Avenger of Rome

I

A man’s sword could be his friend or his enemy. Every sword was subtly different. A rich man’s sword would be forged of the finest carbon-rich iron and have the edge of a surgeon’s scalpel. An auxiliary’s sword would be one of a thousand, crude and poorly finished in some provincial armoury. A poor sword might bend or break. The best swords were like the men who wielded them: tested to their very limits in the balefire of battle. The sword Gaius Valerius Verrens held was a warrior’s sword.

Valerius studied the blade in the light from the oil lamp. A simple legionary gladius, twenty-two inches long, honed to the sharpness only a veteran soldier could give it and with a leather hand-grip moulded by use to the grasp of his fingers. The gladius was a killing weapon, no more and no less. In the right hands it would harvest flesh as efficiently as a scythe would harvest wheat. Only the decorated pommel, a gleaming silver bulb embossed with a snake-headed Medusa, differentiated this sword from any other.

His fingers flexed on the grip and his mind sought to gauge the approaching danger. He had felt the vibrations first: the almost imperceptible shiver resonating through the heat-seasoned earth of the road to the family villa at Fidenae. Now the sensation was swiftly transformed into the muted thunder of galloping horses. There was no fear. If anything, he felt an odd serenity. He had always known they would come. It was only a matter of when. A rustling sound alerted him and he turned, ready to meet the new threat, only to find himself staring into the wide, liquid eyes of his sister Olivia. Of course, she would have heard them. In her own way, she had as much to fear as he. He smiled gently and shook his head. They had gone through this often. Nothing to be done. They would each meet what came in their own fashion. The pale, almost alabaster features turned resolute. She nodded farewell before retreating to make her peace with her God, and find comfort in the dagger that would save her the terrible end the Emperor had dictated for those who worshipped the man Christus. Valerius had debated long and hard whether to follow that route. He knew exactly where to place the point, the angle of penetration and the force required. He raised the sword in front of him, turning the blade into a bar of flickering gold. So beautiful. How many men had felt the sting of its cold metal? To use it on his own flesh would have a certain terrible symmetry. But would that make it his friend or his enemy? A smile flitted briefly across his scarred face as he made his decision.

Others might take that road, but Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome and last survivor of the Temple of Claudius, would not.

He emerged into the grey softness of the pre-dawn. Nero would have sent his best. He would face them in the open, where his speed and his skill would give him the greatest advantage. The result was in no doubt, nor did he intend it to be, but he would give them a fight to remember. A soldier’s end, because, whatever they said, he would always be a soldier.

The shrill sound of a horse’s whinny cut the still air and the rhythmic thud of individual hoofbeats reverberated like the snap of a ballista volley. Twenty at least, but then they wouldn’t have sent fewer. Soon. Valerius readied himself as the cavalry galloped into the broad courtyard with their red cloaks streaming behind them. His sudden appearance from the shadows gave him the element of surprise and there was a moment of confusion before the decurion in charge sawed his mount to a halt and gaped in disbelief at the tall, commanding figure with the sword in his left hand. It lasted all of a second before he heard the nerve-tingling hiss of twenty blades being unsheathed.

He waited unflinchingly for the command that would begin it and end it. But before it could be given a hooded figure emerged from the centre of the mass and drew back the cowl that hid his face.

‘I see you still know how to wield a sword.’ A tall man, spare and neat, with his prematurely white hair cropped short. The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it was belied by basilisk eyes that hinted at just how dangerous he could be. ‘It is a fine weapon.’

Valerius attempted to hide his astonishment at his visitor’s identity. ‘As fine as the day you placed it in my hand.’

‘But somewhat rash to bare it in the presence of a consul of Rome.’

He replaced the sword in its ornate sheath and bowed to Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, formerly Britain’s governor and destroyer of Boudicca’s rebel armies, later political outcast and now, against all reason, restored to high office by his Emperor. ‘Welcome to my home.’

Paulinus looked around appreciatively at his rustic surroundings. ‘A fine estate, but then you have had ample time to concentrate upon it this last year.’

