Sword of Rome (24 page)

The Thracian brought his face closer, so the Roman could see the premature lines brought on by fatigue and strain. His voice lowered to a whisper, which indicated to Valerius that either Dasius was rightly cautious or, more worryingly, he didn’t trust his men as much as he would like.

‘Our orders are to escort you as far north as possible without compromising your mission, though that decision is at your discretion. I should add that under Rubrio I took responsibility for the security of these parts, out to the hill country beyond Mediolanum, and have knowledge of the area that might be useful to you.’

Valerius nodded to indicate he understood – understood, but had not agreed. Not yet. He shifted his seat and winced as a pain shot through his injured shoulder. There was a balance to be stuck here. On one side of the scales lay the weighty certainty that the tactic of posing as merchants, which had served them well enough in Italia proper, would not protect them in this wild place. In fact, it made them a target. Neither was there any guarantee that two men could fight their way through against the kind of odds they had faced earlier. Death held no fears for Gaius Valerius Verrens, but he had begun to believe that Serpentius was indestructible. The fight with the swamp bandits had proved the lie in that. The truth was that without Dasius’s fully armed veteran cavalry they would have been dead. Yet there would still come a time when invisibility was more important than security; in the wrong place, the Thracians would stand out like a Vestal virgin at a Bacchanalia celebration.

He kept his voice neutral as he gave his decision. ‘I will accept your offer to take us past Mediolanum. After that we will see.’

Dasius sniffed, uncertain whether he was being insulted, but Thracian enough to be offended anyway.

‘When we reach the city you will have a decision to make. East
or north. Brixia or Novum Comun. Brixia is the better road and the passes were certainly open a week ago, but it is Vitellius’s country and will bring you closer to my old comrades. The way to Novum Comun is more treacherous, but if we follow the river we will be safe enough. After that …’ He shrugged. ‘I know a reliable guide.’

‘Novum Comun then,’ Valerius decided, more difficult or not. ‘What is the country like there?’

Dasius smiled for the first time. ‘That you must see for yourself.’

Even on a winter’s day as washed out as a legionary’s ten-year-old tunic it was the most beautiful place Valerius had ever seen. From the southern shore he felt as if he was standing on the edge of a precipice. The sheer walls of the valley that held the lake in its dragon’s jaws plunged down to be reflected on the slate-blue mirror of the surface, creating the effect of a giant chasm. All around was metal: tree-lined hillsides the colour of lead sling pellets, clouds shot with pewter, and a sky of burnished iron that changed tone even as he watched, like a sword blade turned in the dawn light, to a hundred shades of grey he had no names for. And, all around, silver. Vast, towering mountains of silver, and beyond them, higher still, another range, and another, that made him feel like an ant at the steps of the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. The sheer scale of them sucked all the faith from him.

Dasius saw his look and smiled. ‘Do not worry. It is not as daunting as it appears.’

Time and circumstance had made Valerius’s decision for him. They were seven now, and the better for it. Enough to give the opportunist bandits who inhabited these mountains pause before attacking, but not so many as to draw unwanted attention. And the remnant was the best of Dasius’s dwindling band of cavalry. The rest had dribbled away, like water through a thirsty man’s fingers. ‘They are
getae
at heart,’ the Thracian spat. ‘The spawn of thieves and robbers. I thought to keep them from raid, plunder and rapine, but all they sought was a better opportunity. They looked on the plump farms and pretty villas we passed at Mediolanum and saw riches for the taking. And in time
of war none to come after them when the deed is done. We are better without them.’

The guide Dasius knew proved to be a wiry hillman, made bulky by the thick furs he wore. He had dark skin the texture of leather and slanting eyes accustomed to peering through blizzards. A Celt, his demeanour was surly, even for that taciturn race, and he had the facial expression of a particularly ugly dog otter. He spoke a dialect that was neither Latin nor any other language Valerius had heard, but Dasius understood enough to exchange simple sentences with him.

‘His name is Valtir and he calls himself a prince of the Orobii, who were here before the Romans came and will be here when the Romans are gone. This is his land, but he says he welcomes you as his guest.’

