Thunder of the Gods (39 page)

The legatus shook his head.

‘The arrangement wasn’t financial. I used him as a means of keeping Narsai from attacking us on the march, promising his nobles that I would return him to his father if he lived to see Nisibis. But the fact remains, getting him to Ctesiphon isn’t going to be easy.’

The prefect raised an eyebrow.

‘Your generosity amazes me, Legatus. After all, the payment that you could have demanded simply to let him walk from these gates would be enough to make you among the richest men in Rome.’

He pondered the thought for a moment.

‘But never mind, we don’t all want to be wealthy. And if all you need is a way out of the city that will set you on your way to the Parthian capital, I think I have something that might just work …’

‘You’re sure this is wise, Legatus? Sending a Roman officer to the Parthian capital might just be a very good way of getting him killed.’

Scaurus sat back in his chair, nodding in the face of his first spear’s disapproval. Petronius had cheerfully vacated his office in the city’s headquarters building in favour of the legatus, and from the windows on each side of the generously sized room it was possible to see the entire length of the fortress walls.

‘I know, I’m asking a lot of him. If he manages to get Osroes away from here by means of this trick that Petronius has in mind, there will still be a long journey in front of them. And at the far end …’

‘He’ll be at the mercy of this King of Kings.’

Scaurus nodded again.

‘Indeed. Although you shouldn’t look at our enemy as simple barbarians. It’s not as if they’re Germans. The king claims direct descent from the men who ruled the first Persian empire, and the Parthian nobility have always prided themselves on being Greek in outlook. Since Tribune Corvus will also be an emissary of Rome, and as Parthia has no formal quarrel with the empire of which we are aware, bringing the Great King his wounded son by the most direct method can only count in his favour, so I’d be surprised if he were to be mistreated. He can take that monster Lugos with him, that will provide the Parthians with some entertainment, and perhaps Martos? The novelty of meeting a king from the far north will be something new, even for a man of Arsaces’ age and experience.’

Julius bowed his head in acquiescence to his superior’s command.

‘I can see you’re set on this, Legatus. I’ve got rounds to make, with your leave, sir?’

Scaurus leaned back in his chair.

‘I’ll consume a moment more of your time, if I may, First Spear?’

He waited until the older man had retaken his seat before speaking again.

‘I know you don’t want Tribune Corvus to carry out this task, and I understand why. You believe that his place is here with the legion, and that the risks he’ll be taking are unnecessary. But you miss my point, partly because you’re concerned for his safety and partly because you don’t have my wider responsibilities. Your role is to provide this legion with leadership, to manage it in battle and to ensure as many of the enemy are killed for as few of our own as possible. It is a role you play as well as any man I’ve met, and better than most of them. I, however, am a legatus. That does not simply mean that I am a legion commander, but also, whether I hold the social rank or not, that I am effectively a senator of Rome. I have a duty to the empire that goes beyond simply leading her legionaries, but which also encompasses diplomacy. Diplomats prevent wars as often as soldiers win them, and it’s clear to me that our one legion isn’t going to snuff out the flame that Osroes and Narsai have lit here. One man with the right ear, however, might just manage it.’

He stood, walking to the office’s window and looking out at the city.

‘I have a greater need for the tribune’s skills than yours, First Spear. You’d have him stand on those walls, looking out at Narsai’s army and waiting for his arm to heal. I, on the other hand, need both his intelligence and the wit that his father made sure was developed by his education. Any other man I can send will simply be a soldier, whereas in Marcus Valerius Aquila I can present the Great King with as close to an old-fashioned Roman gentleman as the empire can manage here and now.’

He shook his head in amusement.

‘In days gone by I would have elbowed him aside to have made such a journey. To meet the King of Kings? To set eyes on a man who rules a dozen kingdoms solely by force of personality and his ability to set one man against another, and thereby set them both to his will, a role so difficult that I doubt our own emperor would see out the week? Such a chance will never come again, be sure of that. The tribune’s friends will be safe enough behind these walls, safe and bored beyond measure, whereas that young man will have the opportunity to visit a city that few Romans have seen in any other circumstance than from behind a sword.’

He stood, gesturing to the door and releasing the first spear to his duties.

