Avenger of Rome

XVI

He reached the burning tent as Serpentius staggered from the doorway with a cloak over his head and a slave girl under each arm. The Spaniard collapsed in the sand, his chest heaving and utterly spent. Valerius ran to him and dragged the group clear of the flames. Where was Domitia?

‘She wouldn’t come,’ Serpentius choked. ‘Ordered me to take the girls first. I…’ He tried to get to his feet, but his legs buckled beneath him.

‘I’ll go.’ Valerius picked up the cloak and rushed for the tent.

A wall of fire met him where the curtain had hung. Nothing could survive in that holocaust of flame. Then she screamed, long and shrill, the scream of a woman in mortal agony or mortal fear. ‘Sweet Minerva aid me,’ Valerius whispered. He swung the cloak over his head and charged the flaming barrier.

Domitia’s scream had used up the last of her strength. Her lungs seemed to be filled with something solid and she struggled for each breath. Dense smoke wreathed the upper part of the pavilion and above it the ceiling glowed red. In front of her was nothing but flame. She had thought the heat of the Egyptian sun unbearable, but the radiation from the fire felt as if it was melting her flesh. She had used the little knife Valerius had given her to try to cut through the fabric of the pavilion, but it was thick cloth, almost a rug, woven tight to provide shelter even from winter gales, and she barely scarred it. All hope fading, she slumped closer to the floor where the air was cleanest and waited for death. When the wall in front of her exploded in a shower of sparks and flaming fabric she believed it was Vesta, goddess of fire, come to carry her off.

Valerius tore off the burning cloak and rushed to the general’s daughter. Domitia lay face down on the sand with one arm thrown towards the doorway and the flesh of that hand bubbled like a boiling pot. He picked her up and turned to make his escape the way he’d come, but one look told him it was impossible. The cloak that had protected his flesh from the blistering heat was a smouldering mass on the floor. They were trapped.

In seconds the smoke wrapped itself around him, and before he knew it, it was choking him to death. He felt the moment his mind began to shut down.

Act or die. He had not come here to die.

He shook his head to clear it and again studied his surroundings. The awning at the door collapsed in a cloud of flame and sparks, and he knew it was only seconds before the ceiling followed it. No chance of digging their way out in time; they’d anchored the base of the tent with two-foot mounds of sand. His eyes took in the heavy cloth walls and he saw where Domitia had made her pathetic attempt to escape with the knife. Was there any hope? He laid her at the base of the wall and drew his sword. With the strength of the damned he hacked at the cloth, but barely made an impression. In desperation, he stabbed with the point and, little by little, the iron blade disappeared into the close-woven material until it finally broke through. Using his left hand and his right arm he brought all his weight to bear on the hilt. Slowly the fabric began to tear and he increased the pressure, sawing with the blade. Eventually he created a rip a sword’s length in height, but it was still not enough. He worked his way left and right, hacking at the threads until it was wide enough to wriggle through. Sweet fresh air poured into his lungs and the temptation was to lie and glory in it, but he stirred himself and reached back to pull Domitia away to safety. Not a moment too soon. The roof collapsed and the burning fabric engulfed the ground where she had lain a second before. He dragged her unconscious body a safe distance and watched the entire structure burn like a funeral pyre.

Sleep or exhaustion must have overcome him, because when he woke it was to the sound of a diabolical ululating wail. Domitia lay by his side just outside the circle of light thrown by the glowing heap where the tent had been. He feared he had lost her because the rise and fall of her breast was so shallow, but gradually her eyes opened and looked into his. They were puffy and red-rimmed, but something glowed in their depths that told him she was unscarred by her ordeal. She gave a little ladylike sneeze and laughed.

‘You have no eyebrows and your hair is all patchy.’

The statement made him smile. If that was the only price of last night’s mayhem he could count himself fortunate. ‘So is yours,’ he pointed out.

She frowned and her lips formed a pout. ‘But I am still beautiful?’

‘You will always be beautiful, lady,’ he said, and she accepted it as her due.

‘What is that noise?’

‘It sounds as if someone has died.’

‘Then perhaps we should resurrect them.’

He hesitated, caught between what he knew was right and what he knew she wanted. Knowing that he wanted it too. Just to stay here a little longer in each other’s company. Not Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, and Domitia Longina, daughter of General Corbulo. Just a man and a woman. But duty was duty. He held out his hand to help her to her feet and she took it reluctantly, wincing as they touched. For the first time he saw the sacs of pus-filled flesh hanging like over-ripe grapes from her fingers and realized the agony she must be suffering.

He led her back into the light and round the fire to where her servant girls knelt with their heads covered, producing the plaintive wailing they had heard.

Serpentius stood behind them staring distractedly towards the glowing remains of the tent. As the two figures emerged from the darkness his hand automatically went for his sword. When he recognized Valerius, his eyes widened and he made the sign against evil.

‘Mars save us.’ He strode towards the Roman and Valerius thought the gruff Spaniard was about to take him in his arms. At the last moment Serpentius stopped short, grinning wryly. ‘You’ll have to show me that trick. Did Hades spit you out?’ He bowed to Domitia. ‘My lady, I am glad to see you safe.’

Domitia smiled and walked to the two slaves, who stared at her with their mouths gaping before they ran shrieking into the darkness.

Serpentius laughed. ‘By the gods, I’ve never been so glad to see you.’

Valerius raised what had once been an eyebrow. ‘Because you miss my company?’

‘No, because I thought that screeching would never stop. I would have jumped into the fire myself to get away from it.’

When the girls had been rounded up and convinced that Domitia was no ghost they gathered by the fire. Valerius dug up one of the precious water skins and allowed everyone to drink their fill. Serpentius vanished for a time and when he returned he reported no sign of the surviving crewmen, including the injured.

‘They will still want our water, but I doubt they’ll be back,’ Valerius said. ‘The men who escaped were those whose hearts weren’t with Susco. Whether that makes them the best of them or the worst doesn’t matter. They know what awaits them here. Either we’ll kill them or they’ll be tried for mutiny and suffer a worse death. Better to keep walking until you drop.’

‘At least they’ve left their shelter. We can salvage what’s left and move across when the sun comes up, once I’ve cleared away their filth.’

Valerius nodded and walked over to where Domitia sat huddled between the two slave girls. ‘Let me see your hand,’ he said gently.

She held it out and he studied it. He knew a lot about cuts and wounds, but very little about burns apart from the remedies which had been used on the estate. Perhaps it was better to leave it alone if he wasn’t certain what to do.

Domitia saw his confusion. ‘I can suffer it, tribune. I am a soldier’s daughter.’

‘Grease,’ Serpentius said decisively. ‘Cover it with grease and leave it for a week.’

‘And where will we get grease?’ Valerius demanded. ‘I’m not a magician.’

‘Always grease on a ship,’ the Spaniard pointed out. ‘I’ll swim out to the wreck tomorrow and see what I can find. If you can wait that long, lady?’

‘Of course,’ Domitia said gracefully. ‘I am glad that someone is looking after my welfare, Serpentius.’

It was the first time Valerius had seen the Spaniard blush.

Late in the night as he lay in the sand beneath his cloak, Valerius felt someone move in beside him. Warmth and softness and the scent of salt water and smoke.

‘You may put your arms around me, tribune. I am cold.’

So he did.