[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome (25 page)

Another man beside Valerius dropped without a sound, the victim of one of the lethal Judaean slingers. A replacement stepped unhesitatingly into his place. Valerius looked up to see the ramparts crammed with men whirling slings and hurling spears into the mass below. He hauled up his shield and attempted to protect the heads of the men in the first line. Everything was a blur. Sweat coursed from his hairline into his eyes and he had only a vague notion of what occurred around him. A great cry went up from somewhere beyond the head of the column. With a thrill of fear Valerius understood that the defenders were attempting to force the gates shut against the howling mass of bodies cramming their portals. He felt the first despair of defeat.

‘The gates,’ he roared desperately. ‘We must reach the gates.’

His cry was taken up as more legionaries understood what was happening and joined the formation. Shouted orders from his rear told Valerius the Second cohort had joined the attack. Albinus would have them fighting their way into a position where they could best exploit Valerius’s attack, or, if it failed, follow it up with one of their own.

But he would not fail. ‘One more effort. Push, you bastards. We’re nearly there.’ He could feel the shadow of the wall now and he raised himself to his full height in an attempt to see what lay ahead. It almost cost him his life as a spear battered against his helmet, making his head ring and leaving him dazed. He would have dropped to be crushed beneath the feet of the men around him, but a hand reached out to grab his arm and hold him upright. He shook his head. What had he seen? Two oak-doored gateways, with a space of ten or twelve feet separating them. They were almost through the first pair, far enough at least to ensure there was no closing them now. But he could see the inner doors shutting inch by inch. If they managed to bar it … Something caught his eye above and he looked up and saw a flare of yellow that spawned a shudder of sheer terror. Fire. Of course. They weren’t fools. They would be boiling oil to pour down on the attackers.

‘Heave.’ He heard the panic in his voice as he threw himself at the man in front. ‘If they close those doors we’re all dead.’ Venus’ withered tits, it was going to be close.

A cry of triumph split the air as the defenders managed to edge the doors closer together, but it was premature. One Judaean made a final Herculean effort to reach sanctuary but found himself wedged between them, screaming as the life was crushed out of him. It was all the incentive the attackers needed. With one final heave of their shields they smashed forward and the gates burst open.

Gamala was theirs, but could they keep it?

Beyond the gate, Valerius and his men found themselves in an open courtyard faced by a wall of nervous enemies. A moment of awed silence as if neither side could imagine what had just happened.

‘Don’t just stand there.’ Valerius broke the spell. ‘Kill the bastards.’ He launched himself at the enemy in a charge filled with mindless hate and relief. One man went down under his sword and he smashed another unconscious with his shield boss before he realized that the Judaeans had fled. A flood of Roman soldiers surged past him and he knew he should follow, but he discovered he could barely move. All the energy seemed to drain from him.

A hand touched his arm. Albinus stared at him with a look of bemused admiration that didn’t belong on his weathered, shrew-like face. The
primus pilus
let out a long slow breath and closed his eyes and Valerius realized the man was almost as exhausted as he was. ‘By the gods,’ Albinus shook his head, ‘that was a sight to behold. Now I know why they gave you the Corona Aurea.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment, then his face broke into a grin. ‘A pity you weren’t a proper part of the legion or I might have put you up for a second.’

Valerius sheathed his gore-coated
gladius
and Albinus thrust a water skin at him. Around them detachments of battle-crazed legionaries cleared the walls and streets with relentless, demonic savagery. Valerius barely noticed them. He licked someone else’s blood from his lips and drank deeply. The tepid liquid tasted of mould, but nothing had ever felt sweeter as it ran down his parched throat. ‘I didn’t deserve the first,’ he said wearily. ‘But they’ll give you the Grass Crown for what you’ve done here.’

Albinus roared with laughter at the suggestion he might win the Empire’s highest military honour. ‘On the day my wrinkled balls turn square. They only give them to generals. Maybe Lepidus will award it to himself? Come,’ he said, ushering Valerius towards what had once been one of the city’s richer houses, ‘let’s see if the traitorous bastards left us any decent wine and we’ll get these off.’ He pointed to the blood-soaked bandages that still covered Valerius’s
caligae
. ‘Besides,’ he reflected, ‘if they’d shut those gates we’d have been well and truly fucked. Let’s just be happy we’ve cracked this particular nut without having to bother the stone-heavers. Once we’ve settled with this rabble it’ll be straight to the real prize.’

