Avenger of Rome

XVIII

‘Titus Flavius Vespasian at your service, tribune.’

Through eyes swollen to narrow slits Valerius saw he was being addressed by a fellow tribunus laticlavius, but the name told him his saviour was a much more exotic member of the species. Titus was a fresh-faced, handsome man perhaps a year or two younger than Valerius, with strong, thoughtful features and the kind of natural authority that so often comes with good breeding. Valerius tried to speak, but the other man shook his head gently.

‘There will be time for explanations later. I will send my physician to you once he has treated the lady Domitia. In the meantime I must make arrangements for her transport. You should rest now.’

Titus left and Valerius lay back and closed his eyes. Despite his physical condition he felt at peace. They were safe. Domitia was safe. After all that had happened — pirate attacks, shipwreck, mutiny and thirst — it was difficult to believe he was once more in a legionary’s leather tent, with water and food to spare. He had a niggling feeling he had forgotten something important, but every time he tried to pin it down it slipped deeper into the recesses of his mind. Whatever it was, it could wait.

When he opened his eyes again he found himself staring into the face of something only half human. The features were puffy and distended, with alternating red blotches and patches of wrinkled skin covered in a revolting green salve, and the top of the shaven head seemed to glow bright red. Further inspection showed that the arms, legs and torso of the apparition were covered by loose bandages.

Tiberius read the look in his eyes and a grin creased the grotesque features. ‘Before you say anything, tribune, you don’t look a great deal better yourself.’

Valerius laughed and felt as if his throat had been cut.

‘We have you to thank for our lives, Tiberius,’ he whispered. ‘I will be for ever in your debt.’

The young tribune said to him, ‘Thank Fortuna. If it were not for her we would all be dead — and General Vespasian’s son, of course.’

He slumped in a corner of the tent and Valerius insisted he tell the story of his long ride west. Tiberius recited the tale in a dispassionate voice that only changed when he reached the moment he realized he’d strayed off course and would have to retrace his steps for twenty miles.

‘I came close to despair then, though it is not my nature. Only my pledge to you kept me in the saddle. When Hercules foundered I knew I would not last the day. The only thing that saved me was getting lost. I must have become delirious, because I had wandered into the desert and was walking in entirely the wrong direction. Numidian cavalry auxiliaries returning from a reconnaissance patrol saw me wandering in circles. They thought they had found one of their own, because I had been burned almost black and I could barely speak. It was a whole morning before I was able to explain to their Roman officers who I was. Of course, I wanted to return immediately, but the Numidians were also short of water and there was no point in coming without it. We took another day to reach the desert oasis where Titus had his headquarters, and he insisted on returning with me when I explained about the general’s daughter. Apparently their fathers are friends. We had to wait until they had loaded the camels with water skins, but he drove the column until man and animal were on their knees to reach you in time. Still, I thought we would be too late. But they put me in a litter on the back of a camel and here we are.’

Valerius was curious. ‘Just where is here?’

Tiberius pulled the knife from his belt. ‘You were wrong.’ He drew the broad curve of the coastline in the sand. ‘This is where I met the Numidians, more or less.’ He pointed to a spot at the western end of the curve. ‘We are here.’

Valerius’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. ‘Twenty miles from the Judaean border, and I sent you to ride forty.’

‘Closer to sixty if you take in my diversion,’ Tiberius admitted without a hint of modesty. ‘But you were right, the rebels are very active in the border villages. They would have been more likely to cut our throats than feed us.’

‘Nevertheless, a ride worthy of a hero, and you can be sure I will report it to General Corbulo.’

‘I could ask no greater reward, tribune,’ the young man said earnestly.

‘Of course, you could not have done it without my horse.’

‘No, sir. I’m sorry about that. He was a fine horse.’ A mischievous glint appeared in Tiberius’s eye. ‘But I thought the horse was probably less valuable than the general’s daughter.’

It wasn’t until the young soldier left that Valerius realized what had been lost in the euphoria of his survival. When he had believed death was certain he could ignore it, but now the shadow of Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo loomed like a hurricane cloud on the far horizon. And every step he took carried him closer to the moment of decision.

‘You fought in Britain, I understand?’

Valerius noted the inevitable glance at his wooden hand and smiled. Titus Vespasian’s splendid uniform, his spotless armour and the quality of his horse all proclaimed his status. He was the general’s son and a young man with a glittering career ahead of him in the military and politics, but he could still be seduced by the physical proof of another man’s sacrifice.

‘I was with the Twentieth during the rebellion,’ he acknowledged. ‘But in the end I served as an aide to the governor, Suetonius Paulinus.’