Valerius smiled politely at the unsubtle hint. Of course Paulinus would be fully versed on his self-imposed exile since returning from Africa, where he had served as quaestor to the proconsul, Aulus Vitellius. But his heart pounded as he sought a reason for the consul’s unlikely appearance. It was five years since they had last met and the then governor of Britain had recommended him for the honour that had changed his life. This was no social visit. Belatedly, he remembered his manners.

‘I know it is early, but perhaps you would like to sample our wine?’ he offered. ‘I will have my slaves see to your horses and feed your men.’

Paulinus shook his head. ‘A little water and whatever you normally break your fast with. We have matters to discuss, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Private matters.’

The words private matters rang a warning bell in Valerius’s head. As he led Paulinus inside he felt as if a dozen arrows were aimed at the centre of his spine. He saw a flash of Olivia’s pale features in the doorway of the triclinium and steered Paulinus past to the library, which was the most secluded room in the house. The consul pretended to admire a marble bust of Valerius’s grandfather while they waited for the slaves to deliver food and leave. Valerius unbelted his sword and placed it on one of the two couches in the room. The other man gave a smile that asked permission to inspect the weapon and took Valerius’s look of indecision for acceptance. He slid the sword from the ornate scabbard and weighed it in his hand, his eyes narrowing as he studied the blade. Just for a moment Valerius thought he had misjudged the situation and Paulinus had been sent to kill him, but eventually the consul nodded in satisfaction and slid it home.

‘A fine sword, indeed. A sword worthy of the man who held the Temple of Claudius to the last man.’ He reached beneath his cloak and withdrew a slim object which he handed to Valerius. ‘You served your Emperor well at Colonia. Now you have your opportunity to serve him again.’

What Valerius held in his hand was a leather tube, dark brown and weathered with age, about twelve inches in length and with the scuffs and scrapes of long usage clear beneath the layers of constant waxing. The imperial seal, an image of the Emperor Nero as the Sun King, was embossed in wax across the join.

‘Open it.’

He felt Paulinus’s eyes on him as he wedged the tube in his right hand and worked at the stiff flap with his left. The contents were a single sheet of parchment.

‘Read it, please. Aloud.’

Valerius was surprised at the power in his voice as he deciphered the neat clerkish hand. ‘ Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, is to assume the rank of senior military tribune and proceed to the headquarters of General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, there to take up the position of second in command, and to undertake whatever duties the general sees fit in the service of the Empire.’ There was more. Travel details and a list of personal equipment. A warrant for passage on a ship leaving from Ostia in one week.

His head spun. Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, is to assume the rank of senior military tribune. And with Corbulo, Rome’s greatest general. The man who had outfought and outthought the tribes of Germania and whose feats of engineering had astounded the Empire. So why did he feel as if he held a squirming viper? He looked up and sensed the almost mocking glint in the granite-chip eyes that surveyed him from beneath Paulinus’s heavy brows.

‘The appointment does not please you?’

Valerius stared at the older man. ‘It pleases me well enough, but the method of delivery surprises me. I ask myself why a serving consul of Rome should rise before dawn and ride six miles to convey a routine message from the Palatium that could have been delivered at any time by imperial courier.’

‘Call it an old comrade’s whim,’ Paulinus suggested, the pale lips curving upwards in a parody of a smile.

‘Call it a trap. If you are going to play games with me, consul, perhaps it would be better if you left now.’ Valerius kept his tone unforgiving and he allowed his eyes to stray to the sword. ‘I am no longer the boy you knew.’

Paulinus’s rasping laugh surprised him. ‘So the pup has not lost his fangs. Yes,’ he admitted, ‘there is more, but I doubt it will give you any greater pleasure. A direct order from the Emperor to his subject which must be delivered by someone trusted by both and conveyed by word of mouth only. It is this.’ The consul’s voice hardened, along with the eyes. ‘Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo is suspected of overstepping the powers of imperium granted him in the east by his Emperor. While you are on his staff you will compile a report on his activities and those of his senior officers. That report will be thorough and objective and when it is completed you will find a way to get it into my hands.’

