Scourge of Rome

XI

Words are like arrows: once loosed they cannot be taken back. Before he’d gone a hundred paces Valerius wished those words unspoken. Instinct saved him. Instinct, speed and the little knife Dimitrios the armourer had thoughtfully provided. But instinct most of all.

He’d just passed a curtained doorway in a corridor illuminated by oil lamps when he felt the faintest whisper on the back of his neck. The flames of the lamps barely flickered in the still air so the draught could only herald some new factor.

Another man would have hesitated. The warmth of the king’s friendship might have lulled Valerius’s senses, but instant, violent reaction had kept him alive through battle, skirmish and ambush. Before the thought had even formed his left hand swooped to the knife while the right arm flung his cloak wide as he turned, instantly creating a distraction and a threat.

Curved blades glinted evilly in the yellow light from the lamps. Three men running towards him, swift and silent across the marble tiles. The closest attacker had aimed his stroke at Valerius’s unprotected back, but the unexpected movement caused it to slide a hair’s breadth past his side and become engulfed in the folds of his cloak. Its owner, a big bearded man, barely had time to register disbelief at missing such a simple target before Valerius’s pugio came up to slice across his throat. A beautiful stroke; simple and deadly and almost casual in its delivery. Valerius experienced a liquid surge of elation as he felt the flesh separate beneath the razor edge and the momentary resistance of the windpipe before the tendons parted. The would-be assassin fell away gurgling horribly, his eyes huge discs of ivory and his bulk momentarily obstructing a second killer who’d been at his shoulder.

Valerius ignored this second man. Instinct told him the greatest threat lay with the third, who’d loitered at the rear and now attacked from his left side with his curved dagger raised shoulder-high. By Fortuna’s favour the billowing cloak masked the weakness of Valerius’s open flank and caused a moment of confusion. The hesitation lasted for less than a heartbeat, but long enough for Valerius to rake the studded sole of his sandal down the front of the killer’s shin. As wounds went it was trivial enough, but the assassin shrieked as the iron rivets peeled strips of flesh away from the bone. Before he could recover Valerius followed up with a crunching shoulder charge that sent the knife flying and hammered the man back against the door jamb. By now the rhythm of the fight was pulsing in his head like the slow beat of a drum. He could visualize his surroundings as clearly as if watching from above. The impact forced the breath from the assassin’s lungs, paralysing the man long enough for Valerius to haul him round in time to take the knife aimed at the Roman’s back. He screamed as the point entered where shoulder joined neck and blood fountained from the wound. Valerius stepped away and faced the surviving killer with the pugio in his left hand. The man gaped as he realized his error and with a cry of frustration he plucked the knife free from his comrade’s body and dashed up the passageway. He’d covered a dozen paces when he stopped as if he’d run into a stone wall.

Valerius watched as he clawed at his breast before falling back so that his head bounced from the marble floor with an audible crack. Serpentius stepped from the shadows and bent over him to tug his knife free from the man’s chest, absently cleaning the blade on a handy piece of tapestry.

‘You took your time.’ Valerius’s chest heaved as he struggled for breath.

The Spaniard straightened, swaying slightly, and his words were slightly slurred. ‘You wanted to know about the archers, so I took them drinking with your money.’

For as long as he’d known Serpentius, Valerius had never seen him even mildly affected by wine. He could drink an amphora of the sourest tavern piss and wake up with a head as clear as a child’s. Still, he decided not to pursue it for now. ‘Couldn’t you have found a way of stopping him without killing him?’

‘I thought it better to kill him before he did the same to me. In any case,’ the Spaniard nodded towards the men whose blood was spreading over the marble at Valerius’s feet, ‘yours won’t be telling us much any time soon either.’

Valerius bent to check the man who’d been stabbed in the neck, but the Spaniard knew a dead man when he saw one. ‘A pity.’ He shook his head. ‘It would have been interesting to question at least one of them.’

