‘Always nice to have an edge.’ Serpentius nodded his approval. ‘Even better if it’s the whole knife.’
They met with Josephus at the appointed hour. To Valerius’s surprise, instead of heading south towards the city gates they retraced their journey of a few days before until they reached the Tenth’s fortified camp on the Mount of Olives. This time they were stopped and questioned several times by auxiliary cavalry, but Josephus produced his warrant and they were allowed to continue. Likewise, the warrant guaranteed them entry to the camp and an audience with Lepidus. They found the Tenth’s legate squinting through reddened eyes as he pored over a sand table that replicated his area of responsibility. He looked up as they entered and his face broke into a tired smile as he recognized Valerius.
‘I’m just trying to work out the best positions for the heavy artillery,’ he explained. ‘We have plenty of elevation, but that’s not much good when you’re trying to hit walls in the valley below.’
Josephus coughed to get the legate’s attention and handed over a sheet of papyrus. ‘I do not wish to keep you long, sir.’ Lepidus darted a questioning look at Valerius as the Judaean bowed with unusual deference. ‘I merely ask that your guards are informed to pass three strangers through the lines at dusk and allow them to enter the Cedron valley. Likewise to return at a time I am afraid will be unspecified, preferably without welcoming them by means of a pilum in the ribs.’
Lepidus still looked mystified, but the blank expressions on the faces of the three men told him he wouldn’t get an answer to any of the questions their presence posed.
‘Very well,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But you will need the watchword. Tonight it is ballista and the reply is onager. Tomorrow,’ he nodded to Valerius, ‘I will make it Corbulo, and the answer will be Armenia.’
Valerius smiled. ‘That should be easy enough to remember.’
Lepidus drew the one-handed Roman aside. ‘I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, my friend. The Judaeans haven’t made any more major forays, but their patrols are as active in the valley and on the slope as ours are. You’ve seen for yourself how fractured this country is, all gully and cliff and scree slope. Only the locals understand how to move about quietly in the dark here.’
‘That’s why Josephus will be leading the way.’ Valerius kept his tone light, though Lepidus had voiced exactly his own fears. ‘I suspect he’s lighter on his feet than he looks. And we can depend on Serpentius for quiet. I’ll just be blundering along at the back.’
The legate shook his head. ‘This is no joke, Valerius. This morning we found what was left of two of our wounded who’d been carried off during the raid the other day. The Zealots hadn’t been gentle with them.’
‘I appreciate the warning, but I have as much choice in this matter as you have about sending your men against those walls.’ He would have liked to let Lepidus know that if they were successful his attack might not be necessary. The only thing stopping him was that the likelihood of survival, never mind success, was so slim it was futile to raise his friend’s hopes. Instead, he said: ‘I think it is time for us to go.’
Lepidus assigned a centurion to guide the three men to the Tenth’s outpost line. It was held by a half cohort of the First Montanorum, Valerius’s comrades from Noricum who had climbed the cliffs at Gamala. They left the camp by the southern gate and made their way carefully through the gloom, avoiding the uneven scatter of ragged stumps that was all that remained of the olive groves. Eventually, they reached a point where the ground fell away sharply. A figure seemed to rise out of the ground in front of them with a whispered ‘Ballista’? In the momentary hesitation that followed Valerius knew they were the target of a dozen pila, but the centurion hissed the reply and he sensed a collective sigh as the auxiliaries relaxed. They edged forward until they were in a huddle around the guard who’d challenged them. ‘Anything happening?’ The centurion’s voice barely carried to the four men in the circle.
‘The odd scrape and rustle.’ Valerius heard the grin in the man’s voice. ‘They’re out there all right, but I doubt they’re looking for trouble.’
‘Legate’s orders. These men are to pass through into the valley.’
In the growing darkness sharp eyes studied the shadows and planes of the three faces. ‘More fool them,’ the auxiliary chuckled quietly. ‘Those rebels can see in the dark. They have horrible long knives and they’re not slow to use them. Like as not this is goodbye, comrades. But if it’s Legate’s orders …?’
