Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] (26 page)

‘Soldiers fight,’ Valerius persisted. ‘The equestrian class was Rome’s fighting force long before Marius formed his legions, is that not so, Atilius?’

‘True, true,’ Atilius muttered into his wine. ‘Only class that could afford horses, weapons and armour.’

‘So equestrians and patricians have to fight.’ Valerius smiled as he remembered the terrible day the First Adiutrix captured the eagle of the Twenty-first Rapax before being swept away in a maelstrom of blood and horror. The smile was so cold it could have frozen a jug of Setinian at twenty paces and Piso seemed to shrink into himself.
‘At First Bedriacum,’ Valerius continued, ‘Orfidius Benignus, the legate of the First Adiutrix, and every tribune on his staff, fought and died to the last man. So officers have to fight. Sometimes they have to fight and sometimes they have to die. Have you fought, tribune? Have you tasted another man’s blood on your lips? Felt the point of your
gladius
grind into his spine? Smelled the bitterness of his last breath? Looked into his eyes as he died?’ As he spoke he kept his own eyes fixed on Piso’s as if he was imagining that very moment.

Piso’s cheeks turned a flaming red. ‘Of course I’ve fought,’ he bristled. ‘I’ve led search operations against the bandits.’

‘I said fight.’ Valerius laughed. ‘Not chase a few terrified peasants through the hills as if you were hunting wild dogs. When did you last stand shield to shield in a battle line?’ Piso didn’t answer and Valerius hadn’t expected him to. He knew the detachment of the Sixth had been at Legio throughout the civil war. He doubted Piso was the type to volunteer for active service. He had the pampered look of the fashionable young tribunes for whom six months with a legion was merely the next step on the
cursus honorum
. A period of tedium and overly close contact with the sweaty lower classes which must be endured if one was to advance. ‘So you don’t know what it’s like. Maybe you’d like to fight me?’ Valerius accompanied the challenge with a smile. Everyone else around the table thought it a joke, but Piso was looking into his eyes and he saw the lethal intent there. They stared at each other for a few moments before the younger man looked away.

Calpurnia’s laugh broke the embarrassed silence and Valerius glanced across to find her staring at him and whispering to her companion. Severus saw the look they exchanged and sobered suspiciously quickly to enquire how Valerius’s search for Petronius progressed. The way the question was posed told Valerius the other man already knew the answer, but also that Calpurnia had kept her thoughts about his true mission to herself. Which was intriguing.

‘I’ve had little success, but I’m still hopeful,’ he said.

‘Then you will be with us for a while longer?’ Calpurnia enquired artlessly.

‘It seems so,’ Valerius admitted. ‘I think there’s still more to discover.’

‘Indeed.’ Her smile and the tilt of her head sent a shiver down his spine.

Severus’s only reaction was a tight smile. Valerius turned away to where Atilius and his neighbour were talking about some local dispute. Valerius heard the name Saco mentioned.

‘My apologies for interrupting,’ he said. ‘I keep hearing the name Saco in conversation. I seem to have come across almost every other leading member of the
ordo.
Who is this mystery man?’

‘There is no mystery.’ Surprisingly, it was Severus who answered. ‘If there is a dispute in this city then you may be sure that Cornelius Aurelius Saco is at the heart of it. He plays one man against the other to the detriment of both. He says one thing and then does another. He builds a house on a foundation of sand, uses half the materials he claims and sells it for twice what it is worth. If something goes missing, look for it in one of Saco’s yards. If some
one
goes missing—’

‘Surely you would not accuse him of murder?’ Atilius’s look of consternation turned to shock.

‘You are one of his suppliers so he cannot afford to alienate you, Atilius. You do not know him as I do.’

‘Yet he is immortalized in stone for dedicating the city baths,’ Valerius pointed out.

‘That was before people knew him for what he was …’

While they’d been speaking Piso’s slurred bray had increased in volume. Calpurnia was staring at the young officer. Severus shot him a look of alarm as he realized the subject of his discourse.

He was talking treason.

‘Vespasian is a new man,’ the young tribune lectured Ferox, who stared at him like a mouse beneath the gaze of a cat. Clearly there had already been more in the same vein. ‘He has neither the status, the social standing, nor the legitimacy to be Emperor. It was a mistake to give the purple to an uncultured nobody. Galba made my cousin
Lucius his heir because he knew that bloodline and manners were as important in a ruler as mere ability.’

