Scourge of Rome

XIV

Valerius was studying a map of Judaea from Sohaemus’s library when he heard the shuffle of footsteps outside the door and Dimitrios the armourer begged entry.

‘Come in.’ Valerius rolled the map and the Greek marched in followed by four servants, who unwrapped their burdens at his order. Slaves had polished the body armour and helmet so they shone like glass and had an almost blinding lustre. When Valerius pulled the gladius from its scabbard he saw that the armourer had followed his instructions to the last detail. It was still a beautiful example of the sword-maker’s art, with the golden eagle glaring from the pommel, but Dimitrios had wrapped the hilt in a sleeve of wet leather which had dried tight to the polished bone beneath, resulting in a perfect grip.

‘Lord?’ Dimitrios held up the red tunic and scarlet cloak.

‘Must I?’ Valerius winced.

‘Of course, lord. The king’s gift must be perfect.’

Grudgingly, Valerius stepped out of his tunic and into the new one, which Dimitrios belted at the waist with a chain of fine gold loops. He then helped the Roman into the ornate breastplate, buckled on wrist and shin greaves, and slung the leather baldric so the scabbard fell on his right hip. He draped the scarlet legate’s cloak across his shoulders and pinned it at the breast, stepping back to study the result with a look of pained reflection. Finally, he placed the plumed helmet on Valerius’s head with a flourish worthy of a fanfare of horns.

Serpentius walked in as the armourer fussed with the folds of the cloak. ‘Very pretty,’ he whistled. ‘When does the war start, general?’

‘Don’t call me general,’ Valerius snapped, conscious he wasn’t even a soldier until they reached Titus, and who knew then? He’d already decided to present the armour to the Emperor’s son or some other deserving general at the first opportunity.

‘There is one more thing, lord.’ Dimitrios held out a final linen parcel. ‘A gift. The personal gift I mentioned and,’ he hesitated, ‘to be received in private.’

Valerius nodded to Serpentius and the Spaniard shrugged and followed the servants from the room.

Dimitrios waited until they were alone before he began to unwrap the parcel with nervous fingers. ‘It came to me, lord, that these are particularly dangerous times …’ He peeled back the final fold of linen and lifted out a perfect replica of the wooden fist fitted to Valerius’s right wrist on a toughened leather stock.

Valerius studied the wooden hand with bemusement. What did he need with two of them? ‘I … I thank you, Dimitrios. I’m sure a spare will come in very useful. I can keep one for ceremonial occasions.’

‘But you don’t understand, lord.’ A mysterious smile wreathed the Greek’s features. ‘This is different entirely.’ He held out the wooden hand and Valerius vainly studied it for any anomalies. As he reached out he heard a sharp click and a glittering knife blade the length of his longest finger snapped from the centre knuckle of the wooden hand. Valerius automatically backed away from the bright iron and Dimitrios laughed at his discomfiture.

‘It will still hold a standard shield perfectly,’ the Greek cried enthusiastically. ‘But sometimes a man in battle – or in dangerous times – can profit from the element of surprise. I noted by the marks on the original that it has often been used as a defensive weapon. This has the added benefit of being potentially offensive.’

‘How does it work?’ Valerius reached out to touch the point with the tip of his finger and winced as he drew blood. Dimitrios tutted and handed him a cloth.

‘Why don’t you try it?’ the armourer suggested. ‘You will note that the weight, dimensions and balance are the same,’ he went on, as Valerius stripped off the cowhide stock of the original, slipped the new version over his stump and tightened the leather ties with his left hand. ‘In fact, it is identical in every detail but one. Where the fist meets the cowhide you will now find an angular protrusion. Simply press it firmly …’

Valerius followed the instruction. The same sharp snick and he had a knife in his right hand. He twisted his wrist to study it from every angle and shook his head at the fiendish potential of having a concealed weapon like this at his disposal. ‘Do I have to walk around with it for the rest of the day?’

Dimitrios took the hand and turned it. ‘Inside the fist you will find another small protrusion. Simply press it, place the point against a solid surface and push until the top button engages. Like so?’ He stepped away and looked to Valerius for the fitting expression of wonder his invention deserved.

‘It is unprincipled,’ Valerius began warily, ‘underhand, sly,’ the Greek nodded, his grin growing wider with each word, ‘dishonourable and quite possibly criminal. It is a marvel. I love it.’

‘It is based on the principles of Archimedes,’ Dimitrios explained proudly. ‘But I must give some credit to Philo of Byzantium for his treatise on experimental catapults. I combined Archimedes’ lever theory and Philo’s work with metal springs. That is what gives it the power. In a way it is the same as a bow, but the stresses and tensions are provided by the spring. The length of the blade is dependent on the dimensions of the hand, of course, plus a comparable length which extends back into the stock when the knife is retracted. It provides the necessary stability when the blade is in use, while the second protrusion holds it in place. The mechanism is quite robust. For care, a few drops of olive oil in the button holes. But I wouldn’t advise getting it too wet.’ Valerius waited for the inevitable explanation. ‘Rust,’ Dimitrios said. ‘Once it rusts you would be as well throwing it away.’

‘It is truly ingenious,’ Valerius said. ‘I look forward to showing it to King Sohaemus.’

‘Please, no.’ Dimitrios had a look of horror on his young face. ‘The king has become uncomfortable with innovation of late. When I suggested using a similar mechanism to improve his catapults he threatened to have me impaled. If he knew I had forged this for you, he would carry out his threat, but he would castrate me first. In the name of the Black Stone, please tell no one. Promise me.’

‘Of course,’ Valerius readily agreed. ‘It would be a pity to deprive the world of such a talent.’