Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] (6 page)

The voyage gave Valerius time to ponder the task Vespasian had set him. At first he’d found it surprising that Pliny had made his request for assistance through the Palatine. Over the years, they’d been allies and
opponents fighting cases in the law courts at the basilica, and Pliny, who hoarded obscure pieces of knowledge the way others hoarded silver, was one of the few men Valerius could call friend. He’d been a cavalry prefect under Vespasian in Germania and would have had his province long ago had he not fallen foul of Nero and been forced into retirement and obscurity during his chaotic reign. Pliny had been the only man who spoke for Valerius at his trumped-up trial for treason and loaned him money to escape Rome when Domitian’s death sentence had been commuted to exile. He must know that Valerius wouldn’t have refused him if the approach had been made direct? Yet there was a logic in taking the official route. Vespasian’s endorsement and the appointment as
legatus iuridicus
gave Valerius a power that would open doors and overcome obstacles. The only problem was that the fact Pliny believed he might need that power made it likely this mission would prove more complicated and dangerous than it appeared.

Still, all that was to come. Tabitha’s face swam into his head. It might have been a difficult parting from his bride of three weeks, but his wife – diminutive and Hellenistically beautiful, but with a core of well-tempered iron – had been philosophical as she’d kissed him goodbye on the steps of their new home. ‘The quicker you are gone the quicker I will have you back,’ she had said. There were no tears, only an assurance that with Lupergos’s help she would see the villa completed by the time of his return.

‘I have a potion guaranteed to cure the worst ship sickness, lord.’ Valerius looked up to find Petro watching him. ‘Squid ink, chopped toad bladder and
allec
.’ Valerius grimaced.
Allec
was the sludge residue left from the fish guts used to make
garum
. ‘It tastes revolting,’ Petro grinned, ‘but I suspect that is part of its virtue.’

Valerius swallowed. ‘It sounds more likely to kill than cure. But it is not ship sickness that ails me.’ He hesitated, but … why not? He told the merchant about his wedding and the recent, reluctant parting from Tabitha, though not the reason for it.

Petro’s plump features took on a solemn air and he sighed. ‘A new wife is like an unbroken filly. Give her all your attention and she will
lick honey from your fingers and come at your call. Ignore her too long and she is apt to bite them off and run wild.’ The impish grin returned. ‘Not that I am suggesting …’

Valerius had passed through the port of Tarraco once before. During an earlier mission for Vespasian, then a mere legate, he’d come to offer support for Servius Sulpicius Galba’s bid to take the purple. Only three years ago, but the trials Valerius had experienced since made it seem a lifetime – a lifetime that had seen the deaths of four emperors and hundreds of thousands of their subjects. So it was a familiar sight that greeted him as the creaking merchant ship slid between the twin headlands beneath a sky that glowed with all the splendour of a peacock’s breast feathers. Red-tiled roofs of cavernous warehouses on either hand, a harbour bustling with water craft of all shapes and sizes and a quayside that resembled a disturbed ants’ nest.

He stepped on to the dock on legs unused to a stable platform, to be greeted by the overwhelming, familiar scent of
garum
. Hundreds of amphorae of the pungent fish sauce were stacked high waiting to be loaded into the ship for the return journey to Ostia, next to bales of the pale yellow wool for which Tarraco was famous. A customs inspector, a centurion accompanied by two legionaries, appeared to check the ship’s cargo while Valerius’s baggage was being unloaded. One of the legionaries demanded to see his travel papers and he was forced, against his better judgement, to show the Imperial warrant Vespasian had provided to ease his passage. The man’s eyes widened and Valerius knew that within a few hours the whole town would be aware an envoy from Vespasian had arrived on the ship.

‘I wish you a safe onward journey, lord.’ Petro smiled gravely as they said their farewells at the foot of the gangway.

‘I will miss your stories as much as your company,’ Valerius replied. ‘Who knows, perhaps we will meet again if Fortuna wills it.’

A merchant pointed him in the direction of a trustworthy slave who would carry the small chest containing his belongings to the governor’s palace. The slave led the way through the steep, narrow streets behind
the harbour. Valerius had climbed these same streets with Serpentius and he felt a pang of something very close to grief as he remembered looking down at his friend in the medical tent outside Jerusalem. Serpentius had lain on his side with a bloody bandage covering the terrible wound in his back inflicted by the Judaean turncoat Josephus. The feral, vicious sneer that made the former gladiator appear so fearsome had been replaced by a haggard, grey mask. His eyes were closed and his sunken cheeks bristled with a week’s growth of white stubble. Once he’d been the most dangerous fighter to grace the arenas of Rome. Now he looked like an old man.