‘You are asking me to spy?’

Paulinus sniffed. ‘I am told you have some talents in that direction.’

‘That was different.’ Valerius remembered his pursuit of Petrus, the Christian leader, two years earlier. ‘The man was an enemy of the state. General Corbulo is…’

‘Successful, quite ruthless and utterly vain, and that vanity makes him certain of his infallibility. So certain that he believes he can overrule the Emperor’s advisers and follow his own policy in Armenia and Cappadocia. If that suggestion is confirmed it may be that Corbulo will be withdrawn, perhaps even retired.’ The words contained a hint of satisfaction and Valerius was reminded of something else: that before his disgrace, Suetonius Paulinus had vied with Corbulo for the position of Rome’s paramount general. ‘It will not be an easy assignment. Corbulo has friends in the Palatium and at court. He may well hear of your mission and, if he does, he will try to delay you or stop you entirely.’ Paulinus hesitated and the younger man noticed the unnecessary emphasis his visitor placed on the last three words. ‘The task requires a man of resource and courage, but Gaius Valerius Verrens has proved himself to be such a man in the past. Your Emperor has every faith in you.’

If his situation hadn’t been so perilous, Valerius would have laughed at the blatant flattery. Instead, he said: ‘I am honoured by the Emperor’s confidence in my abilities, but I do not believe I have the capacity to complete this mission successfully. I am a simple soldier, without the… subtlety required. He has other men, better qualified than I, he can call upon, I’m sure.’ He stood, but Paulinus remained seated and fury flared like a flash of lightning in his eyes. Boudicca’s conqueror might be a consul in name only, but he still had power and knew how to use it.

‘You forget yourself, young man. I can think of a dozen others who would cut off their right arms for the chance to prove their faith to the Emperor.’ He cast a contemptuous glance at the carved wooden fist that had replaced Valerius’s right hand. ‘They now lie in the depths of the Palatine awaiting his pleasure.’ Paulinus had raised his voice and it must have been a signal because Valerius heard scuffling behind him. He turned to find Olivia held by two of Paulinus’s bodyguards — a helpless, waif-like figure shivering with fear. ‘It would take but a single word and the family of Verrens would join them. Do not think we are unaware of the conflicting loyalties within this house. You cannot hide from reality for ever, as you have hidden here from those who could have linked you to the traitor Piso’s cause. Consuls, senators and knights have been imprisoned and tortured, their families forced to take poison. Your old mentor, Seneca. Did you believe your isolation freed you from his taint? Gaius Valerius Verrens should know better than most men that there are no innocents on the battlefield, and that in a fight to the death those who believe otherwise will be crushed.’ For a moment, Valerius considered making a grab for the sword lying so conveniently at Paulinus’s right hand, but he knew that even if he reached it Olivia would be dead before he could turn. Paulinus saw his glance and smiled. ‘Think yourself fortunate that you have been given the luxury of choice.’

The reality was that there had never been any choice, and they both knew it. Paulinus nodded as Valerius acknowledged his defeat and Olivia protested as she was taken from the room.

‘She will be safe under the Emperor’s protection while you are in Antioch. You understand your orders?’

The answer was no, but the word that emerged from Valerius’s mouth was ‘Yes’.

Paulinus rose to his feet. ‘You will visit the Palatium where they will be explained to you in more detail. Methods of communication. Friends you may depend on and those to avoid.’ Valerius turned to go, but Paulinus wasn’t finished with him. ‘It is possible that your investigations may uncover something more than mere vanity and over-enthusiasm at Corbulo’s headquarters.’ He paused to allow the full significance of his words to register. ‘Should that be the case, you may be required to take further, more direct, action.’ He picked up the sword with the silver hilt and placed it in the younger man’s left hand. ‘Do we understand each other?’

Valerius nodded, because the words would have choked him.

Yes, they understood each other.

If he discovered any link between Rome’s greatest general and the Piso conspiracy he would become Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo’s executioner.