‘He’ll thank me, when he returns.’

‘This makes a pleasant change from the temperature up above, doesn’t it? Standing guard duty down here is one of the most sought after places to be during the day, although I don’t think the soldiers are quite so keen once the sun’s below the horizon! How are you liking the tour, Centurion Avidus?’

Petronius’s words echoed back from the bare stone walls, more tunnel than passage. The air was cool deep within the fortress walls, a draught at the party’s backs making the flaming torches set in wall scones every twenty paces flutter and dance as they walked at a steady pace down into the fortress’s lower depths behind the prefect, Gurgen and Martos taking one of Osroes’ arms apiece to keep him steady on his feet. Avidus had tagged along with the party on hearing that they would be visiting the fortress’s lower depths, and his reply to the prefect’s question was wistful in tone.

‘The men that built this place certainly knew what they were doing, Prefect. Although I can’t say I’ve been surprised by anything just yet.’

Petronius laughed.

‘Don’t worry, I think you’re going to find what I have to show you entertaining. One of my brighter officers discovered it a few weeks after we arrived for our tour of guard duty. He felt a slight breeze blowing through a gap in the bricks and had the wall pulled down to reveal this rather unprepossessing passageway, running straight down to …’

He chuckled.

‘Well, you’ll see soon enough.’

After another fifty paces he stopped in front of a thick black curtain.

‘Safe to enter?’

The material was pulled back, and the prefect stepped forward into a gloomy near darkness, beckoning them forward with a ghostly pale hand.

‘Step forward five paces, then stop and allow your eyes to adapt to the light.’

A rumbling laugh from behind Marcus spoke for all of them as Lugos shook his head, invisible in the darkness.

‘What light?’

‘Ah, wait a moment and you’ll see. There are lamps in this place, just not very bright.’

Staring around himself in the gloom, Marcus realised that the prefect spoke accurately, for on either wall of whatever chamber it was that they had entered were tiny flickering sparks of light, their minuscule illumination barely enough to provide the meanest level of light to the open space, even once his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom. Julius was the first to realise what he meant.

‘The floor. It’s
moving.
’

Petronius laughed softly.

‘It’s moving, First Spear, but it’s not floor.’

Scaurus bent carefully, touching a hand to the glinting surface.

‘Water?’

‘Water. It’s the Mygdonius, what the locals call the Fruit River. A couple of hundred years ago some bright lad realised that the river ran so close to the city walls that they might as well do more than take water out of it. Look carefully and you’ll see how I intend to get you all out of here.’

After a moment of staring into the gloom, Martos was the first to speak.

‘Cocidius’s hairy ball sack! It’s a boat!’

‘Indeed it is, Briton. You see well in the darkness for a man with only one eye.’

The vessel was painted black, its forty-foot length filling two thirds of the chamber’s stone dock, a short mast lying flat against the planks that formed a series of rowing benches. Petronius waved a hand at it, his teeth a slash of white in the gloom as he grinned at them.

‘This is the
Night Witch
, gentlemen. It is an invisible boat, or at least exceptionally difficult to spot on a night like this, as I can assure from my own experience while her crew were practising with her on the river at night. I’ve stood on the riverbank and not seen her pass within twenty paces, given the right conditions.’

With a flash of insight, Marcus understood the reason why they had been delayed in leaving the fortress for three days.

‘The cloud …’

‘Exactly. There is no moon, nor any starlight. On the river you will be a black hole, visible only to the keenest of eyes set to look for such a thing. And trust me, I doubt that there’s going to be a single man looking at the river when you pass the enemy defences, given what I have planned. And now you all need to keep very quiet, we’re about to open the river gate.’

He called out a soft command, and with a slow, low-pitched rumble, a section of wall began to slide across the chamber’s face to reveal a gradually expanding rectangle of blackness. Avidus whistled softly, the professional envy evident in his voice.

‘Building this must have been some undertaking. That piece of stone has to weigh tons …’

‘It’s a deception, Centurion. The door is no thicker than the deck of this boat, but it has been coated with thin stone tiles carefully crafted to resemble the walls to either side. When you consider that it can only be seen through the branches of the thorn bushes that surround the fortress, and that it is less than ten feet high, you’ll understand why it’s almost invisible from the river’s other bank, and utterly undetectable from the distance at which our bolt throwers have kept the enemy lines.’