‘Which it is …’
‘The ground slopes away to the right. It’s maybe a pilum throw before you reach a narrow path …’
‘I know it.’ Josephus spoke for the first time. His head turned to the centurion. ‘Thank you, and may your gods stay with you.’
‘And yours.’
Josephus rose and Valerius put a hand on his arm. ‘Serpentius should lead,’ he whispered. ‘He’s really very good at this kind of thing.’
‘But he doesn’t know where we’re going,’ the Judaean pointed out. Which was as good an argument as any, when Valerius thought about it.
As they passed through the front line the Roman heard the sentry mutter, ‘Mars protect you … though I doubt it.’
‘That’s reassuring,’ Serpentius muttered as he followed Josephus into the darkness.
The Judaean set a surprising pace over the rough ground and Valerius struggled to emulate it without dislodging pebbles or tripping over the ubiquitous olive stumps. It was all he could do to keep the blur of Serpentius’s dust-coloured cloak in view. Fortunately, the going became easier when they reached the dusty path the sentry had identified. It cut diagonally across the steep incline and Valerius’s feet told him it had once been a cobbled road. Despite the easier going, he sensed an increased alertness in Serpentius that warned against complacency. This was just the type of place the Zealots and their allies would set up an ambush in wait for a Roman patrol. He hurried to keep up, his eyes darting between the Spaniard’s back and the rocks and bushes to his flank. His left hand never strayed far from his sword hilt. At the last minute he’d shortened the leather baldric holding the scabbard. Now it lay snug against his right side beneath his armpit, covered by the shortened cloak Josephus had advised they wore.
Without warning, Serpentius stopped and dropped into a crouch. Valerius froze, his mind screaming danger as he fought to identify the threat. After a few moments a pale hand waved him forward and he breathed again, though his heart thundered against his ribs like a Parthian battle drum.
He scuttled forward to join the other two men and Josephus drew his head close, indicating an indistinct structure to Valerius’s left. ‘The tomb of Absalom, son of David,’ he whispered, identifying the tall stone column. ‘In a few moments we will pass those of the sons of Hezir and of Zechariah. This has been the burial place of my people for a hundred generations. Mark them well, for you may have to return this way without me. From here we descend into the valley and the place of greatest danger. If you lose me keep going south and stick to the valley bottom. I will find you.’
Valerius desperately wanted to ask how they were going to get into the city, but before he could put the question Josephus moved ahead with Serpentius in his wake. The Judaean seemed entirely at home in this all but invisible, fissured landscape, and confident they would reach their destination, though the gods only knew what awaited them there. On they went, down into the depths of the valley and the dangerous, boulder-strewn bed of a dried-up stream where they could feel the loom of the city walls over them. There would be guards on those walls and they would be scouting the darkness for just this kind of patrol: Roman engineers inspecting the ground to check whether it was suitable to sink a mine. Whether a siege tower would require a ramp to cross the rocky approaches or whether it could be heaved into place without. Whether the mortar that bonded the wall was solid, or whether it would crumble at the first blow from a ram. All around the perimeter men would be—
; Valerius froze in position at a bright flash of light on the wall above, instantly followed by the flickering glow of flames. He looked around desperately for some cover, only to find there was none. All he could do was stay in the open and try to be part of the landscape. Fifty paces ahead a fireball arced from the ramparts and a bundle of pitch-soaked hay plummeted to explode in the stream bed, silhouetting the two men ahead. The flaming missile lit up everything around for a dozen heartbeats before subsiding into a soft flickering pyre that turned the rocky ground into a maze of shape-changing shadows. Valerius tried to still his shaking legs as he waited for the inevitable cry that would call down a hail of spears on the three intruders. Gradually, the glow subsided and they were left in darkness again. A total darkness. Where was Serpentius? He felt a moment of panic. The Spaniard must have moved off before his own night vision had recovered from the flare of light. He was alone.
‘Stop standing about like a fornicating statue. We’ve been waiting for you.’ Serpentius’s hissed order came out of the darkness close to his ear. Valerius let out a long breath and followed the grey blur to where Josephus waited.
‘Not far to go now,’ the Judaean whispered. ‘A hundred paces and then a short climb on the left.’