‘We should-’ Serpentius’s mouth shut like a trap as the rhythmic clatter of well-shod feet heralded the arrival of a troop of guards. Tabitha strode purposefully in their wake and Valerius experienced the odd mixture of thrill and wariness he always seemed to feel when she entered his orbit.

‘What has happened here?’ Her face turned pale as she saw the dead men. ‘I was told there had been a disturbance, but this?’

Valerius explained the details of the ambush and she frowned. ‘But there should have been guards on this corridor.’ The words were aimed at the guard commander, who paled under her wrath.

‘I was ordered to remove them by the chamberlain, lady,’ the veteran soldier stuttered. ‘He said it was a waste of manpower.’

Tabitha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Leave us, and take this offal with you.’

‘Wait,’ Valerius commanded. ‘Shouldn’t we try to find out who they were?’

‘Very well.’ Tabitha glared at the guards. ‘Search them for any clue to their identities.’

‘Nothing here,’ the commander said after his men had rummaged through the clothes of the three corpses. ‘But they have the look of Judaeans and the knives are such as the Sicarii use.’

‘This one has some kind of charm at his neck.’ Serpentius crouched over the man he’d killed and cut the leather thong holding the talisman. He held out a crudely carved wooden cross. Valerius recognized the symbol as the mark of the Christ worshippers Philippus had talked of less than an hour earlier. Coincidence? Before he could mention it Tabitha snatched the cross from Serpentius’s hand. The Spaniard gave her a look that would have stopped a charging elephant, but she ignored him and turned to the guard commander.

‘Get rid of these animals, but quietly, and mention this to no one.’

‘The king …’

‘I will inform the king,’ she said coldly. ‘Mark me well, if this incident becomes market gossip you and your men will spend the next five years eating dust at a checkpoint on the Palmyra road. Do you understand?’

The captain lowered his eyes and Valerius reflected on this further evidence of the power Tabitha wielded. This was an Emesan nobleman, an experienced soldier trusted enough to be part of the king’s personal bodyguard, but he accepted her authority without question.

As the guards carried the dead men away, he moved closer to her and asked quietly: ‘What about the chamberlain?’

When she turned to him, the dark eyes were full of deadly certainty. ‘I will deal with the chamberlain.’

Tabitha insisted on accompanying them to Valerius’s guest quarters and surprised him by leading the way inside. She noted his reaction with a sniff of disdain. ‘My reputation is safe unless some garrulous fool,’ her eyes went to Serpentius, ‘announces my shame in the market place. Of course, we have ways of rewarding garrulous fools in Emesa.’

‘She means she’ll cut out my tongue,’ Serpentius grinned. ‘I’m beginning to like her. I’ll be outside. Safer there, even with all the murderers who seem able to slip past Emesa’s guards at will.’ He ignored the poisonous glare she shot him and stalked out of the room.

Valerius went to the table and poured two cups of wine, hesitated long enough to give them a thoughtful inspection and left them where they were. Tabitha smiled. ‘I will have a sealed amphora sent from the king’s private supply. You take the attempt on your life very calmly.’ She folded herself on to one of the couches. ‘Almost as if you expected it.’

‘I was wondering when you were going to tell me who tried to kill me, and why.’

Now it was her turn to be thoughtful. She rose in a single flowing movement and poured a little water into one of the cups before returning to sit at his side on the second couch. They faced each other and he experienced that sensation of drowning in the dark eyes.

‘Why do you think I would know such a thing?’

‘Because it appears the lady Tabitha knows everything that goes on in Emesa – and elsewhere.’

She drank some of her water and nodded, lowering her voice so he had to lean closer to hear the words. ‘You have to understand that there are many factions in Emesa, Valerius, and factions within factions. Loyalties change with the ebb and flow of power between various highly influential families. The greatest division is over the king’s policy towards Rome, which some see as wisdom and others as an invitation to complete and perpetual domination. Of course, any fool can see that it is both, but what is the alternative except to give up power altogether? It causes much enmity, sometimes deadly enmity.’ She paused and took another sip from the cup. ‘I do not know who is responsible. My guess is that someone opposed to Rome saw your arrival as a new threat to Emesa’s independence and decided to have you murdered. We have many refugees in the city, from Judaea and elsewhere, some of dubious background. It would be the work of an hour and the price of a small camel to persuade one or two of them to kill you.’