Jerusalem.

The rabble fought for every street and every building, but poorly equipped and without leaders they stood no chance against disciplined Roman legionaries. Valerius followed the progress of the battle through the bloodstained thoroughfares of Gamala, stepping over corpses amid the slaughterhouse stink from scattered entrails and torn viscera. He struggled to feel pity for the dead. Perhaps all the years carrying a sword had hardened him against the sight. But he knew it was more than that.

This was no Cremona, where Roman had slaughtered Roman and women and children had suffered the same fate as the men. These were enemies who had rebelled against the rule of Roman law. Not soldiers, it was true, only civilians handed a spear or a sword and told to kill. But their fate was sealed from the moment their leaders defied Rome.

Much of the place hadn’t been repaired since Vespasian’s attack three years earlier. Here the defenders had made their final stand within the blackened shell of a burned-out building where the charred rafters stood out like the rib bones of a sacrificed pig. Their broken and butchered bodies sprawled from the windows and hung from the roofs. What surprised him most was that so many of them were very young. The average age must have been less than twenty years and many were probably only fourteen or fifteen. It was only later he discovered exactly what Vespasian’s cleansing had entailed. The fathers of these boys and young men were all dead or slaves, torn from their lives to teach Galilee a lesson it would never forget.

But they fought. And they died.

By the time he reached the camel’s hump, between the two dips that had housed the bulk of Gamala’s population, the Tenth had hemmed in the survivors on a series of flat-roofed buildings overlooking the west cliff. In the distance, Valerius was aware of the glittering expanse of the inland sea, but he only had eyes for the drama being acted out below. Some of the Judaeans screamed defiance and brandished swords and spears at the men who surrounded them. Most, though, gathered in small groups praying or singing. For the moment, the Romans allowed them respite, but it was only a matter of time before they finished the job and everyone knew it.

‘I give you joy of victory, my friend.’ Valerius looked round to find Josephus behind him staring bleakly at the spectacle. ‘The next generation. The seed of Judaea’s future. I would they had stayed at home.’

‘They are rebels.’ It was an obvious truth, but Valerius knew his voice lacked conviction. ‘And you played your part in their defeat.’

‘But not so much as you, it would appear. I marked you as a soldier, but how could I have known your true worth? There is not a man here who does not talk of the one-armed tribune who led the attack on the gate.’ The flattery produced a snort of bitter laughter from Valerius, but Josephus ignored his scorn. ‘The men who followed you would have followed no other. No other man could have achieved what you did. Mark my word, Gaius Valerius Verrens, you will have your part to play in the days to come.’

The words had a ring of prophecy that sent a shiver through Valerius, but he refused to respond to the assumption they raised. His eyes returned to the men trapped on the roofs below. ‘They ran like chickens before the farmer’s axe. If the rest of the campaign is like this Titus can leave the legions in their bases and his auxiliaries will do the job for him.’

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find himself the focus of smouldering dark eyes. ‘Do not underestimate your enemy. You surprised a band of young men barely old enough to wield a sword. It would have been different if they had stayed behind these walls. Yes,’ Josephus’s laugh was a hollow sham of the real thing, ‘your
ballistae
would have made short work of the walls, but if they’d been given time to organize a defence of the streets you would have seen their true worth. Did you know Vespasian almost died here? It is true. You’ve seen how narrow the streets are. The people demolished the upper floors of their houses to provide missiles they could hurl down upon the invaders. With the lower doors and windows barricaded the Romans were crushed and broken in their hundreds. Vespasian looked for a point near here to rally them, but he became detached from the main force. He told me later that if his bodyguard hadn’t formed
testudo
and dragged him out he would have been torn to pieces. He left it to Titus to take the city and before he was finished the son had to kill every man capable of bearing arms. You could not go from one house to another without stepping on bodies. This,’ he surveyed the carnage around them, ‘this is nothing. It will be at Jerusalem where you will see the true mettle of the Jews.’

