[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome (23 page)

‘It was nothing,’ Paternus said brusquely. Valerius noticed he’d become more reserved since they’d joined the legionaries, as if his disability were more of a burden among his fellow Romans. The servant rode a little further back with the camels loaded with his master’s possessions. Valerius could feel the dead eyes on him like a knife point pricking his back.

‘Still,’ he persisted, ‘I appreciated it. Under certain circumstances it could have been embarrassing, even dangerous, for my name to be known in this company. Once more I am in your debt.’

‘We were fortunate to get off the island.’ The scarred tribune seemed determined to change the subject.

‘Yes,’ Valerius nodded. ‘Fortuna favoured us. I underestimated the enemy numbers. If Lepidus hadn’t happened along with the Tenth most of us would be dead.’

Paternus turned in the saddle to stare at him, as if he were reading every line and every scar on the other Roman’s face. ‘Sometimes a man’s experiences can wear him down.’ It sounded more like a portent than mere opinion. ‘Inside, he feels the same, but his body is slower and his mind begins to betray him. He has doubts. He loses the ability to judge right from wrong.’

Valerius went still. What was Paternus telling him? ‘Every man has doubts,’ he countered warily.

‘But not every man thinks he is fit to command others. From the moment we met the rebels every decision you took was wrong. You could have killed us all.’ He turned his mount and rode back down the column.

As the river plunged from its gorge on to a flat plain where a second large lake shimmered on the horizon, Valerius found himself riding with Josephus, the Judaean adviser. Paternus’s words troubled him more than he’d admit. Yes, the decisions he’d made had carried them into danger, but when he went over his reasoning in his mind he wouldn’t have changed any one of them. He’d thought about talking it over with Gaulan, but the Chalcidean had made his feelings plain at the time. Lepidus would have understood, but Valerius still had his pride. He didn’t want any man’s sympathy.

Josephus tried without success to draw him out on his background and his time in Rome. When Valerius evaded the questions with shrugs and monosyllables, he steered the subject towards the Roman’s travelling companions. ‘An odd mix,’ the Judaean mused. ‘A rare beauty and perhaps the most frightening-looking man I have ever seen. Does she have the brain and the wit to match her looks, do you think?’

‘I would not know.’ Valerius shrugged. ‘I have very little to do with her and other things to think about.’

‘It would be a pity.’ Josephus smiled, patently reliving some memory. ‘A woman should be decorative enough to impress a man’s rivals, experienced enough to make his nights satisfying and pliant enough to do his bidding. I have noticed that intelligence, if that is what one would call it in a woman, is a barrier to obedience and wit a prelude to rebellion. I prefer a woman to be a beautiful fool. And yet, she interests me. Word reaches me occasionally of her travels. Chance encounters with unusual and sometimes powerful patrons. Tales of mysterious disappearances and sudden, unexplained fatalities in her wake.’ He laughed, a growl that emerged from deep in his chest. ‘Why, a man could not share a bed with her without wondering if he was going to wake up dead.’

At regular intervals Josephus would ride out to meet local people in the settlements they passed, or gallop ahead to pass on information to Lepidus. While they were together Valerius continued to avoid questions about his past. Eventually, Josephus gave up and pointed to a rugged height to the south-east. ‘Gamala lies on a mountain spur yonder. They have fled there because they do not think we have the strength or the will to follow. But Lepidus knows he can’t leave them hovering over General Titus’s supply lines like a hungry vulture. He plans to slaughter them.’

‘It looks a formidable place.’ Valerius studied the soaring crags and sheer rock faces.

‘It is.’ The Judaean scratched his beard. ‘Cliffs protect the town on three sides and a wall on the fourth. The only way to take Gamala is to throw down the wall. Once you have done that the fortress becomes a trap.’

‘A poor reflection of the man who designed the defences, then.’ Valerius deliberately tested the other man’s temper.

Josephus’s nostrils flared, but the flash of anger was swiftly transformed into a snort of laughter. ‘You mock me, my one-handed friend, but there was a time when I could have had you hanged from the highest branch of the highest tree in all Judaea. I commanded that much power.’

‘Yet now you talk of
them
and
we
and do the bidding of the invader while your people suffer.’

