[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome (50 page)

Tabitha closed her eyes and heaved a huge sigh. Valerius stepped forward and took her in his arms. ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered. ‘You know what is happening up there.’

She stepped away and looked up into his face, appearing very small and vulnerable and young. ‘I am ready,’ she said. ‘I have God to protect me.’

There was nothing more to say. Valerius drew his sword and led the way to the stairs. They rose to the level of the court in a series of doglegs and he signalled to Tabitha to wait while he checked the way ahead. A spear clattered close by forcing him to duck back, but whether it was aimed at him was unclear.

What he saw was like a scene from the seventh pit of Hades. Flames roared from the north cloister and black smoke filled the sky. The west was well alight, threatening to roast the hundreds of legionaries who rushed along it seeking ways to join their comrades in the court below. One glance was enough to convince him the fight could only have one victor.

This was a place of sacrifice, but Valerius doubted even the Great Temple had ever seen so much blood spilled in a single day. It covered the polished paving slabs in great dark arterial pools, ran along the cracks between like a thousand rivers, and in the form of airborne droplets had spattered every inch of the Court of the Gentiles. The stench of it filled his nostrils. For a moment he hesitated, only to find Tabitha by his side, her face a mask of determination. ‘This way.’ He led her towards the eastern cloister, where he reckoned they could avoid the worst of the fighting.

They hurried through the forest of marble columns unhindered apart from where a few Judaeans were being backed against the wall to be slaughtered by packs of snarling Roman soldiers. If anyone looked like contesting their passage Valerius shouted the previous night’s watchword, praying no one had replaced it yet. At last they reached a point directly opposite the temple’s east doorway.

‘Cremona!’ Valerius called, and they crossed the open space past a group of legionaries finishing off the men who’d been guarding the door. The Galileans knelt submissively to have their throats cut, and their blood mingled with that of their own previous victims. A centurion appeared in the doorway like a vision from a nightmare, gore-spattered and eyes staring. His lips curled back from his teeth in a feral snarl and he held his sword raised and at the ready. ‘Cremona,’ Valerius repeated. ‘Special mission for General Titus.’

The centurion blinked and his eyes narrowed as they drifted from Valerius’s wooden fist to Tabitha.

‘Special mission, eh?’ He swayed as if he were drunk. ‘Well, I suppose there’s more than one kind of special mission.’ He gestured inside and Tabitha and Valerius stepped over the threshold into the Inner Court, moving aside as four men brushed past them struggling with a heavy golden table. The open courtyard stank of oil and Valerius could see that in one of four side rooms a great cauldron had been overturned. Its contents had spilled out to mingle with the life blood of the men who’d died trying to protect the place, whose bodies littered the floor. From an inner room came the sound of hammers and chisels, wood splintering and a curious tearing sound.

More soldiers appeared from an inner room carrying a great golden lamp holder with seven branches. A tear rolled down Tabitha’s cheek as she recognized what must have been an important symbol of her religion, but her chin came up and she took his arm. ‘This way,’ she said. ‘We are in the Court of the Women and this is as close as I would normally approach the Holy of Holies. Only men may go beyond. But this temple is no longer as it was. It has already been defiled by the presence of Gentiles and the spilling of blood, and my cause is just.’

She passed through the doorway, stepping over the curtain that once covered the entrance, but now lay soaking up oil and blood. Beyond it lay a second chamber with a great bronze altar. This room too was scattered with the still bodies of the men who had attempted to defend the temple treasures. Whether by accident or design, one of them lay on his back on the altar with his head thrown back. A gaping tear in his throat still leaked blood on to the polished surface.

Tabitha barely glanced at the carnage as she strode through the room, leading the way unerringly up the steps and into the Great Temple proper. Valerius blinked as he entered a long narrow room now bare of any object apart from a dozen oil lamps. Sheets of buttery yellow gold lined every upper surface. He knew they were sheets because twenty legionaries worked frantically on ladders to tear them from the walls and throw them down to others waiting to carry them away. Something more than a curtain covered the far wall. Perhaps a foot thick, it was almost a wall in itself, but made of cloth. Holes in the ceiling close to the walls appeared to have no apparent purpose, but he guessed they might provide some form of light. Tabitha frowned, staring at a raised stone platform, and Valerius wondered if what she’d come for had already been lost to the looters.

‘That is where the Ark of the Covenant should stand,’ she said with a hint of satisfaction. ‘Perhaps John and Simon are not the fools we believed they were. Beyond the curtain is the Most Holy Place, where the sacred ceremonies take place.’

