Sword of Rome (36 page)

Every man felt a surge of relief when they eventually emerged from the claustrophobic embrace of the hills at a tiny settlement beside a small stream the inhabitants laughably claimed was the Padus. The villagers had fled at the first sight of wolfskin cloaks and gleaming iron, but when the strangers made no threatening moves and didn’t loot the houses the bravest gradually returned. They called their village Forovibiensis and spoke a guttural Latin that Valerius at first struggled to understand. Still, he managed to trade the dead man’s cloak for three loaves of hard country bread and a skin of some earthy drink that might once have been wine. Gossip was as important to these rustic people as trade goods and they listened with dismay as Valerius told them of the great army gathering to their north. One of the elders nodded seriously. Apart from Valerius’s men, he said, they had encountered no soldiers, but this information accorded with what their watchers could see from the mountain behind the village. Columns of smoke where no smoke should be seen, thick and dark, towering in the still air over the plain like ominous statues.

‘Valens may be too scared to leave the mountains,’ Serpentius offered, ‘but he’s sending out raiding parties to try to goad Otho’s forces into attacking him. Fire and iron in the night and a few slaughtered civilians, and soon every town and village in the province is screaming for protection. With a little of lady Fortuna’s luck, Otho’s army could be within a day’s march.’

Valerius wasn’t so certain. There was nothing wrong with the
Spaniard’s logic, but he knew Otho had been relying on the Balkan legions to stop Vitellius and those legions would take time to react. At best, a legion on the march would make twenty miles a day. He tried to remember how many days it had been since they had left Rome, but could only guess. It was possible, but nowhere near certain, that they could be somewhere close to Italia by now.

‘What lies that way?’ He pointed to the east. The elder shook his head and explained he had never ventured further than the next river. After a moment’s thought, he called over a small fat man who peered suspiciously from the doorway of one of the mud and wattle houses.

‘Cabour sometimes trades as far as Genua,’ he said proudly.

Valerius repeated his question and the trader’s brow furrowed. ‘When you come to Pollentia, follow the river upstream until you can cross the bridge at Alba Pompeia. There you will find a track that takes you to Aquae Statiellae, where you can join the Julia Augusta. It is a fine road,’ he said proudly. ‘Two full carts can pass side by side. Turn south and you will eventually reach Vada Sabatia and the great sea. Go north and the next town is Dertona, but I have never been there.’ He shrugged as if the place was of little consequence, but the name stirred a memory in Valerius.

‘These columns of smoke, could one of them have come from Dertona?’

Serpentius glanced up sharply at the new urgency in his friend’s voice, but Cabour only looked mystified. ‘Smoke is smoke. You see it in the sky, something is burning. Who knows where?’

Valerius shook his head in frustration. ‘Saddle up,’ he shouted, and saw the startled looks from his exhausted men.

When they were on the move, Serpentius rode up to him. ‘What’s so interesting about this Dertona?’ The flat plain stretched out ahead of them under an endless blue sky, a patchwork of fields cut with drainage ditches and streams and scattered with workers preparing the land for planting. Despite the relative warmth of the day, Valerius suppressed a shiver as he kept his eyes on the distant horizon.

‘Domitia.’

The villa sprawled across a low hill overlooking the town and Domitia Longina Corbulo had a clear view from the balcony over the plain. It was already pitch dark and silk-winged moths the size of gold
aurei
fluttered round the oil lamp, occasionally popping in a hissing splutter of bright flame when they came too close. A similar phenomenon was occurring in front of her eyes. Tiny pinpricks of red and gold dotted the distant blackness, first flaring, then fading quite quickly to a duller glow. With every new conflagration, a claw of cold iron gripped her heart.

What was she to do?

