When the centurion had rushed out shouting orders to his men, Valerius turned to Serpentius. ‘Let me know if they find him, though I doubt if they will. He’d have to be a fool to stay near the palace. He’ll either be hiding in the city with his accomplices or somewhere on the road where he feels safe.’
‘Where will you be?’
Valerius yawned. ‘In bed. One way or the other it’s going to be a busy day.’
It was easy to see why they hadn’t found Turpio in the night. Who would have thought to look in the river?
The body lay face up and trapped between a fallen branch and a large rock. Turpio’s young features were the bloodless, fish-belly white of unpainted marble and his mouth hung open showing yellow teeth and a stump of tongue. At first Valerius thought it had been cut out, which seemed overly cautious if you were going to kill the man anyway. On closer investigation, however, it seemed that it, like his eyes, had become a delicacy for the pair of ravens that had perched on his chest until he was discovered by a legionary making his discreet morning libation to the Orontes. The rock lay less than four paces from the bank and Valerius could clearly see the vivid scar of the second smile that had been opened below Turpio’s chin.
‘We’ll never know who he was working with now,’ Serpentius said cheerfully. ‘He must have been meeting someone who had promised to pay him or help him escape, maybe both. Whoever it was decided they couldn’t rely on him to keep his mouth shut.’
They waited while two legionaries dragged the body to the bank. Turpio’s threadbare tunic was ripped, probably where it had caught on the branch that had kept him from floating downriver towards Seleucia Pieria. The chest from the throat down had been sheeted with blood, but was now a washed-out pink. Valerius bent over the body and examined the wound. It ran horizontally from one side of the neck to the other, obscene and pink-lipped and deep enough to have cut almost to the spine.
The Spaniard crouched beside him. ‘A nice piece of work.’ Valerius was happy for Serpentius to take the lead. The gladiator knew more about creating wounds like these than was good for a man. ‘Sword work, see? Too deep and clean for a knife if the killer was standing in front of him and too straight if he came from behind. One quick professional stroke that took out the big veins on either side and the windpipe too. Turpio the snake charmer would have bled out in about a minute and he wouldn’t have made a sound. Your man probably used a spatha or something similar, because if it had been a gladius he would have been covered with blood. Gladiator work.’ He rose to his feet and pirouetted, at the same time drawing his long sword and carving the air in a single whispering sweep that had the men standing closest stepping back. ‘Maybe he would have got a few spots on his clothes or his boots, but it would only be noticeable if you really looked. Dump the body in the river and then go back to wherever he came from. He couldn’t know that Turpio would hang around long enough to be found.’
‘And tell us we’re looking for not one assassin, but two.’
‘What’s that?’ The Spaniard pointed at Turpio’s clenched fist where a scrap of green was just visible.
Valerius forced back the dead fingers and pulled out a ragged fragment of bright green cloth. The same green cloth that the tunics and cloaks of the auxiliary escort were manufactured from.
‘Cavalry?’ Serpentius suggested.
Valerius looked across the river to where Antioch was beginning to shimmer in the heat of the morning. ‘It would make sense, when you combine it with the heavy sword.’
‘The Parthians, then. This King Vologases must have spies in Antioch, even amongst the governor’s servants and the Syrian auxiliaries, who to my thinking would as well be Parthian as Roman. If he believes General Corbulo is planning to move against him it would make a kind of sense to kill him. A knife direct to the heart of the enemy. And a snake is a very eastern method of murder.’
‘That’s true, but there is another possibility.’
‘Who supplied the escort?’
Valerius nodded. ‘The Syrian auxiliaries are attached to the Sixth Ferrata, the Scythians to the Fifteenth Apollinaris. So Mucianus and Collega. Gaius Pompeius Collega is not one of the favoured inner circle and it’s plain he disagrees with Corbulo’s plan. What if he decided that the best way to gain the Emperor’s favour was to remove a man who is not only exceeding his orders, but is also, for all his protestations of loyalty, a potential rival? But…’
‘But?’
