Sword of Rome (37 page)

‘Raaaargh!’ Serpentius’s lion’s roar broke the silence and the slaves disappeared like morning mist under a bright sun. The Spaniard grinned. Valerius darted an annoyed glance at his friend and turned to the man in the formal toga with the sword.

‘Prixus Lucianus Longinus?’

The aristocrat peered at his visitor through rheumy eyes. ‘Yes, and I am prepared to die for what is mine.’ As he said the words he raised the sword, but Valerius backed his horse away and pulled back the wolf’s head hood that had left his face in shadow. He dismounted and
advanced on the old man. The sword shook in wrinkled hands and the axeman’s eyes flared dangerously.

In the shadows of the portico Domitia held the knife that would, if necessary, end her life with honour, but something about the commanding figure in the wolfskin cloak awoke a memory. When the hood went back her heart seemed to stop. What was it? Unkempt dark hair. A stubbled face, the expression savage, as if the man who wore it had spent an eternity in the company of death. Battle-scarred and grim, it was marked by hunger and privation so every bone seemed ready to cut through the skin. Yet there was something about him that made her pause. The eyes. She recognized the eyes.

‘Valerius?’

He heard the question and turned to the slim figure who stood to the right of the little tableau, cloaked in what looked like a shroud. The exhaustion of the past few days had threatened to overwhelm him, but the very sight of her made the blood pound in his veins and he felt a new energy course through him. He wondered that he had not seen her immediately, because she shone out from the drabness around her like the brightest star in the night sky. More careworn, perhaps, than the last time he had seen her, but still with a hypnotic beauty unmatched by any woman he had met.

‘My lady.’ The gentle smile he attempted appeared as a fierce wolf’s grin. ‘I hope you are well.’

The cushioned benches, soft drapes and perfumed oil lamps could have come from another world, but it was being in a room with a ceiling that was most disconcerting after more than three weeks sleeping under the stars.

‘My place is with my uncle.’

It was the third time Domitia had spoken the words and each time with increased emphasis. For the third time, Valerius repeated his argument.

‘To the west, General Gaius Fabius Valens is camped not more than fifty miles away with an army of twenty-five thousand men. To the north, General Aulus Caecina Alienus, with another twenty-five
thousand. Soon, probably in less than a week, they will combine somewhere very close to Dertona and prepare to march on Rome …’

‘Unless the Emperor stops them, surely.’

Valerius bowed to acknowledge Prixus Longinus’s intervention. ‘That is true, senator, but you must ask why we have seen no sign of his cavalry. Why Dertona, which has been so loyal, has had no message of reassurance or encouragement. I give you a soldier’s answer. His forces in Italia are not sufficient to defeat either of Vitellius’s armies without reinforcement from the legions of the Balkans and the Danuvius frontier. They are close, I am certain of that, but not close enough yet to intervene in time to save Dertona. You must seek refuge in Placentia, which has stout walls and is prepared for defence. Already Valens’ auxiliaries have crossed the river. They will come for you soon and you will have the choice of surrender or annihilation.’

Prixus flinched and walked to the balcony where the twisting, tree-lined course of the Padus was just visible as a dark line on the horizon.

Domitia raised herself to her full height. ‘Nevertheless, I must stay with my family.’

‘Then we all die.’

In the long pause that followed her eyes pleaded with him for understanding and he remembered again her father’s mantra.
A Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice … only duty
.

‘No.’

They turned automatically to the figure at the window. Prixus Longinus’s eyes were bright as he addressed Domitia, but his voice remained steady.

‘You must go with your friend.’ He raised a hand as Domitia opened her mouth to protest. ‘In the absence of your husband, I stand here as your guardian, and as such your safety is in my hands. The household will prepare to leave for Placentia within the hour and I will arrange the evacuation of Dertona, but you will accompany Gaius Valerius Verrens.’ He turned to Valerius. ‘I place Domitia Longina Corbulo’s life and her honour in your hands. May you protect both to your last breath.’

Valerius felt Domitia’s eyes on him and his mouth went dry. ‘I pledge it.’

‘What are your intentions?’

‘I will ride to Placentia as soon as the lady Domitia has made her preparations, with word that you are on your way and seeking refuge. If the road is clear we will continue south to meet the Emperor.’

