Sword of Rome

IX

An hour after leaving Aulus Vitellius, they turned through the gateway and on to the track leading to the villa. A flash of white among the trees to their right told Valerius they’d been sighted by a watch slave now sprinting to announce the arrival of strangers.

And he was a stranger. It was almost two years since he’d left home to travel to Syria and, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t visited or sent word since he’d arrived from Hispania all those weeks ago. The rough road twisted through low hills cloaked with untidy ranks of grey-green olive trees that stretched away into the distance. It was long enough to allow time for alert defenders to set up an ambush and provided ample cover from which they could hurl their missiles at hostile invaders with impunity, at least until the latter had organized themselves. This was where he had spent the first dozen years of his life and he knew there were barely visible tracks through the trees that led to caves and gullies where his people could retreat and either hide or, if necessary, attempt to fight the attackers off. Regular troops would persist and the end would be inevitable, but the kind of men who would find a run-down place like this an attractive target were bandits and brigands; bands of deserters. They would not relish giving their blood with no guarantee of profit. As the calculations ran through his mind, he realized with a shiver why he was making them.

When they reached the house he was still lost in thought, and the cry of welcome from Olivia came as a shock.

‘Valerius! Why did you not warn me you were coming? I wasn’t even sure you were alive.’

When he saw his sister looking so well he felt like laughing. There had been days when he had held her in his arms and been certain she wouldn’t survive the hour. The last time he had seen her the shadow of the illness still lay upon her features, but now her cheeks showed a country housewife’s glow and she had put on weight. Olivia had always scoffed at the pampered life of a Roman lady, even when she had been forced to live it. Since the deaths of her husband and their father she had become her own woman, and that woman looked at home in a simple homespun stola with flour dust on her face. She was flanked by her ancient servants, Granta and Cronus, their father’s freedmen who looked after the actual running of the estate, though what that amounted to these days he had no idea.

Belatedly he became aware of another presence, hanging back in the shadows. Olivia saw his look, and with an almost imperceptible nod invited the man forward. He was of mid-height, perhaps a hand span shorter than Valerius, but with the angular hardness that comes with life outdoors, and truculent, unyielding eyes that said he was ready to deal with whatever came at him.

‘Lupergos.’ Olivia’s voice cut across Valerius’s thoughts and demanded he look at her. When he did, the message he received dared him to challenge what she said next. ‘He is my — our — estate manager.’

Valerius left it just long enough to send an equally unmistakable reply before he nodded. Lupergos bowed and backed away. In an instant the tension drained from the faces of the two freedmen and they approached with the traditional traveller’s welcome of a bowl and cloth, a loaf and a flagon of pure water from the well behind the house. Olivia invited him to stay the night and he saw the flash of surprise on Serpentius’s face when he agreed. The villa was a sprawling place laid out on a single level, and Valerius remembered it fondly. The last time he had been here much of the paint had been peeling and the plaster cracked, but as Olivia led him to his room he was surprised to see fresh, glowing white everywhere, and signs of repairs to floor and ceiling. Their eyes met, and there was that challenge again, but he said nothing. He found a fresh set of clothes that fitted and joined her in the atrium. She’d always been fascinated by his travels and she listened for over an hour as he spoke of the vast, forbidding landscapes of southern Armenia, the heat-seared deserts of Arabia where the wind could strip a man’s flesh, and the jewelled seas and emerald cliffs of the Hispanic coast. Somehow, there was no time to discuss the estate’s domestic arrangements.

Eventually, he said: ‘I think I will inspect the estate. Perhaps Lupergos would like to join me.’

He saw the momentary flare of concern in her eyes, followed by the acknowledgement that this moment could not be avoided. ‘Of course. If you wait by the barn, I will fetch him.’

Lupergos appeared a few minutes later and without a word they headed off up the valley to the south slope, past the rows of grape vines to where the oldest olive trees grew. This was Valerius’s land; all this fertile red earth in the miles-wide bowl between the hills. He loved it, and it was part of him, just as he was part of it. But he felt no particular desire to work it. In truth, since his father’s death it had become Olivia’s and he was content with that. He had his own life to live, and it wasn’t anchored to the soil, however welcoming. Below the earth lay countless cubits of finest quality marble that made the Emperor’s bounty he had carried from Gaul look insignificant, but he was the only man alive who knew it and that was the way it would stay. To get to it, they would have to strip the estate bare, tear the trees and the vines from the ground by their roots and gouge great canyons in this beautiful land. No man would say that was Gaius Valerius Verrens’ legacy. No matter what it cost.

As they reached the olives, Lupergos began to talk unhurriedly in a thick north Etrurian brogue that marked his class as much as the rustic clothes he wore. ‘I will cut the maturest trees back, but not too much because they produce the finest oil. The oldest of them are only ten years from the end of their useful life. We must plant their replacements now, unless we want a drop in production.’

‘You think the slope will take it?’ Valerius spoke for the first time.

Lupergos gave a tight-lipped nod. ‘The land is rich and we are better supplied with water than any of our neighbours.’

