Avenger of Rome

XIII

When Valerius opened his eyes the storm might never have happened. After a night shivering in the open he luxuriated in the warmth of the first gentle rays of the dawn, but instinct told him he would be cursing the sun by the day’s end. It rose in the east, as always, creating a golden corridor across the darkened sands, but east was not where he expected it to be. It should have been behind him, as he faced the sea; instead, it was directly to his right. As he watched, the sands glowed first a fiery, orange red before mellowing to a deep pink, and he gradually became aware of his surroundings. The dangerous beauty of it assaulted his senses and the terrible reality turned his viscera to liquid ice.

The two small groups of survivors were the only living things on a flat sandy beach that ran as far as the eye could see to east and west. Worse, when he looked inland the landscape consisted of fold after fold of rolling dunes stretching far into the distance. Not a tree or a blade of grass. No hint of water or habitation. Not even a scrap of cover. He tried to recall the details of the maps he had studied of the eastern Mare Nostrum. Unless the contours of the coastline were deceiving him, it seemed clear they had been driven much further south than any of them had anticipated. Not to the shores of Judaea, but to Egypt, and not to the fertile area of Egypt which flanked the Nile delta, but a much more forbidding shore: a sixty-or seventy-mile strip of deserted, barren coastline where even the nomads of the interior were reluctant to venture.

Only when he turned back to the sea did he find any reason to hope. The Golden Cygnet, or at least part of her gilded hull, had somehow survived thanks to her solid construction. It rocked placidly in the waves of a wide, shallow bay, battered, but more or less intact, a hundred paces from the shore. Exhaustion weighed him down, but he knew he had to stir himself. Already he could feel the strength of the sun growing. They needed to act or die.

He called to Serpentius to issue a ration of water — two precious mouthfuls for every man and woman — and while it was handed out he gave his orders. Twelve crewmen survived from a complement of twenty, two of them with broken bones and another who was coughing blood and probably wouldn’t last the day. He tried not to give thanks for the five extra mouths who had perished in the surf as they escaped the shipwreck, but he knew their deaths and those of Aurelius, Capito, Cronos and Julius might mean the difference between death and survival for the rest.

He called the sailors together, but kept Tiberius’s guards aside in a separate group. ‘We need to strip the ship of everything worthwhile.’ His voice sounded hoarse from two days of shouting against the wind. ‘The first priority is water, of which there may be more, even if it is slightly tainted. But we must also have shelter or the sun will roast us alive.’ He pointed to four of the men. ‘You will concentrate on shelter. If it has survived, bring the covered awning that was on the deck for the women. There must be a spare sail; bring that also, and rope.’ The others he tasked to scour the ship for water, food and any timber or tools that might be useful.

‘Why tools? If we’re here long enough to build something we’ll already be dead.’

Valerius tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Why must they waste precious time? ‘Because with tools we can make fish hooks and spears. You’ve all speared flatfish? The sandy bottom is perfect for them. We can eat the flesh and drink the blood. If we move from here we can use the tools to fashion litters for the injured and to carry the food and water.’

‘Aye, blood,’ moaned another. ‘Flatfish isn’t the only thing in these waters. There’s sharks as well, I’ve seen them, long as a steering oar and with a mouthful of teeth that can tear a man’s arm off, begging your pardon, sir.’

Valerius laughed with the rest and tossed the man his knife. ‘When it comes for you, kill it and we’ll have it for dinner. Now get on with it, before the sun broils our brains.’

When they set off fearfully through the shallow seas — he had never met a sailor who was happy in water — he summoned the two fit cavalrymen. ‘Do it carefully,’ he told the senior of the two men, a Batavian named Civilis, ‘and without making it noticeable, but I want every weapon on that ship brought to me. Every spear and sword.’

Tiberius had stood silent as Valerius gave the orders and now he nodded his approval. ‘We keep the weapons, the food and the water under our control, and build two separate shelters far enough apart to give the lady Domitia privacy.’ He studied Valerius seriously. ‘You realize that some of them saw her in her shift and liked what they saw? I have seen them looking at her. They are hungry, and not just for food.’

‘Why do you think I made certain the weapons will be in our hands, not theirs? They are decent enough by their own lights, but when a man thinks he’s going to die he will resort to desperate measures to get what another man is keeping from him. The second shelter will be split by a curtain to give the general’s daughter a space of her own, but allow one of us to always be with her.’