‘I have only met him once, but Collega seems too… honourable.’
‘Your friend Mucianus then?’
The Roman grinned. ‘Much as I would like it to be, Mucianus has more to lose than to gain from Corbulo’s death. He is the governor’s man, linked to him through years of service and patronage.’
A commotion behind them heralded the arrival of the governor amidst a cloud of bodyguards. Corbulo was accompanied by his legionary commanders and Valerius found himself once more the target of Mucianus’s unforgiving stare. The guards opened warily to allow Corbulo forward and Serpentius stepped back with a bow to give him room to join Valerius by the body.
‘So my assassin is dead?’
‘It appears so.’ Valerius kept his voice neutral. ‘He had the opportunity to place the snake in your quarters and he ran when the crime was discovered. Unfortunately, we had no opportunity to question him. His fellow slaves say they know nothing of his movements outside the palace, but he had… arrangements… which allowed him to come and go more or less as he pleased.’ He mentioned the slave’s sideline and Corbulo grunted in a way that said that someone would pay for the lapse. ‘He undoubtedly had the opportunity to meet contacts in the city or among the men of the four Syrian legions who spend their furloughs here.’ He explained Serpentius’s theory about the way the man had died. ‘It seems certain that he met his killer in the gardens last night, but we had more than two hundred men searching the palace grounds, including a century from the Tenth Fretensis.’
‘Surely you don’t believe one of them killed him?’ Corbulo rapped. ‘The men of my personal guard all have years of service under my command, and the Tenth is the most loyal of all my legions.’
Valerius could have pointed out that the more trusted a man became, the more dangerous he could be. In any case, loyalty could be bought and sold like any other commodity. All that mattered was the price. He stood his ground. ‘There is no guarantee that he was murdered before the hunt began. The only way to be certain is to question the searchers individually and cross-check their movements against each other.’
‘Which would take days.’
‘And have little hope of success,’ Valerius admitted. He showed the governor the scrap of green cloth. ‘This was found in the dead man’s hand.’
Corbulo frowned and rubbed the rough fabric between his fingers. ‘Someone from an auxiliary cavalry unit?’
‘It is possible,’ Valerius told him. ‘We can’t be sure. There is one thing…’
‘Yes?’
‘Judging by the type of wound, the murderer’s uniform may have been spotted with Turpio’s blood.’
The governor shook his head. ‘We do not have time to search every tent.’
‘No, but if you order every second man to check his tent-mate’s clothing and vice versa it’s possible we will find our killer in less than an hour.’
Corbulo studied Valerius with increased respect. ‘Then do it.’
Valerius issued the order and Corbulo went back to the palace, only to return twenty minutes later when the reports began to come in as the units concluded their searches.
‘Nothing?’
‘No, general. I…’
‘Sir! You should see this.’ The centurion of the guard addressed his words to Corbulo. He carried something in his right hand and refused to meet Valerius’s eyes.
‘What is it?’
The man held up a pair of the nailed sandals every legionary wore. Corbulo’s eyes hardened as he recognized the familiar stains on the leather str
apping.
‘Blood?’ he demanded. ‘Where were they found?’
‘In the slave quarters.’
‘And who do they belong to?’
‘Him.’
Every eye followed the pointing finger.
To Serpentius.
The guards took time to react. A long moment of dangerous silence that was broken by Serpentius’s bitter laugh. Corbulo flinched as if he’d been struck and his bodyguard moved forward with a low growl, their swords ready to cut down the murderer at the general’s command.
The Spaniard’s hand hovered over his sword hilt and Valerius knew that the moment he touched it he was a dead man. ‘Wait.’
Corbulo’s head snapped round and the look in his eyes told Valerius that Serpentius’s wasn’t the only life on the line. ‘You dare to interfere with justice? You who brought this assassin to my home?’
Valerius kept his voice calm. ‘Justice is only justice if you have the killer, general.’
‘You say he is innocent?’