She had come north to evade the attentions of Flavius Domitianus and the growing unrest in Rome, but there was something else too. She had needed to get away to try to come to terms with her feelings for Gaius Valerius Verrens. She was a married woman – true, in name only – yet each time he appeared in her life she remembered the terrible shipwreck and the sun-baked beach in Egypt where it had all begun. The desperate struggle for survival against heat and thirst. The stern, masterful figure who had fought for her life and her honour, and, finally, her love. A man unlike any other she had ever known. She shivered, not entirely due to the chill night air. She was sure Valerius suffered similar feelings, because she had seen it in the soulful eyes that sat so uneasily in a face that was as hard and unyielding as the man who bore it. When news came that Galba was dead and Otho had taken the purple, her first instinct had been to return to him. But her uncle, head of Dertona’s
ordo
, the council of a hundred prominent citizens who controlled all civic life in the city, had persuaded her it was too dangerous to travel.

And now it was too late.

Hard on the heels of Otho’s elevation had come word that the governor of Germania, Aulus Vitellius, had been hailed Emperor in his turn, and that his legions were marching on Rome. Troops of hard-eyed auxiliary cavalry had appeared at every town along the Padus valley demanding that each
ordo
in turn pledge allegiance to Vitellius. Her uncle, dear, proud old Prixus, had closed the gates on them and a show of force on the walls had been enough to see them off. For now.
Prixus argued in council that only the Senate and people of Rome had the right to hail an Emperor, and that Vitellius was a provincial upstart of the worst sort. The townsfolk had heard him out and agreed that a message should be sent to Rome assuring Otho of Dertona’s allegiance and asking for troops to be sent to safeguard the city against possible attack.

Since then they had heard nothing.

She flinched as another bright flare briefly pierced the night. A villa, just like this? A farm? Was it closer than the last? So far the German auxiliaries had kept their depredations to the far side of the river, but she knew that could change at any time. A stream of refugees carrying the blackened remnants of their lives had confirmed the cavalrymen were part of a mighty army and that they were becoming bolder by the day. Earlier she had seen a great column of smoke to the north-west that could be no single building. Her uncle had stood beside her with tears in his eyes and said a single word. ‘Cuttiae.’

Cuttiae was – had been – a small community less than ten miles away, on the north side of the river. Its people had stayed firm for Otho. Prixus sighed and Domitia tried not to notice as he wiped his eyes. ‘I think that tomorrow we must move into the city.’

He was telling her it was only a matter of time before they came.

‘What happens when we reach Dertona?’

Valerius glanced over his shoulder as he pondered his response to a question which had any number of answers. ‘Are they still there?’

‘Two miles or so back. They’re not trying to run us down, so either their horses are as tired as ours, or they have something else in mind.’
They
had been there for two hours, just visible as a dark smudge on the flat, dusty landscape. ‘It’s the ones we can’t see I’m worried about.’

They had ridden through the night, stopping only to water and feed the horses. At dawn there had been grumbles from the worn-out legionaries that they should stop and rest, until Valerius pointed out that Claudius Victor and his vengeful Batavians were probably not far behind and he was unlikely to allow his men that luxury. His instinct had been correct, for not much later Serpentius spotted riders keeping pace with the little column. They would get rest and food at Dertona. If they ever got there. ‘You think they’ve got ahead of us?’

Serpentius shrugged. ‘I don’t see how, but who knows? You said they did the impossible in Britannia.’

‘I didn’t witness it, but men who did said the Batavians could swim rivers in full armour and disappear into the ground when your back was turned. The way you do.’

The Spaniard grinned. ‘Just be thankful I’m not hunting you.’

Valerius felt a surge of affection for the former gladiator who had become his friend. ‘If it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t have got this far. A lot depends on whether Dertona has declared for Vitellius or stayed loyal. When we reach the city, if Domitia is still there, I’ll try to persuade her to come with us. Placentia’s not much further ahead, and from there we can take the road south and join Otho.’

‘And if she doesn’t agree?’

Valerius took a deep breath. ‘If she decides to stay, I’ll stay with her, and you and the others can go on.’

‘You think so?’ Serpentius produced the barking cough that passed as laughter with his people.

‘It would be wiser,’ Valerius said. They both knew it was a likely death sentence to stay.

‘I’m a Spaniard, Valerius.’ The dark eyes turned dangerous. ‘An Asturian. If we were wise, we would never have let the Romans take our country. You can keep your wisdom and your
culture
, I’ve lived as a filthy barbarian and I’ll die a filthy barbarian.’