Tiberius bowed. ‘I will guard her with my life.’

Valerius shook his head. ‘I have another task for you, Tiberius.’ They walked to where Serpentius sat casually by the spot where they’d buried the pile of water skins to keep them out of the sun. The Spaniard was feeding the gelding with a mouthful of oats he had found among the foodstuffs they’d managed to rescue. The horse Tiberius had lost in the wreck had been one of the finest animals Valerius had ever seen and he guessed that the young tribune was more at home in the saddle than any of them. ‘I want you to ride for help.’

Tiberius gave a little whistle. He looked up at the sun and then took in the scorched, barren landscape all around them. He knew he was being asked to commit suicide. ‘Of course, tribune.’ He produced a grave smile as he agreed to ride to almost certain death.

‘Serpentius? How many water skins?’

The Spaniard shrugged. ‘Twenty at the last count, but maybe they’ll find more in the ship.’

Valerius drew a curve in the sand. ‘If I’m right, here is Judaea to the northeast. To the west, Egypt proper where most of the settlements will be clustered along the valley of the Nile. Sixty miles between them. Which puts the wreck somewhere around here.’ He pointed to a patch of sand in the centre of the curve between the two areas he’d circled. ‘So, east or west?’

Tiberius studied the impromptu map, frowning as he concentrated on the scrawls in the sand. ‘East or west?’ he repeated. ‘Thirty miles. Two days in the saddle if I rest at night. Thirty miles at most if we choose correctly, but there is no guarantee that we are in the geographical centre, so anything up to forty or fifty if we don’t.’

Valerius nodded. They both knew that if they chose wrongly they were probably all dead. ‘We’ll split the water and pour as much into the horse as he’ll take. You can carry what’s left of your half with you.’

Tiberius shook his head. ‘That only leaves ten water skins among twenty,’ he pointed out. ‘Two pints to a person. Even if I reach help on the third day it will take us another two to get back here. You’ll never survive on two pints of water a man in this heat.’

Serpentius snorted and the two men looked at him. ‘I know, it’s a terrible plan,’ Valerius said. ‘But if you can think of anything better I’ll be happy to hear it.’ He waited, but it seemed no one could. ‘In this heat, ride through the night when it’s coolest. You’ll save the horse and save on water. I say go west. There’s a rebellion in Judaea and when there’s blood in the gutter people don’t take kindly to strangers. Even if you do reach a settlement there’s a good chance they’ll cut your throat just for being Roman.’

Yes,’ Tiberius said slowly. ‘I agree. West. If I keep the sea always to my right and follow the beach I could make good time.’

Valerius nodded his approval, relieved that the decision had been taken. It was only later that the awful twisting in the guts of not knowing whether it had been the right one would come. But this was no time for doubt. He clapped the young man on the shoulder.

‘Then let’s get it done,’ he said decisively. ‘You can make ten or fifteen miles then hole up in the nearest shade, if you can find any, until nightfall. I want you out of here before the crew returns from stripping the ship. If they find out we only have half the water they think we have I’ll have another mutiny on my hands.’

Serpentius was already digging for the water skins and Tiberius took the horse aside to check his gait and hooves. Valerius knew by the way he vaulted on to the animal’s back that he had made the right choice.

‘Does he have a name?’ Tiberius asked.

‘He’s a soldier’s horse. He doesn’t need one.’

‘Then I’ll call him Hercules.’ Tiberius grinned. ‘We need a hero.’

While they were waiting for the water, Domitia hobbled up with her arm round Suki, the African slave girl. Valerius explained Tiberius’s mission.

‘I pray for Fortuna’s good wishes, and may you travel with the speed of Mercury,’ Domitia said, and Valerius could have sworn Tiberius glowed in the light of her favour.

‘I will not let you down, lady,’ he assured her with a shy smile.

While Serpentius watered Hercules. Valerius gave the younger man some last advice. ‘Take it gently at first. Get used to each other. When night comes make the best speed you can, but don’t push too hard. Don’t kill yourself but, more important, don’t kill the horse. I want him back.’

Tiberius smiled at the poor jest and mounted Hercules, with the water skins draped around him. Before he rode off he leaned from the saddle and took Valerius’s wooden fist in his hand. ‘I promise I will not fail you, my friend.’