‘I say that a pair of bloody sandals isn’t enough to condemn a man.’
‘They were less than an hour ago, when the man in question was not your servant. Did you not tell me the wound was made by a spatha in expert hands? Who is more expert than a former gladiator? Take him.’
Serpentius was standing in the centre of the four armed legionaries of the guard and Valerius saw him tense. Another second and there would be blood on the ground and men would be screaming.
‘Ask him if the sandals are his,’ he said quietly.
Corbulo raised his hand and Serpentius relaxed as the guard backed away. ‘Well?’
The Spaniard stared at him with eyes so full of menace that for a moment even Valerius wondered if he had misplaced his trust.
‘No.’
‘You can prove this?’
Serpentius shrugged. ‘Even a fool can see that these are not a slave’s.’ Corbulo’s nostrils flared at the implied insult, but the Spaniard appeared not to notice. ‘My sandals are standard issue, the leather is hard as mahogany wood and I have to replace the studs every two weeks.’ He bent and unwound the leather ties holding his left shoe. ‘Here.’ He handed it to the general. ‘My spares are the same. Those belong to a rich man. An officer.’
Corbulo weighed the sandal in his hand. He motioned for one of the blood-spattered pair and compared the two. It was immediately clear that the second was of a much superior construction and the leather softer and more expensive. He studied Serpentius like an undertaker measuring a client for a shroud but the Spaniard met his gaze without flinching.
‘You will vouch for your man,’ he demanded, turning to Valerius. ‘You are certain this is not his sandal?’
Valerius nodded. ‘I would trust this man with my life.’
‘That is not what I asked.’
‘It is not his sandal. I would swear it on the altar of the Temple of Mars.’
The eagle’s eyes darted from one to the other and Valerius could feel his heart thundering in his ears. Eventually, the general tossed the sandal back to the Spaniard and Valerius dared to breathe once more. Corbulo nodded, and Valerius knew that the incident would never be spoken of again. He had made his decision and it was as final as any court of law.
‘I do not have time for these distractions. We have a war to fight and it seems I will be safer in my campaign tent than in my own palace.’ He turned to Casperius Niger who stood at his shoulder. ‘Are the preparations in place?’ The camp prefect nodded. ‘Then we will march at dawn. Verrens?’ Valerius straightened and Corbulo handed back the scrap of green. ‘Neither of the two auxiliary units which supplied the escort will cross the Euphrates. They will help screen the Sixth Ferrata and the Third Gallica on the march south to join Vespasian. I will leave it to you to organize their replacements with Casperius. You will suspend your investigations for the moment.’
Valerius saluted and Corbulo and his aides marched off, the governor spraying commands like slingshot pellets and the gods help the man who didn’t catch his words the first time. Only Mucianus lingered, crouched over Turpio, studying the dead face and the awful red gash in the pale throat.
‘I see no murderer,’ he said carefully. ‘All I see is a slave sacrificed for expediency.’ He looked up and stared into Valerius’s eyes. ‘I know where your loyalties lie, tribune. I warned General Corbulo against keeping you too close. It would not be the first time a killer has played rescuer to reach his victim. You failed with the snake and used the general’s daughter to redeem yourself. I have no doubt you will try again.’ His unrelenting gaze moved to Serpentius. The wiry Spaniard tensed and Valerius willed him to keep his hand away from his sword. Mucianus’s face twisted into a glacial smile. ‘He has the look of a killer even without a blade in his hand. But the general has been warned. He will be watching you and the next time there will be no escape.’
He turned abruptly and walked off after the governor.
‘What did he mean by knowing where your loyalties lie?’ Serpentius asked, letting out a long slow breath.
‘He thinks we have been sent here by the Emperor to kill Corbulo.’
The Spaniard spat in the direction of the retreating legate. ‘I know who I’d rather kill.’
‘We have enough problems without worrying about Mucianus.’
Serpentius nodded. ‘Like who spattered blood on those sandals General Vespasian’s son gave you?’