He had more to say as they turned east through the most productive vines and Valerius was impressed by the Etruscan’s grasp of land husbandry and viniculture. Eventually, they set off for home, but almost as if they’d planned it that way, they stopped and faced each other before they were within sight of the villa.

‘You are a Christus follower, Lupergos?’ It was a provocative question. An admission of guilt could be a death sentence. The other man’s nostrils flared. Valerius saw his muscles tense and readied himself for the assault that threatened to come, but eventually Lupergos nodded. Valerius relaxed, but his expression didn’t change. It had seemed likely, and made sense, because Olivia had worshipped the Judaean mystic since her encounter with his disciple Petrus two years earlier. ‘Well, I don’t care about that. What I care about is Olivia and my land, and if you take liberties with my sister or my property I’ll pull your guts out through your arse and make you watch as I feed them to my pigs. Do we understand each other?’

The colour in Lupergos’s cheeks flared and his breath came quick and hard as he considered his response. ‘She said you saved her life. Is that true?’

Valerius nodded, remembering the battle in Poppaea’s burning mansion above the Bay of Neapolis.

‘Then I’ll give you that, just this once. Do we understand each other?’

Valerius looked into the hard eyes and grinned. ‘You know about the land. What do you know about killing people?’

The answer, it turned out, was not much.

Valerius took him towards the estate’s entrance and explained what he wanted. ‘Not one watcher, but two, one either side of the gate, with some kind of signalling system back to the villa. Keep it simple. And defenders. How many? How well armed?’ As they walked along the track towards the house he pointed to the low hills and told Lupergos about fields of fire. ‘It will be up to you whether to fight or run, but you must create the conditions to fight and win. Three concealed enclosures — forts — with enough room for ten men in each. Archers.’

‘But where will I find archers?’

‘The slaves. They are young enough and strong enough. They must learn to fight for what is theirs as well as ours. I will send a man to teach them how to use a bow and wield a sword.’

There was much more and Lupergos accepted it without question. The stocks of food and water in the caves and gullies. The valuables that must be left unconcealed to encourage the invaders to take just enough and go. The escape routes and rallying points in case everything went wrong.

But as they reached the house, Lupergos could no longer conceal his curiosity. ‘But why now? I know you are a soldier, but …’

‘I don’t know why, Lupergos, just as I don’t know why I know it will rain tonight, but it will. All I know is that somewhere out there the wolf is waiting and if I’m not here to protect what is mine, then you must.’

The Etruscan nodded thoughtfully and walked off to his quarters. Olivia was waiting for Valerius by the villa’s front door. She took his arm as they entered. ‘He is a good man, Valerius.’

He smiled without looking at her. ‘Then that is enough for me.’

Before they parted, she took his left hand in both of hers and placed something in his palm.

When he looked down he saw it was the tiny gold amulet in the shape of a boar, the symbol of the Twentieth legion, that he’d placed round her neck when he had believed she was dying three years earlier. He had brought the necklace back from Britannia, where it had been crafted for Maeve, the Trinovante girl he had loved, and lost to Boudicca. Fortuna had favoured Olivia since she’d worn it, but it brought to mind the Caesar token Domitia had handed him that now shared an Emperor’s grave. He tried to return it, but she only smiled.

‘I think your need is greater than mine.’

Valerius and Serpentius took the road to Rome as the worst heat of the afternoon sun faded the following day. When they reached the first of the roadside tombs that lined the Via Salaria outside the city walls they were met by a galloping messenger. The man reined in and Serpentius was about to thrust his horse between the threat and Valerius when he produced a seal that identified him as one of Tigellinus’s servants.

‘How did you find us?’ Valerius demanded.

‘My lord has eyes in many places.’ The young rider grinned. ‘But it helped that when I asked at the house they said you had set off to visit your estate. There is only one road.’

‘Well?’ Valerius raised an eyebrow.

The messenger bowed in the saddle. ‘My master did not commit this news to paper because he felt it was important enough for you to wish to hear it at the first opportunity.’ He took in a breath and recited the words he had learned by rote. ‘Last night, Nymphidius Sabinus, who holds the joint prefectship of the Praetorian Guard, denounced Servius Sulpicius Galba before his men as a traitor and a false Caesar and declared that with their support he intended to don the purple himself. In their outrage at this betrayal, the loyal soldiers of the Guard turned upon Sabinus and struck him down. Nymphidius Sabinus is dead.’

Valerius breathed a sigh of relief at the final, fatal sentence. He saw again the red face and bulging eyes and felt the threatening fingers at his throat. What was it Tigellinus had said? ‘Let him offer the tribute and accept the acclaim. His arrogance will take care of the rest.’ ‘What else did your master say?’

‘He said that it seemed someone informed Nymphidius that the Emperor had decided to make another man his heir and the knowledge pushed him over the edge. The judgement of the gods, he said.’

Valerius exchanged a wry look with Serpentius. ‘It seems our new Emperor rides with the gods at his shoulder after all.’

The Spaniard grinned. ‘But sometimes even the gods need a little help.’