Sword of Rome (16 page)

How could he not have seen it? Titus’s letter had arrived the day he had been summoned before the Emperor and, in the chaos since, he had missed the significance of the short passage he had just read.
A letter commending me to the Emperor
. A letter with the same message
Valerius had carried orally to Galba in Carthago Nova. Take away the diplomatic language and the meaning was clear: here is my son. Announce him as your heir and you will have my support in everything you do. But Galba had made Piso his heir. Where would Titus be now? And how long would it take for the news to reach him? He wouldn’t continue his journey only to be humiliated, Valerius was certain of that. He would turn about and go back to his father. Which raised yet another question: what would his father do? Vespasian controlled the best part of six legions in the East. He was a man of enormous principle, but also a man of enormous pride. Galba’s refusal to consider Titus was as good as a slap in the face.

But that wasn’t what had made him reread the letter. He scanned the pages until he found the passage he was searching for.

I hope very much to see you when I reach Rome, but there are many others I must visit. Among them a young gentleman who accompanied a friend of yours, and of mine, on the day she took ship back to Italia. I shall not name the lady, for reasons we both understand. From the tone of his letters it seems he was quite taken with his shipmate, and she with him. He has been sent to my uncle, Sabinus, in the hope he will learn the craft of diplomacy and the intricacies of politics, but he is young and easily bored, and I fear he will be more often found at the games. You may see him there. He is my brother, Titus Flavius Domitianus
.

Titus Flavius Domitianus.

The young man he had threatened and whose bodyguards he had left bleeding was Titus’s brother. Vespasian’s son was Domitia Longina’s protector?

But no longer. His breath caught in his throat as he turned his attention for the third time to the letter from Domitia the doorman had passed to him. It was in a code her father had perfected and they had agreed to use in the dangerous weeks that followed Corbulo’s death. In it, she explained how what had begun as a flirtatious game to pass the time on the ship bringing her back from Alexandria had become
something much more serious in the mind of Domitianus. When he had begun to appear at the house at all hours of the day and night, she had decided the only way to cool his ardour was to put some distance between them. There was more. She apologized for the abrupt nature of their last parting and he read into her words something that created a liquid feeling inside him and made his heart soar, despite the voice in his head that cried caution. Hidden in the dry groups of anonymous letters was a hint of genuine affection, and perhaps more than affection.

She had left a few days earlier for the country house of an aunt outside the northern city of Dertona. According to the doorman she planned to spend three months there, before returning to Rome in the spring.

It was an odd choice of destination in winter, but Dertona was known for its benign climate. He consoled himself that at least she would be safe from Domitianus there.

And if Otho’s doom-laden prediction came true, the further away from Rome, the better.

The following day Valerius took Serpentius to check whether Laco had the Emperor’s letter. He still hadn’t told the Spaniard the detail of their mission, only that they were going on a journey and he should arrange food, horses and warm clothing. But the former gladiator’s nose for trouble was already twitching.

‘There’s a rumour in the market that they’ve got some kind of problem up north. That wouldn’t have anything to do with our trip, would it?’

‘Would it make a difference if it did?’

Serpentius grinned. ‘I suppose not. Even with Fabiana’s company, life has been a little dull lately. It’s time we were out of the stink of the city and back on the road.’

Valerius returned his companion’s grin. Fabiana was the pretty slave girl who looked after the house and he’d never even suspected. It seemed the Spaniard had added discretion to his already wide range of talents. How many years had it been? Seven? Eight? He tried to remember the day Serpentius had tried to kill him on the packed sand of the gladiator training ground, but, except for a snarling face filled
with murderous intent, it was a blur of sweat and pain. The lines on the face still looked as if they had been hacked out with a knife, though they were deeper now. Grey stubble on the cheeks, but still the same fire in the dark eyes. Still the same old Serpentius; thin as a stockman’s whip and just as tough, quicker than the striking snake he was named for and twice as dangerous. Old? He realized he had no idea what age the Spaniard might be. He had saved Serpentius from certain death in the arena by recruiting him for a mission that, ironically, had almost killed them both. In turn, the former gladiator had pledged to serve him and a bond existed between them as strong as any blood oath.