Prixus nodded solemnly and Domitia rushed to her uncle and took his hands in hers. The old man met her gaze with the ghost of a smile. ‘It is for the best, my dear.’

Another woman might have hesitated, but with the decision made Domitia left the room calling for her personal slave, and by the time Valerius had gathered his men she was at the villa’s entrance dressed in a long cloak. Behind her came a house slave carrying two leather bags and Valerius realized that, despite her protests, she must have prepared for this day. She saw his look.

‘I am my father’s daughter,’ she said. ‘A soldier’s daughter.’

Valerius fought the urge to smile. It had been the watchword that sustained her through the long ordeal of thirst and heat in Egypt. She proved the truth of it moments later when her uncle offered her the use of his four-wheeled cart.

‘You will need it for the journey to Placentia,’ she told him. She turned to Valerius. ‘My father ensured I was taught to ride, though it was not thought seemly by some. I am having my horse saddled. A woman’s saddle,’ she added, ‘but you will not be delayed.’

As they prepared to leave Domitia embraced her tearful slave girl, assuring her that she would send for her. A sleek, lean-limbed roan was brought to the mounting block and she settled on the side saddle with all the grace of a Roman maiden taking her place at the dinner table. Valerius led the roan to the centre of the column and placed it beside Serpentius. Domitia greeted the Spaniard with a warm smile that made him blush. There was little formality between the two. Serpentius had also been stranded with them after the shipwreck and people who have spent a week together surviving on tepid water and roasting like fish on a griddle in the Egyptian heat can have few secrets.

Valerius grinned at the Spaniard’s discomfiture. ‘As you know, he is less dangerous than he looks, at least as far as his friends are concerned. You will be safe with him.’

‘It is a relief to be travelling with such a capable guardian. I hope I see you well, Serpentius?’

Serpentius produced a scowl that was meant to be a reassuring smile. ‘At your service, my lady, as always.’

They rode, not down the slope towards the town, but due east through the hills until they came to flatter ground. There they turned north and eventually joined the Via Aurelia, where it hugged the south bank of the Padus. Valerius had debated long and hard whether to risk using the open road, but with Claudius Victor undoubtedly closer than ever speed was more important now than guile. Placentia drew him like a moth to a flame. They would be safer there, although he knew it might only be exchanging one trap for another. But if the road south was clear … if Otho’s army had marched north … if the Balkan legions were close by … so many ifs.

‘Will there be war?’

He had been so preoccupied he hadn’t heard Domitia rein in beside him and her voice came as a surprise. Metto, who had ridden at his side, dropped back to allow them privacy.

‘Yes. It cannot be stopped now, though neither Otho nor Vitellius wants it.’

‘Then why must it be? Surely if both of them will it so it can be prevented. There has already been too much destruction and death.’

Valerius knew she was remembering the little farmstead they had passed, one of many ravaged by Valens’ auxiliary cavalry; bodies barely recognizable as human tossed carelessly on the funeral pyre of their former home.

He tried to explain. ‘It can only be resolved if one or other gives up his title to the purple. Vitellius is being dragged like a charioteer behind a runaway team by the ambition of his officers and the enthusiasm of his soldiers. They have been promised rewards and plunder and advancement. They have tasted blood. There is no turning back. Vitellius could not rein them in now even if he wanted to. If he tried …? Poison in his wine or a dagger in the night and Valens or Caecina would step into his place.’

By now it was past midday. He twisted in the saddle to check the
positions of the troop, and instead found himself looking into her eyes. She seemed incredibly young. The narrow face strained and serious, with half-moons of weariness just visible beneath the dark eyes, and the lovely chestnut tresses covered by the hood of her linen
stola
. Melancholy gave her a different kind of beauty, the way a ripe cornfield is still beautiful when the sun goes behind a cloud, or a breeze ripples the surface of a glassy pond. His breath caught in his throat, but somehow he managed to stumble on. ‘Otho, for all you hear otherwise, is a man of honour. He has Galba’s blood on his hands, but he can rationalize it. He tells himself that Galba betrayed the people of Rome, though the reality is that the only reason he acted was because Galba betrayed Otho. Now he has been confirmed Emperor of Rome, in Rome, by the Senate and people of Rome; he is Emperor by right and by rank.’ He shrugged. ‘To walk away at the first challenge to his authority would be cowardice and Otho is no coward. I believe the thought of having Romans die on his behalf appals him and that Otho the man might well go into exile to save lives. But it is not Otho the man who sits in the Domus Aurea but Otho Imperator, and his honour and his responsibility to the office of Emperor will not allow it. So he too is trapped, as Nero was, in his gilded cage.’