‘The Second Augusta,’ Titus said. ‘But I only arrived after the rebel queen had been killed.’ Valerius was surprised. He had known the father had served on the island during Emperor Claudius’s invasion two decades earlier, but not that the son had fought there.

‘You must have been very young?’

‘Seventeen,’ Titus admitted cheerfully. ‘The most junior of the junior tribunes and with less authority than a legionary of the second rank. It was not my most rewarding posting. You will have heard the story?’

Valerius nodded. Every Roman soldier who had been in Britain knew the tale of the notorious Second legion. How the camp prefect Poenius Postumus, who had been left in command, had refused to march to Paulinus’s aid, brought disgrace to his unit and been forced to fall on his sword.

‘While Paulinus hunted down the last of the rebels, the Second was kept in the west garrisoning Isca and far from any glory or plunder, and the men resented it. Of course, they took their frustration out on the tribespeople round about. I have never witnessed such cruelty before or since.’

Valerius remembered the gore-slick field after Boudicca’s last battle and the swords rising and falling on enemy warriors even after they had surrendered. ‘I saw enough cruelty and bloodshed in Britain to last me a lifetime.’

‘And yet you are still a soldier?’

Valerius felt the shrewd eyes on him and wondered if he was being mocked, but he decided Titus was just being curious. ‘My father wanted me to be a politician, but I don’t think I’ll ever be cut out for the Senate. I discovered in Britain that I actually enjoyed soldiering, even the worst parts of it: the discomfort and the cold and the waiting. The men are a bunch of devious, thieving rogues, but there is a real sense of achievement in sharing their lives and winning their respect. To lead them in battle is to walk with the gods for a day.’

Titus laughed. ‘We are much alike then. A junior tribune’s life is what he makes it, and my comrades preferred drinking and carousing to fighting or drilling, but my father’s advice to me was to learn everything I could. So I let them laugh at me as I dug trenches and stood in frozen rivers building bridges, and when I rose in the dark to supervise drill while they were still in their beds. Perhaps soon I will be laughing at them.’

Valerius had seen the effortless way the younger tribune commanded his men and the respect the wild Numidian auxiliaries accorded him, and he had no doubt it was true. Titus explained that his father, the general, had just arrived in Alexandria to gather his forces for the response to the unrest in Judaea. Vespasian blamed the rebellion on the incompetence of the previous commanders, who had embarked on a campaign of brutality and military ineptness which first enraged and then encouraged the citizens of the province.

‘They have a taste for Roman blood now,’ Titus said. ‘Between them Florus, the Judaean procurator, and Gallus, the propraetor, managed to lose the best part of the Third Gallica when they became trapped in the palace at Jerusalem. They should have chopped off the head of the snake then and there, but they waited too long. When they did counter-attack, Gallus was too timid and the Twelfth Fulminata lost their eagle in the retreat. Now my father is preparing to retake the province and I am to be his aide. You were fortunate that I was exercising my Numidians when they came across your young tribune. It is remarkable that he survived so long.’

Valerius smiled. ‘He is a remarkable young man.’

‘I have already dispatched a courier to Alexandria with news that the lady Domitia is safe, and my father will send word direct to Antioch. General Corbulo will be relieved to hear the news. Now I must escort you to my father. He will be very interested to hear your story.’

They rode on in silence and at a sedate pace suitable for Domitia’s camel-borne litter, which was further down the column. Valerius had seen little of the general’s daughter since the rescue, other than an uninterested exchange of glances as they ate with Titus on the evening before their departure from the beach. The night they had shared seemed unreal now, a true moment of madness that could never, should never, be repeated. Yet he still felt himself drawn to her in a way that went beyond the first shock of the physical.

A rider galloped up with a message for Titus. The general’s son thanked the trooper and turned to Valerius. ‘The lady Domitia Longina passes on her thanks for your efforts in keeping her alive and hopes to give them personally once she has recovered from her injuries. She too is remarkable. I have been impressed by her resilience. She seems more upset by the loss of a slave than by anything she has suffered herself. A rare combination of beauty, courage, virtue and devotion, don’t you think?’ Valerius started at the word ‘virtue’, but there didn’t seem to be any hidden meaning in the young soldier’s words. He almost missed what Titus said next. ‘Lucius is a very fortunate man.’

Titus noticed his incomprehension. ‘Her betrothed. Lucius Aelius Lamia. We served together in Germania. She tells me they are to be married when she returns from her visit to her father.’

Valerius felt as though someone had hit him with a hammer. Why hadn’t she told him? He should have been jealous, or angry. But the truth was his only emotions were relief and a sense of release. Would it have made any difference if he had known? Probably not. But now he knew it would never happen again.

‘Yes. He is a very fortunate man.’