‘What else have you heard?’

‘It sounds as if our friend Otho is finished.’

Valerius was startled enough to stop in the middle of the street. ‘What makes you say that?’

The Spaniard shrugged. ‘Seems he’d been telling everyone who’ll listen that the Emperor would make him his heir and used the fact to borrow money. Lots of money. Now that Galba has named Piso they’re all calling in their loans. You’ve seen what he’s like. Never leaving his room. That panicky look in his eyes? And what about all the coming and going? They’re not all debt collectors.’

‘He still has friends.’

‘Not friends with that kind of money.’ Serpentius laughed. ‘No, he’s either planning to run or …’

‘Or?’

Serpentius turned to meet his gaze. ‘Either you run or you fight.’

‘Then let’s hope he runs. You’re right, it is time we were out of the stink of the city.’

When they reached the Palatine, Valerius was surprised to be escorted once more to the receiving room, where he found Galba and his three advisers huddled in discussion. As he waited for his presence to be acknowledged the voices became increasingly heated. He heard the name Onomastus and it froze him to the core. Onomastus was Otho’s freedman and the kind of slimy, double-dealing Greek who gave his compatriots a bad name.

‘You must act, before his influence is any more powerful.’ The
speaker was Cornelius Laco and he was more agitated than Valerius had ever seen him.

‘I disagree,’ Vinius interrupted. ‘We do not have enough evidence. Give them more rope and they will strangle themselves with it.’

‘Evidence?’ the Praetorian commander demanded. ‘He is the Emperor, he does not need evidence, all he needs is suspicion. Just give the word and I will clear out that rat’s nest in—’

‘No.’ Galba’s grating voice stopped him in mid-sentence. ‘Titus is right. Justice and strength. We will wait, gather evidence, and when the time is right we will strike.’

Laco turned away with a sigh that might have contained the sentiment ‘old fool’, but Valerius didn’t have time to dwell on the implications of what he’d heard, because finally Galba noticed him.

The Emperor called him forward, but before he could speak Laco burst out: ‘Why don’t you ask him? He’s probably one of the bastards.’ In the frozen silence that followed, Valerius waited for the question that would either make him a liar or condemn Otho to the axe.

Eventually, the Emperor shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was almost kindly. ‘This young man has enough burdens without adding another. I am afraid your mission must be delayed again, Verrens. There are suggestions of new developments on the Germania frontier. It has become more complex than I first envisaged. I must think on it for a while longer. See Laco after the sacrifice tomorrow and we will discuss it.’

As Valerius turned his back the bickering resumed. Again, he heard the name Onomastus. What did they know that Gaius Valerius Verrens did not? And what kind of deadly game was Marcus Salvius Otho playing?

Of all the glories of Rome, Valerius had long ago decided the Temple of Apollo was the most perfect. When Augustus dreamed of having a shrine on the Palatine to rival the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline he insisted on a construction on a similar scale. The result was a multi-columned masterpiece of creamy Etrurian marble flanked by an avenue of pillars and surrounded by a hundred statues depicting the fifty daughters of Danaus and their unfortunate husbands. In front of the temple stood an enormous statue of the god, the only one in Rome which rivalled the great colossus in Nero’s Golden House. On the roof a pair of gilded chariots of the sun were drawn by eight golden steeds. A magnificent arch, dedicated by the temple’s founder to his father, formed the gateway, and martial scenes carved from ivory and plated with precious metals decorated the double doors.

Through this gate Servius Galba Caesar Augustus made his way eighteen days before the kalends of Februarius to preside over the traditional sacrifice and hear the auguries for the coming year. He took his place at the top of the steps overlooking the altar, where he was welcomed by Umbricius Scaurus, the high priest and haruspex. On his right stood Piso, his recently appointed heir, who Valerius had discovered was a pleasant, if not particularly bright young man with little interest in life beyond increasing his fortune and restoring his
family’s reputation. To the left Galba’s fellow consul, Titus Vinius, and Cornelius Laco, prefect of the Praetorian Guard, looked uncomfortable alongside the Emperor’s most devoted and loyal servant Marcus Salvius Otho. Valerius, by special invitation of the Emperor, was part of the entourage waiting among the columns for the sacrifice to begin. Otho had greeted him with a dry smile and now he chatted amiably with Laco, who patently struggled to match his pleasantries.