The left? Valerius was bemused. The left took them away from the city. He’d imagined a concealed doorway at the base of the wall, like the one the lepers’ carers had used, though how Josephus would open it was beyond him. On the left lay nothing but boulders and dust. He clawed his way up through the dirt until he reached a partsheltered hollow where Josephus was already on his knees poring over the ground like a soothsayer studying a chicken’s entrails.
‘Where is it?’ Valerius could hear the Judaean whispering to himself. ‘The tomb to the south. Yes. The mulberry to the north. I know it’s here somewhere. The rock shaped like an eagle’s beak. Or was it a dove’s? They all look the same in the dark.’ His hands scrabbled at the stones for so long that Valerius feared he’d gone mad.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ Serpentius’s whisper came from four paces away.
Josephus jumped up and hurried to him, peering at the rock in his hand. ‘God be thanked.’ He closed his eyes and fell to his knees.
‘This is no time for prayer,’ Valerius hissed, but the Judaean was oblivious. He identified the spot where Serpentius had picked up the stone and meticulously removed the rest until he’d opened up a space two paces square. Valerius knelt beside him and ran his hand over the cleared area until he found a notch in the solid rock. His face was inches away from the Judaean’s and he could see the triumphant glint in Josephus’s eyes.
‘You seem to have a disturbing gift for finding holes in the ground that shouldn’t be there.’
Josephus’s teeth shone white in the shadowed features. ‘The Conduit of Hezekiah.’
XXXI
It took two of them to lift the solid sandstone block that proved to cover a narrow opening cut into the rock. While Serpentius and Josephus dragged it gently to one side, Valerius dipped a tentative foot into the entrance. He was rewarded by the feel of a solid stone step beneath his sandal.
‘There should be twenty-five stairs,’ Josephus whispered into his ear. ‘Go carefully. We cannot afford to light a torch until the cover is back over the entrance.’
Valerius nodded and groped his way downwards one step at a time. It had been dark outside, but there was something malevolent about this Stygian gloom with its clinging miasma of damp, stale air. With a lurch of the heart he felt his standing foot begin to slide from under him. He threw his hand out to steady himself, flinching at the cold touch of some slimy mucus that covered the walls. The pull of the void below threatened to swallow him as the others occupied the steps behind until he heard the soft scrape of the block being slid carefully back into position. Twenty-five stairs. It might as well have been a thousand for all he could tell. After what seemed half a lifetime his leading foot plunged into chill water. Thankfully it was only a foot deep and he splashed his way a few cautious paces across an uneven surface.
‘Careful!’ he warned his companions. The only answer was a soft curse and a splash as Serpentius made an uncharacteristic stumble.
The click of flint on iron was followed by the sound of someone blowing gently. Soon they saw the reluctant glow as the falling sparks were coaxed to ignite a tiny ball of dried grass laid on one of the lower stairs. Eventually a flame, and something thrust at it. The pitch-soaked torch caught with a soft whump and instantly filled the chamber with an eye-watering combination of golden light and thick black smoke.
They were in a tunnel just high enough for Valerius to stand without stooping and slightly greater than a cavalry spatha in width. It had been cut into the solid rock and in the sputtering torchlight he could see the tool marks where men had painstakingly chipped away at the stone with picks. Serpentius held the torch while Josephus stood on the first step arranging the skirts of his robe in a curious fashion. First he folded them back through his pale legs, then he took two wings and drew them in front of him where they could be tied into a bulky subligaculum-like knot.
‘It is a custom of my people,’ he answered their puzzled looks. ‘A worker does it before he enters a muddy field, or a soldier will gird his loins in this fashion to give him more freedom of movement in battle. In this case I hope it will stop my garments from becoming wet.’
When he was satisfied he dropped into the water, which flowed from an opening beneath the stairs, and studied the chipped rock. Valerius noticed that his face had gone unnaturally pale, but his voice was steady enough. ‘Hezekiah ordered this built to stop the Assyrians poisoning the city’s water supply when Sennacherib brought his mighty army to besiege Jerusalem. The waters originate from the Pool of Gihon to the north.’