Valerius turned to find Domitia staring at him. For a moment he was lost in the dark eyes, before he remembered that she was the general’s daughter. It was the first time in days he’d thought about his original mission. Paulinus’s appearance at the villa seemed a long time ago; Domitia’s father’s guilt or innocence insignificant. Even the thought of the threat to Olivia produced nothing more than a dull ache. These things were beyond his control now. They could be left to the Fates.

His immediate priority was to keep Domitia Longina Corbulo alive, at least until everyone else was dead. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but you couldn’t drink hope. He picked up one of the water skins. It would deprive someone of their share in thirty-six hours or forty-eight, but it might mean she lived for the last hour it took for help to arrive, and that made it right.

He held out the skin. She licked her lips, but shook her head. ‘I will drink when everyone else does.’

Valerius resisted the temptation to insist. Clearly, keeping her alive was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

The first sailors returned carrying pieces of the curtained awning and it was the work of a few minutes to erect a tent on the sand. Domitia and her girls retired gratefully away from the worst glare of the sun. He noticed that the sailors were very keen to return to the ship, and also that those he had sent to fetch water still hadn’t returned. That made him wonder, and the suspicion prompted him to order Serpentius to disinter two of the water skins from the pit and conceal them somewhere else. Perhaps he was wrong to put so little faith in the men’s honesty, but he doubted it. The Spaniard laughed and Valerius realized he’d already taken the precaution of laying one or two aside.

The bulk of the men returned thirty minutes later, suspiciously cheerful and a few of them carrying water skins that they dumped in the sand at Valerius’s feet. Still not enough for five days, but an improvement. The haul of other goods was better than he had expected, including a flint and iron from Aurelius’s belongings that would allow them to start a fire if they could find something to fuel it. There were sacks of damp wheatmeal that would only be a little saltier than normal when they turned it into porridge, and sufficient board and sailcloth to make a second shelter and provide a substantial enough partition for Domitia’s pavilion to make it respectable for her guards to sleep there. He waited until they had all returned and Tiberius’s German cavalrymen had deposited their clanking sacks with Serpentius before he gathered the sailors in an untidy mismatched rank to thank them for their efforts. A few just stared at him, but enough of them were hiding grins and shuffling their feet to make him sure he was right.

He smiled at them. ‘I’m only going to ask you once, so let’s be certain. You’ve returned with a fine haul, I can see that. But I’m wondering to myself if you had enough time to make a proper job of searching the Golden Cygnet.’ He looked along the line, meeting the eyes of each man in turn. ‘In the legions, if a man failed in his duty, let’s say by not quite finding all the water on the ship, then it would be up to his tent mates, his contubernium, to punish him.’ He saw them looking at him uncertainly, as if they weren’t sure he was serious. ‘So if I were to send Serpentius here out to the ship, and he were to find more water, it would mean you’d have to choose one of your own,’ he paused, and now they were looking at one another, ‘and I’d have to watch eight of you beating him to death with those wooden staves you’ve so kindly brought back.’

Someone muttered defiantly, but by now Valerius knew the German guard was at his back and most were staring at him with fear in their eyes. They weren’t soldiers but sailors, rough men who liked to fight, and if someone died, too bad, but they weren’t professional killers. Valerius was. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m going to give you another chance to get back out to that ship and bring back every drop of fresh water.’

They waited until he nodded, and almost knocked each other over in the rush to reach what remained of the Golden Cygnet. ‘Do you think I can trust them now?’ he asked Serpentius.

The Spaniard shrugged. ‘I’d always trust a terrified man before one who tells me he’s honest.’

Valerius went back to the makeshift pavilion and met Domitia in the doorway. He bowed and waited for her to move either forward or back, but she stood there studying him seriously.

‘Would you have done it?’ There was curiosity in her voice, but no hint of reproach.

‘Without discipline there is only chaos and death.’

‘I’m aware of that, tribune, but I ask you again, would you have ordered those men to kill one of their own?’

He hesitated. Truth or lie? ‘An officer should only ever give an order when he knows it will be obeyed,’ he said. ‘You will not find that in any military manual, but it is the unwritten code. Even with Serpentius at my back I doubt I could have forced them to kill their comrade.’

‘Then they would have won. Without discipline there is only chaos and death.’ She quoted the words back at him without irony.

‘You’re right,’ Valerius conceded. ‘I could not let them win, because then we would all die.’

‘So what would you have done?’

‘I would have chosen one of them myself and I would have cut his throat.’

She tilted her head to look up at him and he became conscious of the intriguing shadows deep in her eyes.

‘You remind me of my father.’