Valerius wondered if he should feel insulted to discover his life had so little value. At least Domitian’s assassins were proper professionals.

‘This is the East, Valerius.’ Tabitha smiled at his reaction. ‘A small camel is a great prize to a man who cannot afford shoes.’ The smile faded to be replaced by a frown of irritation as a thought struck her. ‘I was not aware the chamberlain’s sympathies lay in that direction. It was careless on my part, but it also leaves open the possibility that the pro-Roman faction was prepared to sacrifice you to implicate their enemies. The king has a gentle disposition, but in the past he has acted with great severity against rivals. That is why I insisted this be kept from him. It is not beyond Sohaemus to purge the entire anti-Roman faction and slaughter every Judaean in Emesa if he discovered what occurred tonight. That is not what Emesa needs at this moment.’

‘What does Emesa need?’

‘Stability,’ she said firmly. ‘The opportunity for King Sohaemus to earn not just the respect of the new Emperor, but also his gratitude.’

‘Could the Judaeans be acting alone? And what about the Christ worshipper? I’ve crossed swords with his kind in Rome and they’re fanatics. Perhaps they wanted revenge for the leaders executed by Nero?’

‘It is possible they acted alone,’ she admitted, ‘but I think it unlikely. They would not be able to buy the chamberlain’s assistance. As for the Christ worshipper, either he wore the cross for some other reason, or, more likely, he kept his allegiance from his companions.’

‘Maybe we should get out of here tonight,’ a voice rasped from the doorway.

‘A loose tongue and long ears,’ Tabitha sniffed at the interruption. ‘That would be unwise, and an insult to the king.’

‘Then what would you advise?’ Valerius asked, so close to her now that he could feel the heat of her body.

‘It is unlikely they will make another attempt before you leave. I could suggest staying in your rooms, but King Sohaemus wishes you to choose a horse from his stables tomorrow.’ She laughed at his consternation. ‘You need not be concerned that you choose too well. His grooms will have removed his favourites. Later, as High Priest of Elah Gebal, he will sacrifice to the Sun God in the Temple of the Black Stone to solicit the god’s aid for the expedition to help Titus. He would be pleased to have you witness the ceremony as an honoured guest and sit by his side at the banquet that follows.’ Tabitha had communicated the invitation in a voice loud enough for Serpentius to hear. Now she lowered it almost to a whisper. ‘I have other information which can only be conveyed in the utmost privacy. Find a reason to have your pet wolf spend tomorrow night elsewhere and be here two hours after sunset.’

Valerius opened his mouth, but she put a finger to his lips.

‘He will protest that he cannot leave you alone, naturally, after what has happened today. You may reassure him that all routes to this room will be guarded by men of the utmost loyalty and experience, which they will.’ Her mouth came close to his ear. ‘Everything will be in place, Valerius, all you have to do is find a pretext to keep Serpentius away.’ As she shifted, her lips brushed his cheek and the touch, coupled with the promise of her words, sent a flush of heat through him. By the time he’d recovered she was gone.

The next day passed in a blur of anticipation and frustration. Valerius spent the morning with Serpentius and Ariston, choosing a horse from the king’s stud. The enormous complex lay to the west of the town among the lush meadows by the Orontes. By noon they’d whittled the options down to six from the hundreds originally on offer. They were beautiful animals and he reflected that if Sohaemus had truly removed his favourites they must be fine horses indeed.

‘And they’re all cavalry trained?’

The king’s horsemaster grinned, showing a row of yellowing, crooked teeth that could have graced the mouth of one of his charges. ‘Of course, lord. They don’t understand Latin, but they’ll respond to heel and knee and they won’t take fright if someone shouts at them. Why don’t you try them and find out?’