The Roman smiled. ‘Then let’s see if we can’t put a little more distance between us and our Batavian friends.’

They approached the walls of Dertona just as dawn broke after another night in the saddle. ‘Don’t expect a warm welcome,’ Serpentius warned the men. ‘They’ll be expecting trouble and we look like the worst kind.’

Valerius rubbed his bearded chin and ran an eye over his six companions; pinch-faced, brooding and full of menace in their stinking furs and rust-pitted armour they looked more like bandits than soldiers. ‘I’ll go first.’

‘Be my guest. And don’t worry. If anybody puts an arrow through your throat I’ll stick a spear through his.’

‘That’s very comforting.’ Valerius rode slowly towards the gate with his arms raised to shoulder height. He got to within a few paces of the wooden palisade before he was challenged.

‘Stop! Who’s there?’

Whoever was asking, or someone less inclined to debate, didn’t wait for an answer. Valerius saw a blur of movement on the palisade and twisted in the saddle as an expertly thrown spear hurtled towards
him. If he hadn’t been riding a cavalry-bred mount, trained to obey knee and heel, it would have taken him in the midriff. Instead, the horse danced sideways and the spear passed harmlessly by. ‘Friend,’ he shouted. ‘I’m a friend.’

A voice filled with authority barked an order from the tower beside the gate, and that order must have been obeyed because no more spears came his way. He waited, still with his arms outstretched, feeling like a target for
pilum
practice.

‘You don’t look like a friend,’ the voice said suspiciously. ‘You look like one of the barbarian wolf men who threatened to burn us out a few days ago unless we support that fat bastard Vitellius. What about the others? I see some shadows in the murk behind you that don’t look like shadows.’

Valerius waved Serpentius and the legionaries forward and heard a reluctant shuffling of hooves from behind. He didn’t blame them. He didn’t feel particularly brave himself, parading within range of unknown numbers of frightened and suspicious spearmen.

‘You look even less like friends now.’

‘If we weren’t friends there’d be hundreds of us, not just seven, and we wouldn’t be standing here. We’d have already swarmed over your pathetic little walls and I’d have cut your throat before your sentry there had even woken up.’

‘Pathetic, is it?’

‘You know you won’t last five minutes when they come for you. You should pack up now and get everyone to Placentia while you can. At least you’ll have a chance there.’

The man laughed nervously. ‘You’re just trying to get us into the open, so we’ll be easier to slaughter.’

‘No,’ Valerius said with exaggerated patience. ‘I’m trying to get a message to Prixus Lucianus Longinus, the man who represents your interests in the Senate.’

A grey-bearded elder wearing a centurion’s helmet appeared behind the palisade. He reminded Valerius of Falco, the militia commander who had helped defend Colonia from Boudicca. ‘What message?’ the man demanded, but now his voice sounded more curious than suspicious.

‘That is between myself and the senator.’

There was a long pause before the man made up his mind. ‘Then you can carry it to him yourself.’ The words were spoken with exaggerated dignity. ‘He’s too stubborn to come and live with us ordinary mortals, even if it gets him killed. Take the road round the walls and up to that fancy villa on the hill there. You can’t miss it.’

Valerius hesitated before turning away. ‘My advice is good.’

The other man nodded gravely. ‘Perhaps.’

They rode wearily up the hill in single column and the growing light showed them approaching a well-maintained villa of substantial proportions along a track running between cultivated rows of vines. There was no wall, only a low hedge that formed a barrier between those who owned the land and those who only worked it. Valerius pushed his horse forward through the carved wooden gateway into a courtyard formed by the three sides of the white stucco building. As they reached it, a large bell began tolling in the city below, triggering a flurry of activity within the house. Four fluted pillars flanked the doorway and the shadows between them filled with figures that gradually became recognizably human. In the van was a tall, balding figure holding an old-fashioned sword of a pattern that might have been carried by Divine Caesar himself. Behind him stood a short, almost square peasant wearing a savage scowl and wielding a woodman’s axe. They were backed by what looked like the household ladies and their servants, each armed with whatever had come to hand at short notice. Less enthusiastic were the slaves, who sidled round the angle of the building carrying staves and mattocks.