Still the Judaean didn’t take offence. ‘You do not understand me or my people. It is written that the Jews were
born
to suffer. This cataclysm was prophesied long ago, in the time of the Israelites. All those who vilify me now will be wiped away in the balefire of Rome’s vengeance at Jerusalem and that is all to the good. We have a saying here. Put two Jews in a room and you will have an argument, add a third and you will have a fight. Most of our woes are a result of this capacity for dispute.’ He counted the sects of Judaea on the fingers of his right hand. ‘The Pharisees believe our lives are to some extent dictated by fate, but not entirely. The Sadducees say there is no such thing as fate, only the word of the law as written by Moses. So these sects are involved in an eternal argument which will never be resolved, but they are also wrought by internal divisions over the minutiae of their own opinions and philosophy. The Essenes, on the other hand, are of one mind, poor creatures. They reject pleasure as evil, regard women as mere vessels for the succession of mankind, and ensnare likely children at a pliable age and bring them up in their own image. All three find themselves at odds with the Zealots for whom the temple and the law of God are paramount and anyone who does not match their fanaticism is wanting.’ He spread his hands and Valerius noticed for the first time how at odds they were with his aristocratic features. Big worker’s hands; agricultural hands with thick fingers and hardened skin. ‘Your Zealot believes anyone who negotiates with Rome is a traitor and must be killed. Their instruments are the Sicarii, the men of the knife. How can any nation prosper when its leaders and its thinkers would rather have their fingers around each other’s throat than not?’ As he talked his voice had remained calm, but a light in his eyes grew brighter with each word he uttered. Valerius had a feeling that perhaps the Zealots weren’t the only fanatics in Judaea. ‘God has dictated there must be a cleansing and Rome has been chosen to carry out that cleansing. When it is over Judaea will rise again and it will need leaders.’

‘Of whom one will be Joseph Ben Mahtityahu?’

The Judaean turned to him and the craggy features creased in a wry smile. ‘Can you think of any better qualified?’

‘What if Titus negotiates a surrender and offers your enemies their lives?’

Josephus responded with another bark of laughter. ‘If you believe that, you do not know these men and you do not know Titus Flavius Vespasian. The men whose word is rule in Jerusalem, John of Gischala, Eleazar Ben Simon and Simon bar Giora, would rather die than speak to a Roman. If one were to break his vow the others would kill him. And Titus has no reason to trust them. He had John trapped in Gischala, but John persuaded him not to enter the city because it was the Sabbath and used the delay to make his escape. Titus refers to him as the Snake. There will be no negotiations.’

It was mid-afternoon when they reached the entrance to a narrow valley that split the mountains to the east. Josephus showed Valerius how the only way to reach Gamala was by tortuous paths overlooked by heights that would swarm with men ready to hurl massive boulders on those below. ‘I doubt the legate will waste time and men by trying to take the valley with only a few hours left till darkness. We will camp here and make the assault tomorrow.’

He was proved right when a trumpet call sounded and camels bearing the legion’s eight-man tents moved forward, along with those carrying the mattocks and shovels the men would need to construct the walls of their temporary fortress. The legate’s pavilion, which also acted as the legion’s headquarters tent, would be the first structure erected and Valerius excused himself and rode forward to the campsite. He saw Lepidus in the distance, but he was talking to Tabitha and Gaulan, whose horsemen had operated as scouts and outriders during the march. Eventually the group broke up and Valerius dismounted and walked his horse to the legate, his heart stuttering at the look of regret Tabitha gave him in passing. There would be no secret visits in the night in this company.

‘May I beg a word, sir?’

Lepidus signalled him to approach. ‘Of course. If it’s within my power and doesn’t offend our old friend Titus, ask what you will.’

When Valerius made his request Lepidus shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Valerius. That is impossible.’ Valerius persisted, giving his reasons for the unusual request, and eventually the legate capitulated. ‘Very well,’ he said reluctantly. ‘It’s your head after all. But I don’t like it. The first cohort goes in before dawn.’

Valerius thanked him and Lepidus had his clerk write out a requisition for the equipment he’d requested. Valerius sought out the harassed armourer and handed it over, then led Lunaris to the horse lines. Serpentius appeared from between the half-erected tents of a nearby century to match stride with him. The Spaniard seemed to have recovered some of his old swagger.