They had been as close as brothers, and with the same instinctive understanding. Valerius felt more vulnerable without Serpentius by his side than he did without the right hand he’d left in the burned-out ruin of a villa in Britannia.

Tarraco sprawled over a series of ridges overlooking the sea. Valerius followed the slave to a broad square at the top of the largest hill. On the far side lay a single enormous building with white stucco walls and an ochre-tiled roof that shimmered in the midday heat. A pair of legionaries guarded the pillared entrance and they stiffened to attention as Valerius approached and announced he had an appointment with the governor.

‘Your name?’ The men eyed Valerius’s travel-stained cloak with suspicion.

‘Gaius Valerius Verrens. I’m an old friend of governor Secundus.’

One of the soldiers gave him a look that said ‘we’ll see about that’. ‘Wait here.’ He disappeared inside leaving Valerius under the gaze of the remaining guard, returning a few minutes later with a look of consternation on his stolid, peasant face.

‘He said to ask you to show your right hand.’ Valerius flicked back his cloak to reveal the carved wooden fist that replaced the hand he’d lost at Colonia. The soldier slammed his fist into his chest in salute. ‘Please follow me. The governor apologizes for not greeting you personally, but he is indisposed at present.’

Just how indisposed became clear when the guard led Valerius into
a shaded courtyard with a garden at its centre. Gaius Plinius Secundus sat on a couch in the portico with one foot raised. He had put on weight since Valerius had last seen him and heavy jowls gave him a mournful air quite at odds with his normally cheerful disposition. The couch was surrounded by low tables, most filled with scrolls, but one left clear for his writing tools. Pliny had a voracious appetite for knowledge, always reading or investigating, collecting specimens, testing out new theories and disproving old ones.

He looked up as Valerius came into view and managed a pained smile. ‘You have never been more welcome, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Pallas?’ A young man stepped from a doorway behind him. ‘Have the main guest room prepared for my friend and tell the cook there will be two for dinner,’ Pliny ordered. ‘I did not expect you for another week at the earliest, or I would have had you met at the harbour. Not personally, of course, as you can see. You’ll have a cup of wine?’

‘I will, Pliny, but I’m sorry to see you like this.’

‘I’m suffering from a touch of gout. It won’t kill me but it makes movement difficult. Hippocrates suggests it is caused by an overindulgence in drink, food and sex.’ He produced a wry smile. ‘While I plead guilty to the first and second, I’m afraid the third is long behind me these days. You had an uneventful journey, I hope?’

Valerius nodded. ‘It gave me time to read the reports you sent to Rome.’

‘Yes.’ Pliny sounded doleful. ‘Would that they had been more optimistic. But I prefer not to talk on an empty stomach. After dinner I will give you a more up-to-date view of the current situation. Now,’ he picked up his stylus, ‘Pallas will see to your baggage and get you settled in. I must finish this chapter of my
Historia Naturalis
. The subject is medicines we can obtain from plants. Did you know that
Colchicum autumnale
, the common meadow crocus, can be turned into an infusion which is a specific for gout? Unfortunately, taken in excess it is also a deadly poison and I choose not to test the theory.’

‘Then I will leave you to your work,’ Valerius bowed.

They dined on succulent steaks of tunny fish and squid cooked in its own ink, followed by a pair of roasted fowl and slices of apple and pear coated in honey. The food was served on silver platters and Valerius smiled at a memory. ‘The last time we ate together, it was on chipped fireclay in your kitchen,’ he said. ‘Who would have believed our fortunes could have altered so radically?’

‘That’s true.’ Pliny washed his fingers in a bowl brought by one of several slaves who attended them. ‘We have much to be thankful for, you and I. For instance, it is sometimes difficult to believe that I once watched the friend sharing my table kneel beneath an executioner’s sword. There are few alive who can claim such an experience. It still puzzles me that Domitian saw fit to commute the death sentence to exile.’

The observation contained a certain measure of query, and if anyone deserved the truth it was Pliny, who had risked his reputation by speaking for Valerius at his trial. But Valerius had learned to be wary. Only two other people knew of Domitia Longina Corbulo’s intervention, and the reason for it. Better it stayed that way.