‘So now they will fight.’ Domitia frowned as she recognized the truth in his words. ‘How will it happen?’

Valerius had been asking himself that question for days and always coming up with the same answer. ‘Vitellius has taken a risk by splitting his army. If Otho had been able to bring enough of his legions together to meet either individually the war would be over. Valens and Caecina must combine or be destroyed in sequence. The fact that Otho has not attacked tells me he does not yet have his full strength. That means his Balkan legions, from Moesia and Pannonia, are still on the march. Yet he must do something.’ His war-sharpened eyes roved across the tree-lined hills to their right, which had forced the road close to the river. In an enemy commander’s place, Valerius would have launched his cavalry from those hills and smashed the little column. With no place to run, the outcome would have been certain. He watched a little longer, but could see nothing. ‘I believe he will bring what troops he
has to the Padus, where he can harass Valens or Caecina as he chooses, possibly stop them from joining forces, and block their march south. When his Balkan reinforcements arrive from Aquileia, along this very road, he will be in a position to combine with them somewhere close, possibly a little further east. Once he has done that, he will meet the enemy on a field of his own choosing with a stronger force. Then it will not matter if Valens and Caecina have united. He will destroy them.’

‘You sound very certain.’

‘I am.’ He smiled.

‘And we are riding to meet them?’

Valerius nodded. ‘I will join Otho, if he will have me.’

‘And Domitia Longina Corbulo?’ She said it lightly, but the question took on more weight in his mind than the mere words suggested.

‘Domitia Longina Corbulo will return to Rome to take up her life as a Roman lady.’ He tried to match her mood, but could not hide the raw edge of emotion in his voice.

‘But what if that is not what she wishes?’ Her whisper was so low he couldn’t be certain he’d heard her correctly. She sensed his hesitation and now it was her turn to smile. ‘You are right not to reply. For it is a question only Domitia Longina Corbulo can answer.’

With a graceful nod she dropped back to join Serpentius. Valerius shook his head at the contradictions and confusion she caused in him. Soon he had a battle to fight and a war to win. Tomorrow or the next day he could be dead. So why did his mind refuse to focus on anything but a pair of wide walnut eyes and the way the pupils were flecked with gold and contained shadows and unfathomable secrets?

Serpentius heard the bark of bitter laughter and darted a glance at Domitia. She kept her face expressionless and her eyes on the road, but he noticed her lips twitch.

Half a mile behind, the horseman who had stood silently beneath the tree canopy on the wooded hills Valerius had studied waited until he was certain the column of riders was out of sight before kicking his mount towards the road.

Through the crimson veil of his rage, Claudius Victor had to remind himself it was not the messenger’s fault, though his hand itched to ram a sword through the man’s guts. He couldn’t believe they had escaped him again. When the Batavians had reached the walled town he had sent patrols ahead on the Placentia road, but they saw no sign of the one-armed spy and the strangers who had slaughtered his men in the woods. They had gone to ground. There could be no other conclusion. Victor didn’t have enough men to besiege the place, but he posted guards on every side so that even a mouse couldn’t escape without his knowledge. When it was done, he sent to General Valens for reinforcements, who would arrive within a day. He had decided to demand the commander of the place hand over the fugitives as payment for not destroying his town, but to destroy it in any case. The men were becoming bored and it would give them the opportunity for plunder he had promised them and which had been so scarce thus far.

And now this. Ten miles, the scout said. They would be almost at Placentia by the time the Batavians caught up with them. To ensure that they did, every man with him was leading a spare horse – it meant he could afford to ride at twice the Romans’ pace, but also that he had been forced to leave half his men behind. He fought the urge to push on even faster. Patience. If they killed the horses he would never
lay hands on the crippled bastard who had murdered Glico. He had promised his brother’s shade the cripple would die the very worst of deaths, and now he vowed to himself that as Valerius Verrens wriggled on his spike, the others would be roasting in the slow fire. And what about the woman? Well, there was more than one kind of impalement.