‘You haven’t been here before?’
‘I have never had need,’ the Judaean said. ‘I knew of it, but I have never been in it.’
‘But you know where it goes.’ Serpentius pointed with the torch to where the tunnel disappeared into blackness.
‘I am aware where we are likely to emerge, but I do not know.’ Josephus’s tone said it made no difference either way, because they didn’t have any choice. ‘Neither do I know what lies between. But this tunnel runs into the city, and as you acknowledged yourself,’ he bowed to Valerius, ‘not even a mouse could enter by any normal route with so many cats waiting to pounce.’
‘Then let’s get on with it.’ Valerius spoke gruffly to hide his nervousness. The tunnel reminded him of the interior of a certain aqueduct in Rome with which he’d become much too familiar. ‘I don’t want to be still in here when the torch goes out.’
Josephus reached for the torch, but Serpentius brushed him aside. ‘Best I go first. If anything happens to you there’ll be no negotiation and no surrender.’ He looked to Valerius for support and the one-handed Roman nodded.
‘He’s right.’
Josephus shrugged and the Spaniard squeezed between Valerius and the wall to take the lead. Valerius followed, and with the Judaean guarding the rear they splashed their way through the glittering stream, which quickly deepened until it reached mid-thigh. The ceiling of the tunnel varied in height for no good engineering reason Valerius could think of. Sometimes it soared into a black void above their heads. Sometimes it forced them to bend their knees with their noses touching the surface of the water. Likewise it occasionally narrowed so that Josephus, the broadest of them, had to turn side on to pass. It became apparent that they were on a shallow slope, taking them deeper into the earth with every step. Serpentius occasionally turned to look back at Valerius as if to make certain he was still there. The Spaniard’s face was set in a rictus of such raw fury that his friend wondered if it masked fear. Certainly, the atmosphere was oppressive, as if the entire mass of the earth was weighing down upon them. Even Valerius thought he might run mad if they lost the light.
They’d just rounded a corner and Serpentius was three paces ahead when he gave
a sharp cry and all but disappeared. For a moment the only thing that remained of him above water was his arm, with the torch raised aloft. Valerius instinctively stepped forward to help him and it was Josephus who reached past him to save the precious torch. The Spaniard emerged spitting water with a wild look on his face. He shook his head and a lion’s mane of spray surrounded the shaven scalp.
‘It’s only a pace across and you should be able to edge round it.’ His eyes were drawn upwards to where a shaft had been driven vertical to the tunnel, which must continue beneath him. ‘By Mars’ hairy scrotum,’ he mouthed the oath like a prayer, ‘I hope this ends soon. I’d rather face a thousand Zealots or those Sicarii than stay down here.’
‘You may well get your wish,’ Josephus said solemnly, backing round the edge of the underwater pit. ‘But I admit I am beginning to share your sentiment.’ He handed the torch to the dripping Spaniard and they resumed their progress.
They’d gone another hundred paces when the Judaean called out, ‘Wait!’ Serpentius turned, a sword appearing in his hand like the flick of a serpent’s tongue, and Valerius stared into the darkness beyond Josephus, seeking out the threat. ‘Give me the torch,’ the Judaean demanded. Serpentius stretched past Valerius to hand him the flaming brand and he raised it up. This was one of the higher parts of the tunnel. In the flickering golden light they could see what appeared to be the remains of an ancient stone plaque just above head height.
Josephus reached with his free hand to remove the coating of glutinous green scum that obscured the lettering. ‘Remarkable,’ he breathed. ‘It is in Hebrew, but of a very archaic style.’ Serpentius muttered about not having time, the torch would burn out, but Josephus wouldn’t be hurried. His voice shook as he recited the words as if they were a solemn prayer.
‘“Behold the tunnel … Now this is the history of the … the breaking through. While each man was still wielding his axe, each towards his neighbour, and while three cubits yet remained to be cut, each heard the voice of the other calling to his neighbour … and on the day of the breaking through the … stonecutters struck, each man to meet his brother, axe against axe, and there flowed the water from the spring to the pool over a length of one thousand cubits.”’
Scourge of Rome Page 27
