Sword of Rome (9 page)

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.’

It was the thunder season and a storm was coming. Still, half of Rome had turned out to line the Via Flaminia and welcome their new Emperor. Valerius rode with Serpentius as far as the Milvian Bridge, which spanned the Tiber a mile beyond the great tomb Augustus had built to house his family. Since he wasn’t part of any formal celebrations he’d decided against the toga that might have been expected of him, instead wearing a simple belted tunic with the stripe of his rank, and a finespun woollen cloak. He was surprised to see hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men milling about beyond the bridge and being kept from the road by a wary line of Praetorians. Among the figures hemmed in on the loop of dry ground between the road and the river, he noted the distinctive blue tunics of the marines of the Misenum fleet. The area was pockmarked with makeshift tents of cloth and leather that indicated they’d been waiting overnight, or longer. Curious, he talked the soldiers on guard into allowing him over the narrow bridge. He recognized the commander of the Praetorians as Helius, one of the escort Tigellinus had provided on the night Nero died.

‘When is the Emperor expected?’

Helius gave a shrug of irritation. ‘No one knows. He should have
reached the bridge two hours ago. They’re getting restless.’ He nodded towards the group of seamen.

‘Why are they here?’

‘To force the Emperor to confirm them as a legion. They’ve a long list of demands.’

‘Demands?’ Valerius didn’t hide his disbelief. ‘You don’t demand anything from an Emperor. You get down on your knees and plead.’

A wry smile touched the other man’s lips. ‘I know that, but I’m not sure they do.’

Valerius searched the road ahead for the glint of sun on the gleaming armour of the Imperial escort that would signal Galba was close, but he could see nothing. There was still time. He made his decision. ‘May I talk to them?’

Helius hesitated before giving his consent. ‘At your own risk, but I doubt they’ll listen. A lot of them have been drinking since dawn.’

‘I’ll take the chance. Stay here,’ he told Serpentius. ‘Just this once I think it would be riskier with you than without.’ He unbuckled his sword and handed it to the Spaniard, who gave a snort of disgust. Valerius shook his head. ‘I’m going to talk, not fight. I don’t see any weapons, so I should be safe enough.’

He rode along the line of Praetorians until he saw a familiar bulky figure towering over the men who surrounded him.

‘Juva!’ The big Nubian turned at the shout. He was with the group of oarsmen from the tavern and they eyed Valerius with suspicion. The Roman dismounted and handed the reins to one of the guards before forcing his way through the hard-eyed sailors until he reached the crew of the
Waverider
.

Juva’s nostrils flared and anger seemed to make him grow even larger. His eyes took in the expensive cloak, and the striped tunic and gold-linked belt beneath it. ‘So the simple workman is an eater of larks’ tongues and buggerer of little boys? Our friend in the tavern was a rich man in a poor man’s clothes. I was right, Roman, you are a spy. We have no piss barrel to drown you in here, but the river is handy. Perhaps we should tie you in a sack and throw you in. I am sure we can find a cock and a dog. We already have the rat.’

Valerius ignored the threat and allowed his gaze to range over the mass of waiting sailors and marines. His instinct told him they would make good soldiers and he felt an affection for their kind he could scarcely explain. They were the type of men he’d served beside and commanded in Britannia, Africa and Armenia: hard, sometimes cruel, and always cynical, who’d cut a throat without blinking an eye, but would share their last crust or sip of wine with the man next to them the night before a battle. ‘Why would you want to drown me when I am here to help you?’ he said reasonably. ‘Look at you. Do you think the Emperor will speak to a rabble? At least try to look like soldiers and have your officers form you into your centuries and show him some of that pride you boasted of.’

‘We have no officers.’ The speaker was the man whose nose Serpentius had broken. ‘The cowards would not come. They do not deserve to lead men like us. We’ll elect our own officers when we have our eagle.’

This laughable concept made Valerius blink. ‘What makes you think the Emperor will even speak to you? Why should he do anything for men who volunteered to fight against him?’ He turned to Juva. ‘You would be doing them a service if you took these men back to the city. Better to wait until the Emperor has been acclaimed and had a chance to address the Senate.’

Juva shook his head. ‘Lucca is right. There are better men here than the officers they assigned us. Florus there,’ he indicated a grinning, buffalo-shouldered youth in the blue tunic of the marines, ‘has killed five men in single combat and is not yet nineteen. Glico,’ a stern-faced older man with lank grey hair and dead eyes nodded, ‘took command when we burned out a pirates’ nest on the Carthaginian coast, after the marine centurion was killed.’ Juva’s words confirmed Valerius’s initial evaluation. These men were born fighters who had survived and prospered in a hard service. Yet they all deferred to the Nubian, who continued: ‘We did not volunteer to fight
against
Galba. We volunteered to fight
for
Rome. In any case, it is too late to turn back now. It would look as if we were running away and this legion does not retreat.’

‘Then you are a fool and no soldier,’ Valerius told him. ‘Or you
would know that a tactical retreat can sometimes be the making of a victory.’ The big man’s eyes smouldered, but he seemed to see sense in the advice. Valerius continued: ‘If you have no officers, who does lead you?’

‘Come with me,’ the Nubian said.

‘Gaius Valerius Verrens.’

‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’ The man sitting on a stool in front of one of the tents wore a blue tunic and the insignia that identified him as a centurion of marines. He waited for an answer, but Valerius was happy to let his obvious status and natural authority answer for him. Eventually, the disease-pocked face creased in a thin smile. ‘Tiberius Milo, third century first naval detachment.’

‘Juva tells me you lead these men?’

The marine shot the big Nubian a wary glance. ‘Someone has to. We’ve been waiting for months for this, scavenging what rations we could, more vagabonds than soldiers.’ He drew himself up and pride swelled his voice, which was that of an educated man and came as a surprise, emerging as it did from a mouth with a single blackened tooth. ‘We were promised we would be constituted a legion not just by Nero, the man, but by the Emperor of Rome. All we want is for the new Emperor to honour that promise and give us the rights and privileges any legion can expect. We want a legion’s pay and a legion’s weapons and when we’re not on campaign we want to sleep in a legion’s barracks, not on the streets.’