metal is much like another, but at a certain time and in a certain place a wise man takes heed of the message. They’re ahead of us and I’ve had a feeling for a while we were being followed.’ He shrugged and pulled his sword free. Valerius nodded and drew his own blade. Nothing to be done about it.

‘We need somewhere to fight from.’

‘The alley back there,’ Serpentius had already made his decision, ‘but we’ll need to be quick.’

‘But we must continue,’ Josephus protested. ‘The negotiations. We are so close.’

‘If we keep going the only person you’ll be negotiating with is your god.’ Valerius hustled him back towards the cramped alleyway. ‘This way at least we have a chance.’ When they reached the entrance he pushed Josephus in while he and Serpentius guarded the street, each taking a different direction. ‘See if you can find out where it goes,’ he called over his shoulder to the Judaean. ‘If there’s another way out we might be able to continue.’

Josephus reappeared moments later, his face a pale blob in the darkness and his voice raw-edged with anxiety. ‘It is a dead end. There’s a door in the far wall, but it’s barred from the inside.’

‘Then we fight.’ Serpentius pushed him roughly back into relative safety. ‘Because they’re coming.’

Led by men with torches the hunters advanced from both ends of the street, making no pretence at secrecy now they had their prey trapped. In the alley’s entrance Josephus struggled to get a view of the enemy. ‘Galileans,’ he hissed. ‘John of Gischala’s men.’

The enemy had no helmets or armour, but they carried round shields and were armed with long swords or, worse, spears. Serpentius saw the danger at once.

‘Move deeper inside,’ he instructed his companions. ‘There’s only room for two men at a time and we should be able to hold them for a while.’

What he didn’t say was that the logic of war dictated that men without shields and outranged by long spears would eventually be overwhelmed. Serpentius was a former gladiator and the deadliest fighter Valerius had ever known, but a gladiator’s strengths lay in his speed, his skill and his manoeuvrability. Those strengths would be largely nullified by the narrow confines of the alley. The spears would flick out and their owners would advance step by step, protected by the shields. Valerius and Serpentius could parry the spear points for a while, perhaps even kill one or two of their owners. But the dead men would be replaced and those behind would push the replacements forward, forcing the defenders to retreat until their backs were literally against the wall. Eventually, their arms would tire and the spear points would seek them out.

‘If you know any prayers now’s the time to say them,’ Serpentius hissed as two men made a tentative appearance in the entrance. The Spaniard’s hand flew to his chest and his arm came forward in a single flowing movement. The man on the right cried out and threw up his arms to fall backwards with one of the little Scythian throwing axes embedded in his skull. His companion dropped to the ground and dragged the dead man away by the arm. ‘That will keep them honest for a while.’

Serpentius had bought them a breathing space, but how long depended on the quality of their opponents. Valerius used the respite to study his surroundings and found no comfort in the featureless vertical walls. He could hear the sound of iron on wood as Josephus hacked at the door in a desperate but probably vain attempt to create an escape route.

It wasn’t long before the Galileans tried again. This time two pairs advanced together. The two in front were protected by their shields and held their spears ready to dart forward once they came within range. Of the pair in the rear, the one on the right was ready to bring down another shield to protect his comrades from Serpentius’s deadly axes. The other held a torch aloft so they could see who they were killing.

‘Be ready.’ Serpentius took control and Valerius was happy to let him. If they survived, and the gods only knew how, it would be because of his street-fighting instincts. ‘High and low.’

‘High and low.’ Valerius repeated the mantra. He had only the vaguest idea what Serpentius had in mind, but he was ready when the Spaniard exploded into action. Serpentius allowed them almost to within spear-length before the second axe whipped out in a blur of bright iron aimed at the rear spearman’s head. His shield came down so the axe rebounded with a solid ‘thwack’, but the throw had done its job. For a fleeting moment the shield blinded the two men at the back, while the two in front hesitated for a fatal heartbeat as Valerius and Serpentius attacked.

High and low. Valerius went in high. His sword swept the left hand spearman’s point aside and he forced it between the two shields, feeling the resistance as it carved into someone’s body. It must have been the man with the torch because, accompanied by a shriek of mortal agony, the alley was plunged into darkness. Valerius wrenched the
gladius
free as someone tried to cave in his skull with a spear shaft, hammering at the upper shield while he lashed out with his feet at his nearest opponent.

This was gutter fighting in its purest, most violent form and the art had no greater exponent than Serpentius. As Valerius made his assault, the Spaniard had executed a perfectly timed acrobat’s roll that brought him in below the spears. His sword lanced point first into the unprotected groin of the right hand shield bearer. While his victim howled Serpentius ripped the shield free from his victim’s nerveless fingers and rammed it into the face of his partner. The sheer speed and brutality of the assault was too much for their opponents. The survivors turned and ran, leaving two of their comrades twitching and bleeding in the filth on the alley floor. Serpentius hefted the shield and stepped forward to finish the dying men. He turned to Valerius. ‘The gods forgive me,’ he grinned, ‘but I enjoyed that.’