The blast of horns announced the arrival of the sacrifice, a fine white bull led into the shrine by the
victimarius
, a bare-chested young man who had probably brought up the animal from birth. This familiarity hopefully ensured the bull would stay calm throughout the ritual, for any sign of nervousness from man or beast would be taken by Umbricius as a poor omen. In honour of the day, the animal’s coat had been brushed to an ivory sheen, its horns gilded and its back draped with embroidered cloth of gold and scarlet. Galba’s eyes never left the bull. Valerius noticed that Otho’s gaze never left the Emperor. As it was coaxed towards the altar, the sacrifice let out an enormous sputtering fart that made Umbricius frown and the handler’s eyes widen. The young man recovered enough to speak quietly in the bull’s ear and by some hidden pressure on the neck persuaded it to kneel. Aided by the haruspex, Galba made his way down the steps to sprinkle the ritual dust on the animal’s head and back. As he completed his task a second muscular youth appeared, armed with a large axe which he swiftly brought down on the bull’s forehead. The blow landed with the sound of a thunder clap. For a heartbeat the animal appeared more surprised than stunned, then its eyes rolled back in its head and it collapsed on its side. Before it could recover a knife was drawn quickly across its throat. The Emperor stepped back, careful not to allow his toga to be stained as blood spurted from the pink-lipped wound to be collected in a bronze bowl by the
victimarius
. Then the sacrifice’s body was opened from breastbone to tail and Umbricius stooped low as the steaming entrails flooded out on to the tiles. He flicked at the yards of blue-veined intestine with the
lituus
, his curved wand of office, until he found the gall bladder and the heart. As the seconds passed, Valerius realized he was holding his breath. The priest began muttering to
himself. Galba stepped closer to hear what Umbricius was saying, and the blood drained from his face.

‘The omens are bad.’ The high priest’s voice echoed round the temple precinct, drawing a shudder from all who heard him – all except one. ‘The gall bladder is black and the heart is swollen. The sacrifice is declared null.’ He drew breath and every man there expected him to order forward the next bull. Instead, his eyes fixed on Marcus Salvius Otho. ‘There is an enemy at the heart of the Empire.’ Galba flinched at the words and a murmur of disbelief punctuated by shouts of ‘No’ ran through the assembly, but the sardonic smile Otho had worn throughout the ceremony remained in place. ‘Foul plots pollute the very air that surrounds us.’

For a moment Valerius believed Galba would use the priest’s words as an excuse to have Otho arrested and dragged off to the
carcer
. Icelus and Laco had spent the last two days urging him to do just that. Now the gods had confirmed their suspicions. Someone – it must have been Icelus, because Laco had neither the energy nor the wit – had set this up. If ever there was a moment to act, it was now. But the aged Emperor just looked from Umbricius to the bloody mess at his feet and back again as if he wasn’t aware what was happening. Without the support of the governor of Lusitania he would never have had the nerve to make the great gamble that had brought him the Empire. Otho had been with him every step of the way and for all his faults he was a patrician of the noblest Roman stock. Galba trusted Vinius and Laco to do his bidding, but Otho’s backing had given him added legitimacy. He was so blinded by the need to be perceived as strong and just that it probably didn’t occur to him that Otho might believe
he
had been betrayed. All that mattered was that Servius Sulpicius Galba had done what was right. Eventually, he found his voice.

‘Continue with the sacrifice.’

A second bull was brought forward and the ceremony resumed. From his place by the pillars Valerius saw a small olive-skinned man approach Otho and recognized the patrician’s freedman, Onomastus. The former slave did most of the talking and Otho nodded gravely. When they’d finished their discussion Otho approached Laco in a
way that was almost submissive, bowing to the Praetorian prefect and shaking hands before drifting to the side of the temple and making his way to the gate.

Valerius pushed his way towards Laco. ‘I see Marcus Salvius Otho has left. Is something troubling him?’