A dozen men in black tunics filed into the chamber through a low arched doorway and climbed carefully aboard the boat. At a signal from the prefect, a soldier handed each of the party a dark leather hide.

‘As I said, you will be a dark hole in the river, but only if you take the right precautions. Once you are out of the fortress you must keep low in the boat, and keep those hides over you. One flash of pale skin will betray you to the watchers.’

Martos leaned forward, his disfigured face barely less than terrifying in the half-darkness.

‘Watchers?’

Petronius shrugged.

‘Of course. No besieging force is going to ignore the risk that the defenders might attempt to send a messenger out by means of the river, especially as this is the one time of the year that it’s sufficiently full to be navigable. There will be men on either bank of the Mygdonius, set to watch for such an attempt, I’m sure of that. And if they spot you then your mission will be doomed, because even if you get past them, you will be hunted down by the enemy cavalry once the sun rises. The river takes many turns on its way south to the Euphrates and you will never outrun a swift horse even with the flow at your back.’

The Briton frowned.

‘If I were set to watch a river in the darkness, my first thought would be to light a fire and illuminate the river. How can we pass unnoticed if the water is lit from either side?’

Petronius grinned back at him, quite unperturbed by the prince’s scars.

‘Ordinarily it would be impossible. But I think that they’ll have more important matters on their minds than looking for boats when you pass.’

He nodded to the boat’s master, a villainous-looking soldier with a face that rivalled Martos’s for scars.

‘On your way, Thracius, and remember to wait until the entertainment starts before attempting to pass the siege line.’

The party stepped down into the boat, the dozen-strong crew muttering curses when Lugos boarded, his every movement causing the boat to rock until he was seated, with the express order from the boat’s commander not to move until they touched shore again. With their passengers aboard, the crew eased their vessel away from the stone quay, pushing gently with their oars to launch the boat slowly out into the short channel that connected the hidden chamber with the river.

‘Lie down. And remain
silent
!’

Marcus obeyed the master’s hissed command, flattening himself against the wooden planks as they slid into the shelter of the massed thorn bushes that covered the hidden waterway. Jerking as the first thorn stabbed at the skin of his leg, his muffled grunt of pain drew a glare and a fierce whisper from the closest of the crew, already sheltering from the bushes’ fierce assault under his own hide.

‘Use your leather!’

Diving under the heavy sheet of cow skin he felt the myriad tugs at the thick hide’s surface as the boat eased through the heart of the thorny camouflage, then there was a pirouette by the boat’s bow as it emerged into the river’s swift-flowing stream. Lifting the leather to peek out from beneath it, he found himself staring out across the plain to the east of the fortress, on the river’s far side, at the distant light of picket fires that marked the Parthian line stretching around the fortress city.

Walking back up the tunnel with Julius and Avidus behind him, Scaurus asked the question he knew Petronius was eager to answer.

‘So Prefect, just how are they going to get past the men Narsai’s general will have set to watch the river?’

He could practically see the smug smile on the other man’s face.

‘It’s a simple question of expectations, Legatus. One of the secrets of a successful siege defence, or so I’ve come to believe, is to persuade the enemy to trust their own expectations of any situation where doing so might give us an advantage. This is the moment when we show them that at least one of those expectations is
not
well founded.’

The boat was moving more swiftly now, drifting silently with
the Mygdonius’s flow as the waters that rose far to the north in the mountains rushed southward, their noisy burble disguising the occasional slap of water against the
Night Witch
’s side. The river curved briefly to the west, hugging the walls, then turned south again, and Marcus’s view steadied as the boat master eased the boat through the bend without so much as a ripple to betray its presence before steering for the western bank. The vessel’s bow kissed the rough earth for long enough that the crew were able to lean out and wield spikes, driving the iron deep into the soft earth where land and water met, then pulling on them to drag the craft into the shadow of the river’s lip. Looking down the shimmering line of water to the south, Marcus realised with dismay that there were indeed watch fires burning to either side of the river, at the point where the Parthian siege lines ran down to the water.