Before they knew it they were laughing together in huge whooping snorts. It was madness, of course; battle madness and relief at surviving what had appeared certain death. Their laughter echoed from the walls of the alley and Josephus looked at his companions with a mix of horror and dread. What kind of men were these blood-soaked monsters?

Gradually, the laughter faded, but the grins remained. Serpentius took his position on the right, the snatched shield on his left arm, protecting Valerius when he moved in on the left. They would fight as one. Live or die as one. Brothers in arms.

Let them come.

They didn’t come. Instead, the men in the alley heard the sound of charging feet, followed by a clash of swords and cries of consternation. Valerius looked back at Josephus and even in the dark he could see his own puzzlement reflected in the Judaean’s eyes. He shrugged and faced the entrance, his sword at the ready.

The silence seemed to go on for ever before a commanding voice hailed them. ‘Joseph Ben Mahtityahu?’

‘Who is asking?’ the Judaean called.

‘My name is James of Rehoboth, commander of the Idumaean defenders of the free city of Jerusalem, sent by Simon bar Giora to escort you safely to the palace.’

‘How do we know you can be trusted?’

‘Stay, then.’ James’s voice was heavy with contempt. ‘There are many in Jerusalem who would like to make the acquaintance of Joseph Ben Mahtityahu come the dawn.’

‘No,’ Josephus said hurriedly. ‘We will come with you.’

‘Very well.’ A torch flared at the alley entrance and in its light they could see a tall man with a mane of straggly hair and fathomless dark eyes. ‘Sheathe your swords. You are under Simon’s truce now. John of Gischala has done his worst, but know this, Joseph Ben Mahtityahu: Do not think that because I saved your life tonight I am your friend. It will be my pleasure to take it before this is over.’

An avenue of torches flanked the little procession as James led the three men up the wide marble steps of the Hasmonean Palace. In the glow of the burning brands Valerius could make out a great doorway topped by two conical towers. He felt no fear in the heart of the enemy citadel, only a dull resentment at the duplicity of these treacherous rebels. Josephus had come here at Simon bar Giora’s instigation. Whatever Valerius’s doubts about the Judaean, he had placed his life at risk to avert the needless slaughter of his people. Yet this Simon had almost allowed him to be butchered, and Valerius and Serpentius with him.

They followed James through a maze of corridors until they reached a door clad in beaten gold, wonderfully worked into the shapes of birds, fishes and flowers. The Idumaean ushered them through into a room hung with sumptuous tapestries where the atmosphere was thick with the scent of stale sweat and antagonism.

Three chairs had been set around a large table in the centre of the room. One held a fearsome giant of a man and he jumped up to greet the newcomers. The other occupant, older and thinner, glanced up with sullen dismissal until his eyes fell on Josephus. At the sight of the Judaean his mouth twisted into a snarl of hatred and the pale eyes almost glowed with the power of his wrath. Valerius thought he might cry out, but the spasm subsided and he slumped back in his chair content, for the moment, to glare at his enemies.

The big man surprised them by ignoring Josephus and instead approached Valerius and the Spaniard. His eyes registered the dark blood staining their tunics, but his greeting barely faltered. ‘I welcome you in the name of peace, my friends, though I see your passage has not been without trial. I am Simon bar Giora, and my companion is the famed John of Gischala.’ He bowed his head, and Valerius’s manners insisted he do likewise.

‘I thank you for your greeting and hope our journey was worthwhile,’ he replied with equal formality. Serpentius ignored the Judaean and glared around the room. One man stood protectively behind each of the principals’ chairs while six more had their backs against the walls. What made these men different were the hands that hung poised over their swords.

Simon finally turned to Josephus, but there was little warmth in his welcome. ‘Our past division means I cannot greet you with the same enthusiasm. Nevertheless, I take comfort from your safe arrival.’ He glanced at John. ‘Let us hope some good comes of it, God willing.’

‘God willing,’ Josephus echoed.

John of Gischala snorted contemptuously. ‘I, for my part, can barely suffer the sight of you.’ His words were warped by the strength of his hatred. ‘The stink of betrayal ever hung over you. I would have killed you at Tiberias, but Jesus Ben Sapphia stayed my hand. Your death cannot come soon enough for me.’

‘If you had your way tonight I would already be dead,’ Josephus snapped back. ‘It is only because of my companions I am alive.’ With a growl he took a step towards the man in the chair, but Simon touched his arm and his anger subsided as quickly as it had risen.

‘We cannot change what has been done,’ the big man said. ‘But we
can
promise you safe passage on your return. Please be seated. For your sake our business must be conducted swiftly.’ Simon turned to Valerius. ‘I apologize, but for reasons of security it is not possible for a Roman to attend these proceedings.’ Valerius opened his mouth to protest, but Simon assured him Josephus would be safe. He glanced at Serpentius. ‘Your savage friend speaks no Hebrew, I have your word on it?’

‘He speaks no Hebrew, on my honour.’

‘Then he may stay and take responsibility for your charge. He looks well capable of it, yes?’

Valerius looked into the deep-set eyes seeking the lie, but Simon met his gaze without flinching. ‘You’ll stay,’ he told Serpentius. The Spaniard responded with a sharp inclination of the head.