Grooms took the animals away and the first returned with a grey mare. Valerius saw with relief that the horse had a four-pronged Roman saddle rather than the simple padded rug the Syrians favoured. Ariston helped boost him into position and the groom handed him a long spear, which he gripped loosely in his left hand, and a circular light shield, which he declined. The horsemaster led him to a narrow paddock about four hundred paces in length. It had a double target in the centre consisting of two of the round shields on a horizontal bar fixed to a central pole. Valerius knew from his experience in Armenia with Corbulo’s auxiliary cavalry that the shields would rotate when struck by the lance. Sometimes the Thracians would replace the second shield with a heavy sandbag designed to knock the unwary trooper from the saddle if he hit the target at the wrong angle.

The familiar Roman saddle provided a steady seat and after one or two short canters up and down the paddock Valerius was ready. The grey was a pretty animal, long in the back and lithe of limb with long-lashed deep brown eyes. She was the type of animal you could fall in love with, but after two runs at the target – one near miss and one hit – he knew she was too highly strung for a cavalry mount.

On the fourth ride he found what he was looking for. The horse was a gelding, its coat the shimmering black-blue of a magpie’s wing feathers. He had a noble head, but a short, broad back and stocky legs. More important he had no mind of his own. The animal reacted instantly to every change of pressure from Valerius’s thighs and its low centre of gravity provided a perfect platform for a mounted warrior. His gait was a little awkward, with an odd little half twist at the trot, but a deep chest hinted at endurance and stamina. Valerius tried four runs to be certain, making the horse jink and dance and hitting the targets plumb every time.

‘This one will do,’ he informed the horsemaster as he trotted up to the start line. The man shrugged, but his expression said he didn’t think much of Valerius’s choice. ‘What do you call him?’

‘This one? This one we call the Screw.’

Valerius laughed. It was appropriate enough given that twisting ride, but no name for a war horse. ‘Then he will have to get used to a new name. I will call him Lunaris. There was never a better name to accompany a man into battle.’

They arranged for Lunaris to be taken to the palace stables and Valerius and Ariston rode back to Emesa. ‘Who was this Lunaris?’ the Syrian asked. ‘A hero of old?’

Valerius smiled, remembering the towering, indomitable figure who had stood beside him on the steps of the Temple of Claudius. ‘A hero, yes, but not of old. A simple Roman soldier who did his duty.’

‘He was your friend?’

Valerius stared at the distant hills to the north, remembering Serpentius’s warning to keep the Syrian at a distance. ‘Yes, he was my friend, but he died.’

When they returned to the guest quarters Valerius found that someone had laid out a milky white toga, the symbol of Roman citizenship, on the bed. Beside it was a note on a piece of reused papyrus. ‘A servant will call for you at the seventh hour and take you to your position.’

‘It wouldn’t do to turn up for the sacrifice smelling of horse,’ he said to Ariston. ‘You’d better bring me a bowl of water and a cloth.’

Washed and shaved, he was ready when the servant – a young boy of fourteen – arrived. Serpentius wanted to accompany him, but Valerius insisted he would go alone. ‘And Serpentius?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tonight I’d like you to take Ariston and test the mood of the city. Trawl the bars and inns for information.’ He tossed the Spaniard a small purse. ‘With what you already have that should last you a good few hours. Should you end up in a woman’s bed so much the better, for we will be on the road in a few days.’

Serpentius gave his bark of a laugh and the light of understanding flickered in his eyes. ‘If you want to be alone for a while, why don’t you just say so? After what happened yesterday, though … maybe I should stay within shouting distance.’

‘Don’t worry about me. The guards in the corridors have been doubled and I’m assured that their loyalty to the king is total.’

‘All right,’ Serpentius agreed. ‘But be careful. Sometimes the deadliest adversaries aren’t the ones with beards and skinning knives.’