‘Tell me about Jerusalem.’

‘As well defended by nature as this,’ the bearded Judaean waved a hand at the ravines on every side but one, ‘only greater, and the walls … Ah, yes,’ his voice took on a ragged edge. ‘I wondered. I was wrong. You will not have to wait till Jerusalem.’ He turned away and walked back down the hill, leaving Valerius alone.

Below him, the men on the roofs had gathered in a crowd at the farthest edge, above the precipice. Valerius watched as they alternately bobbed their heads in prayer and looked to the heavens as if for forgiveness, or perhaps salvation. When the first threw himself off the edge and plummeted silently to the rocks below, Valerius felt his mind freeze. The act of self-sacrifice was so inconceivable it didn’t seem real. As he watched, the rest followed in little groups, holding hands or clinging to each other like brothers. By the time the thousandth made the plunge it seemed almost normal. Why did he stay? Why did he not look away? Respect for the defeated? A need to see the end of it? At the time he could not have provided an answer. It was only when he saw these men’s comrades defending Jerusalem’s walls that he discovered the answer. He needed to know his enemy’s mettle.

He walked back down the hill towards the maze of houses. Oddly, though his body ached with weariness, his mind was clear and he realized that some part of him was actually happy. Not once had he faltered. He’d known exactly what was required and never hesitated over a decision. He’d defeated fear and when he’d thought he was going to die his only thought was of eventual victory. The little worm of doubt Paternus had planted had been driven from his soul. Gaius Valerius Verrens was a wanderer no more, but a soldier who’d proved himself again on the field of battle. When he approached Titus he’d do so with pride: as the man who breached the gates at Gamala.

As he entered a narrow street that would eventually take him to the gate his thoughts turned to Tabitha. She would know by now that he’d taken part in the attack. Would she fear he was dead? And if he had been, would she have mourned him? He smiled. It didn’t matter, because he
was
alive and at some point they would be together again. The smile lasted another twenty paces until he realized that dead bodies lined the street and two legionaries rifling through the robes of the corpses had stopped to study him with an odd look. He nodded and carried on his way, but he felt their eyes on his back. Of course, they thought he was mad. Why else would a man in blood-soaked armour walk down a street of the dead, in a city of the dead, smiling as if he were in a summer’s meadow? For a moment images of gaping mouths spraying blood and wide terrified eyes flickered through his mind. His left hand twitched as he felt again the impact and the scraping sensation as the point of his
gladius
scored the inside of a man’s skull. Perhaps he
was
mad.

His thoughts turned to Serpentius’s words of half a lifetime ago at the bottom of the mountain. Tabitha and Josephus. Why shouldn’t they know each other? Tabitha had said her mistress, Queen Berenice, travelled with Titus’s retinue. Josephus had been Vespasian’s hostage and now basked in the Emperor’s patronage: of course he would have mixed with Titus and his friends. Yet why should the Judaean give the impression they’d never met when he and Valerius rode together, and why the probing about his own background?

He froze as he glimpsed someone slipping furtively through the ruins to his right. A flash of colour masked by toppled columns and collapsed roof beams, but it stirred a memory. Could it have been Josephus? The Judaean’s robe was certainly similar, but he couldn’t be certain. He hesitated, unsure whether to follow, but Josephus raised enough questions in his mind for curiosity to overrule caution.

Valerius climbed the steps of what must once have been a palace or one of Gamala’s finest public buildings. A great oak door hung awkwardly on its hinges, the original copper sheathing stripped away, but the rivets that had held it in place still gleaming bright. Axe marks showed where someone had tried to chop it for a fire or building timber, but the ancient wood had defied them. Valerius ducked under it and into a room blackened by fire. One wall had been torn down and he could see men passing on the street outside. The place had once been covered with frescoes and painted plaster. Most was chipped away, or fallen in dusty heaps on the stone floor, but it was clear it had once been very fine. He winced as a roof tile crunched under his foot. Unlike most of the city’s flat-roofed buildings this had been tiled in the Roman fashion, but the supports were burned away and tiles lay everywhere.