Valerius bowed, smiling at the poetic Celtic combination of insult and courtesy. Valtir’s claim to be a prince seemed unlikely, but it gave Valerius an idea. With grave ceremony he handed over the curved knife he had carried from Rome. It was only a kitchen blade for cutting up food, but it would be an improvement on the rusting spike at Valtir’s belt. The little Celt tested the point against his thumb and his dour face broke into a grin when it drew blood.

‘He says he honours you for his gift. If he’d had a knife like this when he was a young man he would have slit many Roman throats with it.’ Dasius darted a worried glance at Valerius, but the one-handed Roman only laughed.

‘Tell him I am happy for him, but glad I did not meet him when he was young. Tell him there will be another like it if he takes us where we wish to go.’

With Valtir leading on his sturdy, long-haired pony and each second man trailing a pack horse, they made their way north-west to the lake in the next valley, which if anything was even greater in scale than that on which Novum Comun stood. ‘Luanus.’ The Celt pointed to a small settlement a mile away on the far side of the mirrored surface, and led them down a precarious path cut into the hillside which eventually reached a small pier with a flat-bottomed boat tied to it. Valtir held a conversation with the boat’s owner that sounded for all the world like two terriers snarling at each other over a bone, but eventually it
appeared he had agreed a price for ferrying men and horses across. It took them four hours and five trips to transport all eight men and eleven animals, and by the time it was done they had no option but to spend the night in Luanus, a mean little place, but at least it boasted a tavern. Next day they rose and broke their fast with bread, oil and olives, washed down with watered wine, before crossing the ridge behind the town and following a broad river valley north. Here at least there was a road, even if it was in poor repair, with bridges that had been badly mended and potholes deep enough to break an ankle. For the first time in a week the sun shone, the skies cleared and Valerius was left to wonder at the dangerous, majestic glory all around. The mountains did not rise; they soared to unreachable summits where only the gods would ever set foot. Elysium would be like this, he thought, with air so clear that it invigorated even a soul as dark as his and chased away the demons that had haunted him for eight years.

Serpentius saw him grinning. ‘You won’t be smiling so much when you have to climb them,’ he pointed out. Still, the appearance of the sun seemed to reinvigorate them all. The Spaniard broke into an incomprehensible song in his own language that seemed to have nothing approaching a tune and Valerius thought he could
feel
the wound in his shoulder healing.

It was obvious to the others that Valtir was as at home among these peaks as he was on his lake. His mood changed and he chattered endlessly as he rode, and it seemed even Dasius only understood one word in ten. ‘I think he says he has never seen the hills so free of snow at this time of year. But the weather means a greater danger of the thunder god calling the mountains down.’ He shrugged. ‘More chance of an avalanche.’

Valerius found himself warming to the personable young Thracian. It became clear that Dasius had taken an enormous risk by backing Otho’s cause. If the wrong man won this fight, he could lose everything, including his family’s hereditary lands on the plains beside the Hebrus river. But that was not why he had made his decision.

‘I have visited Rome and seen its glory, and I have seen what war does. It is beyond imagination that those great temples could burn,
the statues be torn down or the Forum run with men’s blood, yet that is what will happen if we cannot prevent it. Rome is the Empire and Otho was chosen by the people and the Senate of Rome.’ He shrugged. ‘That is enough for me. I do not know the detail of your mission, but I know that your aims and mine are one, and I will do anything I can to help you succeed.’

With those words he kicked his mount and rode ahead. Serpentius drew up beside Valerius. ‘He reminds me of another young pup with a head full of principles.’

Valerius smiled and shook his head sadly. ‘There is very little of Tiberius Crescens in Aurelius Dasius,’ he said.

‘I wasn’t thinking of Tiberius. The young man he reminds me of is Publius Sulla.’