But the Most Holy Place held no interest for her. Instead, she turned and crossed to an insignificant doorway set in a part of the walls yet to be stripped. Ignored by the legionaries, Valerius followed her to a claustrophobic stairway barely wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. As they climbed almost vertically through the darkness to the next level, dust rose from beneath Tabitha’s feet. No one had visited this place for months, perhaps even years.

‘How will we find it in the darkness?’ Valerius said quietly.

‘We will find it,’ she assured him. The reason for her confidence became clear when she opened a trap door and they climbed into a gloomy wood-panelled attic. Yellow light from the oil lamps filtered through the slots he’d seen from below, complemented by narrow openings in the walls that provided a little natural illumination.

‘These are for the priests to polish the upper walls of the Holy of Holies.’ Her voice shook with emotion. ‘And this,’ she pointed to a series of covered niches on one wall, ‘is where they keep their instruments.’ She pulled back a small curtain and reached in to pull out a long pole with a cloth wrapped round one end. It surprised Valerius that such mundane implements should have individual repositories, but he guessed that, like everything in the temple, they probably possessed some kind of ritual significance.

Tabitha replaced the pole and counted the niches. When she found the one she sought she hesitated as if what it held was too overwhelming to contemplate. Just as Valerius was about to offer his help, she reached inside. And froze. He saw her eyes widen. Was it some sort of trap? He realized he was holding his breath.

Eventually, with infinite care, she drew the mysterious object clear of its hiding place and held it in her hands, staring at it as if it were the finest jewel in all the Empire. A simple leather bag tied at the neck. She turned to Valerius with a question in her eyes. ‘Yes.’ His voice sounded hoarse. ‘Open it. It is yours.’

Tabitha winced at a great echoing crash as the legionaries brought down another section of the golden wall. ‘My mistress’s.’ She fumbled at the strings with awkward fingers, drawing them apart and pulling out a tattered, ancient-looking scroll attached to twin dowels of scarred, blackened wood. It was so old it looked as if it might fall apart in her hands, and she quickly returned it to the bag.

‘Don’t you want to check it is what you think it is?’ Valerius suggested.

Tabitha shook her head. ‘If it is here, this is what we seek.’

‘We should go, then.’

She crept across to look down at the destruction continuing below. ‘I think we should wait.’ She sat back against the wall with the leather bag clasped to her body. Valerius went to her and put his arm round her shoulders. She sighed and laid her head against his chest. ‘It will be over soon enough,’ she said. ‘Then we will be free.’

How long they sat there Valerius didn’t know, but at one point he heard the sound of nailed sandals on the narrow stair. He pulled his sword as a startled legionary put his head through the trap door. ‘Nothing to find up here,’ Valerius assured him. ‘We’ve searched everywhere.’

The man looked from Valerius to Tabitha and grinned. ‘Share and share alike is what I say.’ He raised himself on both arms only to find the point of a
gladius
pricking his throat. Above it, Valerius’s eyes glowed with the promise that his next move would dictate whether it went through his gullet.

‘I don’t think so,’ Valerius said.

‘All right.’ The soldier drew his head back. ‘I wasn’t serious. You’re sure you’ve searched, only I’ve got my orders.’

‘Sure.’

The helmeted head disappeared. ‘Plenty more Jewish bitches where she came from.’

Tabitha shuddered and moved in close to Valerius. ‘I hate soldiers.’

‘I’m a soldier.’

‘All but you.’

They must have slept because Valerius awoke to an unnatural quiet and he had to shake Tabitha before she’d move. ‘It’s time.’

She nodded and forced herself to her feet. ‘I can smell smoke.’

‘I think it’s the cloisters.’ Valerius prayed it was true, but he went down the ladder two steps at a time. When they reached ground level he held out his hand. ‘Give me the book. Better if you have both hands free.’ She hesitated, but only for a second, and he tied the leather bag to his belt.

When they opened the door a waft of oily smoke and the stink of burning cloth confirmed his worst fears. ‘Someone has set the Court of the Women alight.’

‘I can see flames.’ Tabitha stood by the entrance. ‘Check the rear chamber. There may be another way out.’

Valerius was halfway across the room when he heard a scream. He whirled with his hand on his sword, but it was already too late. Josephus had a hank of Tabitha’s dark hair in his fist and the edge of his sword at her throat.