‘There’s nothing he would have liked better than to see my head rolling in the dust,’ he admitted. ‘But the letter Mucianus brought from Vespasian rescinded my original death sentence and he couldn’t go against his father’s express wish.’

‘An emperor’s favour is not to be underestimated, nor disdained.’ Pliny’s features took on a troubled air. ‘For instance, I honour him for this appointment, but there are times when I wish I was alone with my books back in Rome. Any proconsulship would be a burden for an honest man with the Empire’s interests at heart, but this is doubly so. When Vespasian summoned me to the Palatine he told me the man who solved the conundrum of the missing gold of Hispania Tarraconensis would be the man who saved the Empire. Even able-bodied I’m not certain I would have lived up to his expectations. There is so much to do here. The answer lies in the north, and with this leg I doubt I would survive the journey. That is why I asked him to send you. He has outlined the general situation?’

‘Since the late war the yields from the northern mines have dropped dramatically.’ Valerius repeated what Vespasian had told him. ‘Bandits are blamed, perhaps the richest seams have been worked out, and there are said to be manpower problems. What I don’t understand is why you haven’t sent a mining expert to investigate?’

‘But we have,’ Pliny cried. ‘An experienced engineer, Marcus Florus Petronius. Does the name mean anything to you?’

‘Should it?’

‘He said he served with you in Armenia. You traversed some mountain track together. The longest night of his life, he told me.’

Now a face swam into view. Petronius had been the man who’d guided the night march to outflank Vologases, the Parthian King of Kings, before his defeat by Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo.

‘A good choice,’ he complimented Pliny. ‘I remember Petronius as clever, enterprising and courageous.’

‘And with substantial experience of the mining industry.’ Pliny’s face turned grim. ‘His latest report hinted at a great revelation. What was happening at Asturica Augusta was of even greater significance than we originally believed. But he would not make direct accusations until he had proof. Since then, nothing.’

‘Is it possible his reports are being intercepted?’

‘I doubt it. We had alternative procedures in place. It seems he has simply disappeared. I tell you this so you will not underestimate how dangerous this could be, Valerius. The goldfields are in barely accessible mountain areas and the mine workers were once Rome’s most implacable enemies. It took Augustus ten years and seven legions to conquer the Astures and the Cantabri.’

‘But that was ninety years ago,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘They’ve been living under Roman law ever since. Galba raised an entire legion from Hispania.’

‘Roman citizens,’ Pliny agreed. ‘The sons of families who prosper under Rome’s rule, but many – some would say most – have not. You must not underrate the level of resentment you will find in Asturica and I believe there may be ample reason for it. The mines are owned
by the state, but much of the workforce and supplies are provided by Asturian aristocrats. Little more than bandit chiefs with a head for business and an eye for a profit. Originally the men who worked the mines would have been slaves – captives from the Cantabrian Wars – but Augustus soon realized he needed a more stable workforce. He ordered hundreds of villages uprooted entire and moved to where they could provide a workforce for the mines.’ He paused in his narrative while a slave cleared away the last of the plates and poured another cup of wine from the jug. ‘Tens of thousands of people,’ he continued eventually, ‘torn from their ancestral farmlands and hunting grounds, deprived of a living and forced into the service of the state. The men from the communities around the mines provide their labour to offset the taxes imposed on them by Rome. And it is not just the mines. Many of the processes use substantial amounts of water, sometimes enormous amounts, to clean the ore or, in some cases, to flush it from the mines. This requires the diversion of hundreds of native streams, the building of miles of canals and aqueducts, and all in terrain that can scarcely be traversed by man. The miners who work for the leaseholders are poorly paid and according to Petronius the food is fit only for pigs. They work by the light of oil lamps in a perpetual cloud of smoke, never seeing daylight for sometimes months on end.’ Pliny’s face darkened at the image he was creating and Valerius realized he must have inspected one of the southern mines and was speaking from experience. ‘The mining process also creates a fine dust that can turn a man’s lungs to stone if breathed for long enough. There are frequent collapses which can bury dozens, sometimes hundreds of men. They chip at the face of the rock with picks, or power massive crushing machines before the ore is carried to the surface on the backs of the miners, encouraged, shall we say, by overseers armed with whips. So you see, Valerius, any benefits provided by Roman rule only accrue to a few rich men and those who support them, not those who actually create the wealth.’