‘When did you steal them?’
The Spaniard feigned shock. ‘Not steal, my lord. Borrow. Only until my spares are mended. Thanks for that.’
Valerius turned to him. ‘You didn’t kill him, did you?’
‘No, but whoever did it is very good.’
‘As good as you?’
Serpentius grinned. ‘I hope we’ll find out.’
Valerius looked again at the green cloth that had been in Turpio’s hand. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. If this was planted on Turpio to point us in the direction of the auxiliaries, why bother implicating you? Bluff and double bluff? It just seems too complicated.’
‘There’s a simpler explanation.’ Serpentius bent to tie the straps of his sandal. ‘Someone in the palace hears that Turpio’s been found with his throat cut and decides there’ll never be a better opportunity to get rid of us.’
‘Which means that we don’t have just one enemy to find, but two, and the chances are that they’re both about to accompany us five hundred miles into Armenia.’
XXVI
‘My cavalry commander must have a horse worthy of him.’
If beauty is the perfection of form, she was the most beautiful thing Valerius had ever seen. A groom held the reins to steady her noble head and Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, proconsul of the east and governor of Syria, stood by her shining flank. The sword that hung from the four-pommelled cavalry saddle was the ceremonial blade Valerius had pulled from Corbulo’s wall, but it had been modified for war.
With a flourish the governor drew it free and the blue-sheened blade glinted menacingly in the morning sun. ‘It has a great history and it is not right that it should spend its life as a decoration.’ Corbulo’s voice contained that unsettling mix of steel, certainty and charm that made him who he was. ‘I have had the jewels removed and the hilt bound with leather strips to improve the grip. It is a soldier’s weapon now. The balance is a little unusual. You will notice that it is weighted towards the point, but that can be an advantage when you are using a sword from horseback. Here, take it.’
Corbulo spun the weapon with a soldier’s practised hands so that the hilt was towards Valerius. The young Roman took it remembering the weight and the feel from his encounter with the snake. The sword’s energy ran through him like heat from a blazing fire. He tried two or three cuts and it was as if the blade had a life of its own. Still, he only had eyes for the horse, and when Corbulo spoke again it was with an old cavalryman’s pride and a glint in his eye.
‘I owe you my daughter’s life, tribune G
aius Valerius Verrens, not once, but many times. I hope you will accept this gift in part payment. She is an Akhal-Teke, from my own stables: the horse of kings.’
Valerius stared at the astonishing animal whose forefathers had carried Alexander the Great from Athens to the shores of the Indus; freshly groomed she was a work of art in polished bronze, her coat of fine hairs gleaming in the sunlight. He approached the horse’s head and allowed her to take in his scent through wide nostrils which flared and snorted as he stroked her silken ears with his good hand. Only when he was sure she knew him did he look into the glistening dark eyes behind curling lashes and knew she was his for ever, and he hers.
‘They are by nature a desert breed,’ Corbulo continued. ‘But she has a touch of Karabakh in her; not enough to affect her speed or her stamina, but enough to accustom her to the mountains. They are hardy stock and need little water.’
She was long and lean with an elegantly curving neck and a proud head. Her breast was narrow, shaped like a ship’s prow and made for cutting through the desert air when she was given her head to run free on the long, slim legs. ‘I will call you Khamsin, after the hot desert wind Hanno warned me about,’ Valerius thought, only he must have spoken aloud because Corbulo nodded. ‘Yes, Khamsin. A great name for a great horse.’
‘Why don’t you try her?’ The familiar soft voice was betrayed by an edge of suppressed emotion. How had he not noticed she was there? He turned and realized that Khamsin was not the most beautiful thing in the world. Today, that honour belonged to Domitia Longina Corbulo. She wore a long dress of virgin white, belted with gold, that left her shoulders bare beneath the walnut tresses that flowed left and right of her wide forehead and framed the oval of her face.
‘With your permission, lady?’ He handed over his helmet, bringing a gasp of surprise from one of the watchers.
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