‘I think I must bring this gathering to a close …’ Severus got to his feet.

‘The Senate have already realized their mistake and they will—’

‘Tribune,’ Proculus said sharply. ‘You have said enough.’

‘Do not presume to lecture me, old man.’ Piso pushed himself to his feet. ‘You are a mere plebeian. Soon,’ he stood swaying and his gaze turned to Valerius, ‘the patrician class will take its rightful place at the head of the Empire.’ Ferox tugged at his toga trying to get him back on to the couch, but Piso brushed his hand away. ‘Soon, I will have true power, and you,’ he pointed a finger at the one-handed Roman, ‘will pay the price for your insults.’

Before Valerius could react a blue blur streaked across his vision and a sharp crack echoed from the walls. Calpurnia Severa withdrew her hand and stood, chest heaving, before Piso. ‘You dishonour my husband and you dishonour this house,’ she hissed.

Piso’s hand went to his inflamed cheek and he stared at her with a mix of shock and hatred. His hand dropped to his belt, but Ferox stepped in to take him by the arm and drag him snarling from the room.

A long moment of disbelieving silence before Severus gathered his wits and went to his wife’s side.

‘I must apologize,’ he said. ‘A young man addled by drink. My wife was correct to remind him of his responsibilities, though he meant nothing of it, I am sure. Nevertheless, I must ask you to keep what was said between those who are in this room. It would do none of us any good to be associated with such sentiments.’

‘I too beg your pardon.’ Calpurnia met her companions’ eyes one by one. ‘The insult to our guest was more than I could bear.’

Did Valerius imagine it, or did the dark eyes linger on him for a moment longer than necessary? And if they did, there had been no sign of contrition in them. Perhaps not quite a challenge, but …

And what did the altercation reveal? Piso had treated his legionary
commander like a subordinate and Proculus had done nothing to stop him. Yet Piso had barely reacted to Calpurnia’s blow, and her husband had done nothing to censure her.

Just who was in charge in Asturica Augusta?

Valerius could almost feel the eyes on him as he made his way from Severus’s house to his lodgings. The wine he’d drunk at Severus’s dinner party had dulled his senses, but not so much that he wasn’t aware when he was being followed. Fortunately, the streets were busy with traders and their customers so the threat was slight as long as he kept to the main thoroughfares. He passed through the Forum, where work on the basilica continued, and drew a glance of irritation from the sniffy lawyer he’d met on the first day. As he approached the city gates he recognized a familiar, but surprising face among the customers sitting drinking beneath the awning outside a bar.

Petro, the loquacious trader he’d befriended aboard ship, looked up and gaped in surprise as Valerius’s shadow fell over him. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens!’ His features split into an enormous grin. ‘This rustic backwater is the last place I would have expected to find you. What brings you to Asturica?’

‘A social call.’ Valerius returned the infectious grin. ‘I’m here visiting a friend.’ It was close enough to the truth that he didn’t feel guilty deceiving the other man. ‘And I could ask the same of you.’

‘Oh, I must go wherever a man may turn a profit,’ Petro chuckled. ‘For all its lack of refinement Asturica Augusta has wealth in abundance
and, strictly between us, trading with these country bumpkins is not so different from fleecing a new-born lamb.’ Valerius laughed and the other man moved to make a place beside him. ‘But come, old friends should not talk business. Slave,’ he called back over his shoulder, ‘bring me a new jug of that horse piss you call wine and another cup.’ Valerius protested that he’d had enough, but Petro winked. ‘It’s not too bad really, but I intend negotiating a discount.’

Valerius took a seat overlooking the street. Behind them four pots set into the top of a stone wall bubbled over a glowing fire, filling the air with the scent of herbs and cooking meat. A surly plump girl appeared and placed a jug of wine and a cup on the bench between them. As she turned, Petro gave her wide rump a slap. She swung round with a look of fury, but when she saw the broad grin on his face the look faded and she shook her head.

‘It will be the highlight of her day,’ the trader assured Valerius, ‘but we’ll make this the last one just in case.
Salus
.’

‘Health,’ Valerius returned the greeting. ‘How long have you been here?’

The merchant shifted his bulk to a more comfortable position. ‘I arrived two days ago. Fortunately, I picked up some bolts of fine cloth in Clunia for a bargain price from the wife of a recently deceased dressmaker. I’ve already made a decent return on my investment.’