‘You have the look of a man who just found a dead mouse in his soup.’ Serpentius gestured towards the mountains. ‘You know they’re planning to attack that rebel eyrie? Just be thankful that for once we don’t have to put our necks on the line. They know their business, these lads.’

Valerius somehow managed to keep his face expressionless. There were some things it was better the former gladiator didn’t know. ‘You seem very cheerful,’ he said, ‘for a man with a hole in his head.’

‘I’ve been getting to know the lady’s servants a little better.’ Serpentius’s skull-like features split into a perplexed grin as if the memory evoked a mixture of pleasure and pain. ‘Faces like angels and the bodies of Venus, but souls that drip vinegar and teeth that tear a man’s flesh.’

‘Then you’ve had your just reward for allowing your head to be ruled by that which you keep encouraging beneath your robes,’ Valerius said testily. ‘And why would you be doing that anyway? These aren’t tavern wenches to be seduced by your boasts.’

Serpentius explained how he had seen Tabitha speaking to Josephus. ‘They know each other of old, I am certain of it. Not friends to be sure,’ he gave Valerius a sideways glance, ‘and not lovers.’ Valerius growled dangerously, but Serpentius continued. ‘Their meeting had the air of conspiracy, and the Judaean looks about as trustworthy as a hungry crocodile.’

Valerius turned the matter over in his mind and came up with a dozen innocent reasons why they should meet, and one or two not so innocent. But that could wait. ‘I will think on it,’ he said, ‘but I am sure there is a harmless explanation.’

Serpentius stared at him, but Valerius’s thoughts were already elsewhere. Because tomorrow he was going to war, and there was a possibility that by the end of the day he might very well be dead.

A man must prove himself every day if he is to be the right kind of man. Paternus’s words and the reproachful stares, imagined or otherwise, of the Emesans he’d led into the watery trap had cut Valerius to the bone. Until he managed to petition Titus he was still an outcast, an enemy of Rome. The only way to recover his fortunes was in the armour of a Roman soldier on the field of battle. If he was no longer capable of leading men, what would he be? Just another piece of scarred flotsam drifting from citadel to citadel in this vast eastern dustbowl. A mercenary offering his sword to whatever petty king would pay him the price of a meal and give him a roof over his head, until the inevitable day when a blade ended his misery and his shame. An image of his father flicked into his mind; liquid, sensitive eyes belying the stern features and straight-backed rectitude of a proud but penniless patrician. What was it he had said?
You are your family’s future, Valerius. Only you can restore our name. What is a family without honour or reputation?
Well, he’d restored the family’s honour by his exploits in Britannia, but it had been lost once more in the festering cauldron of intrigue, backstabbing and betrayal that had eventually brought Vespasian the purple. Now he must do it all again.

‘Let me lead the attack on Gamala,’ he had urged Lepidus. ‘I will fight as a common soldier if needs be.’

But Lepidus insisted that if Valerius was going to fight it would be as a tribune. ‘Acting and unpaid,’ he added caustically, and only if the
primus pilus
, the centurion commanding the First cohort, agreed to take him. By good fortune, Valerius had served with Claudius Albinus on Corbulo’s last Armenian campaign and the leather-faced veteran knew him by reputation.

‘I’ll take along another sword if the hand that holds it knows how to use it,’ he spat, his narrow eyes flicking to Valerius’s wooden fist. ‘Even if it’s the wrong hand. If you’re wounded don’t expect anybody to come looking for you – the foxes can have your guts for all these men care. If you get killed that’s your lookout. Nobody here will mourn you. But,’ his face came close enough for Valerius to smell the wine he’d drunk that morning. ‘Make a mistake and one of my men dies because of it and I’ll personally throw you from the top of that cliff.’

It wasn’t much of a welcome, but Albinus didn’t object when Valerius collected a set of plate armour from his precious stores. No question of using Sohaemus’s gaudy ceremonial breastplate and helmet, but he remembered the shield was already decorated with the Tenth’s symbols of the bull and the war galley. As he readied himself by the light of the oil lamp Serpentius appeared already dressed for battle, with a long sword and his little Scythian throwing axes at his belt. Of course, he’d been a fool to think he could hide the truth from the Spaniard.