As dusk fell they reached the head of a third lake, which Valtir told them was called the Verbanus. Valerius decided not to risk the trading post at Bilitio, where there was the possibility of a military presence of unknown loyalty. Instead, they camped by the lake shore. As the campfire waned, the Thracians chattered sleepily in their own language, their faces visible as pale blurs in the darkness. Serpentius stood guard by the tethered horses and Valerius could hear him singing quietly to them. Valtir sat with his hands round his knees, his dark eyes glittering, wearing a frown of intense concentration. As Valerius watched, he rose and called Dasius. Together they approached the patch of brush where the Roman had laid out his bed.

‘Valtir is agitated about something,’ the Thracian explained. ‘From what I can work out, the high passes to Curia will be open, but he talked to a trader making for Bilitio and there is word of trouble between the Caluci and the Suanetes, the tribes who control the area. The tribune in command of the post is advising anyone travelling that way to wait until he sends a patrol to investigate. It could be a week.’

Valerius suppressed a curse. ‘We didn’t come all this way to sit on our backsides for a week or turn back. We’ll have to risk it.’

Valtir frowned and spat something at the Thracian. Dasius shook his head, but the little Celt waved a finger and pointed east where the skyline stood out as a shark-toothed line of unbroken shadows.

‘What does he say?’

‘He became very excited. He said he did not understand that you needed to hurry. Curia is the safest route, but there is another path, known only to a few. There is a road, for what it is worth, as far as Airolus, but after that we must leave the valley and take the mountains. It would cut your journey by a week.’

Valerius felt a surge of hope. ‘Is he sure we can get the horses through?’

Dasius snapped a question and the little man frowned. ‘He believes so. He would not have tried it any other year, but he thinks the conditions are right. It will not be easy, but we could reach Augusta Raurica on the Rhenus by the time your friends in Rome have finished celebrating the festival of Lupercalia.’

Valerius met Serpentius’s eyes. Mid-Februarius, then another week at most to sail downriver to Colonia. Where Vitellius waited.

‘There are many calls on our manpower, Caesar, but ask what you will.’

Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator studied the ring that was the only solid evidence he was who everyone said he was and tried to think like an Emperor. The
gladius
from the Temple of Mars Ultor remained in its rosewood box on a marble table, unopened. He had not dared look at it since Valens and Caecina had sat in this very room and launched their rebellion in his name.

He raised his head and looked into the expectant eyes of the senior tribune who had travelled from Britannia to formally declare the support of the legions stationed there. What would Divine Julius do? Strip the island and order all available men to his side? But that would mean beginning his reign by relinquishing a province won at a terrible price in Roman blood. No, he would not taint his office and sully his person with such a decision. It would have been less complicated if Nero had not withdrawn the Fourteenth Gemina from Britannia and ordered it to Dalmatia before his demise. That would have made it simple. The Ninth Hispania, never a fortunate unit, could have been left with the Fourteenth to deal with the barbarians and he would have
summoned the Second Augusta and the Twentieth, victors over the rebel Queen Boudicca, to his side. Think.

‘It will be onerous for you, I know,’ he saw the tribune flinch, but kept his voice imperious, ‘but I wish you – order you – to move half the strength of the Second, Ninth and Twentieth legions to Londinium, along with an equivalent force of auxiliaries, there to prepare for shipment to Germania at the first possible opportunity.’ He waved Asiaticus, his freedman and secretary, forward. ‘He will prepare your detailed orders, but in general you may expect the army of Britannia to march to Moguntiacum and from there on Rome, with their Emperor at their head.’

The tribune bowed, but not before Vitellius had recognized his disdain at being made to accept orders, even written ones, from a former slave. A slight curl of the lip also spoke of a lack of respect for an Emperor whose girth exceeded his military experience by a factor of two.

When he was alone he felt an enormous weight of expectation and helplessness descend upon his shoulders. He closed his eyes. Sitting in the self-imposed darkness he realized how blind he was to events elsewhere, especially in Rome. By now Galba would be aware of his intentions and gathering his legions from the Danuvius and the East to meet the threat. Thanks to the rivalry between his two commanders, Vitellius’s army was split. Unless they could combine they would be crushed. Belatedly, his intuition told him he should have ordered a single unstoppable thrust, but there was nothing he could do about it now. There was only one answer.

‘Food,’ he shouted. ‘Bring me food.’