‘And how do you find Asturica, apart from its rustic nature?’

Petro took his time before answering. ‘Much like any other frontier town. Full of possibilities, but keep your eyes open because when they smile into your face like as not they’ll be picking your purse. And tense.’ He gave Valerius a shrewd look. ‘Take those two auxiliaries in the shadow of the awning about twenty paces up the street.’

‘Yes?’

‘When they turned the corner they looked terribly concerned. Their eyes searched the street and when they fell on this bar they suddenly relaxed.’ He shrugged. ‘A trader learns to keep his wits about him and to read a man’s face or he won’t be a trader for long. They’ve been sitting
there ever since, watching us. Tell me, is it me they’re interested in, or you?’

‘Does it matter?’

Petro grinned. ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t.’ He drained his cup and picked up the jug. ‘A pity to waste this.’ He stood up. ‘Wait a few moments before joining me inside.’ He disappeared through the doorway. Valerius took two more sips of wine and followed without a glance at the hovering auxiliaries.

Petro was waiting by an opening at the rear of the bar, where the slave girl stood to one side rubbing a silver coin between her fingers. ‘This way,’ the merchant said. They emerged into a living area. From there Petro led the way to a doorway out on to a street that ran parallel to the one where they’d been sitting. ‘I will not ask you why someone would be following you,’ he continued. ‘For me, it is natural. A man who travels for a living picks up news and gossip and will trade it for other pieces of news and gossip. It is not long before he has the word “spy” dogging his footsteps.’

Valerius nodded in understanding ‘A friend once told me:
From Antioch to Alexandria every man is a spy and today’s friend is tomorrow’s deadly enemy
.’

‘Wise words, lord,’ Petro said. ‘And you would do well to keep them in mind while you’re in Asturica. How long do you intend to stay?’

‘I’m not certain,’ Valerius admitted. ‘My time here hasn’t been as productive as I’d hoped.’

‘A pity to be away from your new wife for any longer than necessary.’ Petro smiled at his reaction before Valerius remembered he’d let slip the news of his recent marriage during the voyage. ‘And perhaps the pain of your long parting might be eased if you returned with a suitable gift.’

Valerius frowned. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘As it happens part of my haul in Clunia was a bolt of the finest Indian silk. I will sell you enough to manufacture a dress that will make your lady the envy of every other woman in Rome …’

‘I don’t …’

‘And at the same price I paid for it.’

They’d returned to a square near the city’s main gate and Valerius stopped to consider. Perhaps Petro was right? He remembered Tabitha glowing with pleasure as she’d studied lengths of cloth outside a dress shop in Apamea. ‘Which is your stall?’ He looked around for a likely candidate.

‘Not in the city.’ Petro looked at him as if he were mad. ‘These thieves would squeeze me until I didn’t make a sesterce of profit. Taxes? Only a fool pays taxes. No, my wares are outside the walls. Come, I will show you.’

Valerius followed him out of the gate past the disapproving glares of the tax officials. Petro flicked his fingers in an obscene gesture and laughed.

The merchant crossed the ground surprisingly swiftly for such a bulky man. He led the way through the avenue of tombs that lined the road into Asturica, before turning off into a wooded area. They followed a path through the trees to a clearing by a stream where Petro had set up his tent. An assistant, who must have been recruited since the trader arrived in Hispania, watched over wares set out on a portable table. Nearby a tethered horse and a string of mules stood nibbling at the long grass.

‘The silk is too valuable to leave on display in the sun.’ Petro ducked into the tent. ‘See,’ he held out a bolt of shimmering turquoise cloth, inviting Valerius to run his fingers across it.

A flicker in Petro’s eyes should have warned him. As Valerius bent to touch the cloth a rope whipped round his neck and a knee smashed into his back knocking the breath from him. Only the act of bowing his head saved him from being choked to death in those first few seconds. Instead of tightening on his throat the cord caught on his chin, pinning it back against his neck. As he struggled against the terrible force his assailant sawed the rope into his flesh and tried to find a position where he could get a killing grip.

Valerius ignored the burning pain and clawed at the rope with his left hand, flailing behind him with the wooden fist of his right. The
blood roared in his ears, and he heard the sound of Petro’s mocking laughter. Something smashed into the back of his head and the assassin used the stunned heartbeat that followed to shift the position of the rope. Valerius cried out as he felt it tighten round his windpipe in a grip of iron. He couldn’t breathe. His vision began to go.