‘I told you you would feel the hand of God, my Roman friend. The hand of God brought you here and now you will lay down your sword. Good,’ Josephus said, as Valerius obeyed, his eyes never leaving the blade at Tabitha’s neck. Something flickered on Tabitha’s face and with the slightest shake of the head he warned her not to try anything that would risk her life. ‘You understand your situation?’ Josephus continued. ‘Our transaction must be conducted swiftly, because I fear your comrades have accidentally fired the outer court. Now the leather bag at your waist, which I assume brought you here. Untie it, remove the object inside so I can confirm its identity, return it to the bag and place it beside the sword.’ Again Valerius obeyed. The Judaean’s eyes lit up as he recognized the scroll. Valerius waited for a momentary lapse in concentration, measuring his distance and his chances, but Josephus read his look and smiled. ‘No, no, Valerius, I have no wish to harm the lady Tabitha, but I will have no hesitation if you force it on me. Back off from the bag and stand against the wall.’ When he judged Valerius was far enough away he moved towards the scroll, his sword edge never moving a hair’s breadth from the pulse in Tabitha’s neck. ‘My dear, you will—’

Without warning the Judaean cried out as something smacked into the centre of his back and dropped to the stone floor with a metallic clatter. The sword fell away from Tabitha’s neck, but not so much that she could escape. With a groan of agony Josephus turned to stare at his attacker. Hidden from Valerius in the doorway, Serpentius of Avala lurched into the room and stood with his right hand raised, ready to throw the second of his little Scythian axes.

‘I don’t miss twice.’ The Spaniard’s voice was a rook’s ragged caw. He swayed like a tree in a gale, but Josephus saw something in his eyes that told him that, even wounded, Serpentius was a deadly threat. With a last despairing glance he decided the scroll wasn’t worth his life and darted towards the thick curtain at the rear of the room.

Tabitha retrieved the scroll as Valerius picked up his
gladius
. He turned to follow Josephus, but she gripped his arm. ‘No, Valerius. Look to Serpentius.’

For the first time Valerius noticed the grey pallor of his friend’s features. He crossed the room in three strides and caught the Spaniard in his arms as he collapsed. Serpentius let out a groan of agony and Valerius felt a warm stickiness on his hand. Laying his friend to the ground he stared at his palm with a cry of disbelief.

‘I’ve killed enough people to know when I’m dead. That backstabbing Judaean bastard,’ the Spaniard rasped. ‘Get out of here with your woman.’

Valerius tried to turn Serpentius over and inspect the wound, but the Spaniard’s fingers gripped his wrist until Valerius thought they would tear the flesh. Still the Roman wouldn’t give up. ‘This is going to hurt.’ He took the wounded man by the shoulders and pushed him on to his side so he could see the injury. By now smoke had filled the altar chamber and flames were licking greedily at the curtained doorway of the sanctuary, sending tiny streams of sparks dancing upwards. Valerius willed himself not to panic. ‘See if you can find another way out,’ he called to Tabitha, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

Serpentius’s tunic was heavy with blood and Valerius winced when he saw where Josephus had struck the blow. A wound low in the back like this would invariably be fatal. He found the entry point and tore the cloth apart, revealing a puncture in the flesh close to Serpentius’s spine.

‘I told you I was dead,’ the Spaniard groaned. ‘Now give me my sword. Remember?’

Valerius remembered.
A sword in my hand and a friend at my side
. The gladiator’s farewell. ‘We’re going to get you out of here,’ he insisted. Serpentius gave a grunt that might have been a laugh. Valerius had never felt such empty despair. He’d always thought of Serpentius as a big man, but now he realized that his size was an illusion created by his strength and his speed and his presence. The Spaniard felt like a bag of bones in his arms.

‘Don’t give up on me now.’ He studied the wound again. Somehow he needed to stop the bleeding. He sawed at the hem of his robe with his sword, cutting off a long length of makeshift bandage. Taking one end he wiped the blood from Serpentius’s back. It was only then he noticed the ragged edges of a second wound. A wound in Serpentius’s side. It couldn’t be. But when he looked again he saw the unmistakable signs of the sword’s exit. His mind racing, he traced the path of the wound with his fingers, ignoring the Spaniard’s groans of agony. Too low! Josephus the amateur had struck too low. Maybe Serpentius had twisted when he’d struck, or he’d been forced to make the thrust from an angle. The result was a blow that had skidded off Serpentius’s lower spine and under the flesh across the top of the hip bone. It must be agonizingly painful and could have nicked what Pliny called the
renes
, but it might not be a death wound. The Spaniard gasped as Valerius cut two smaller pieces of cloth from the bandage and plugged the wounds, then wrapped them in place with the rest. Ignoring his friend’s suffering, he hauled Serpentius to his feet.