‘What happens now?’ the cavalryman asked.
Valerius’s eyes glinted in the darkness. ‘I suppose I could arrest you and your men and when we get back to the fort I can have you roasted over an open fire …’
‘Only there are fifteen of us and one of you, and we’re all going to be dead in the morning anyway.’
‘Exactly. Or I can get us out of here and we can forget this ever happened.’
The auxiliary’s teeth shone in the darkness. ‘I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but I like the second option a lot better.’
Valerius looked out beyond the fires and tried to imagine the Dacian positions as he’d seen them from the top of the ridge. They surrounded the approaches to the hill, but the keys to this trap were two slight gaps in the trees that potentially provided an escape route for the horsemen. An organized force would have barricaded the openings, but from what he’d seen the Dacians were happy to fill them with warriors and invite the Tungrians to try their luck. What he needed was to draw the Dacian warriors away from one of those gaps.
He’d outlined his plan to Marcus before he’d set out on the treacherous climb. ‘The signal will be a burning brand waved three times from the top of the hill. Count slowly to one hundred then create the diversion.’
To Lucca he said, ‘Get your men ready, in the saddle and prepared to fight in five minutes. Assign one trooper to each of the wounded. Fabius!’
‘Sir!’
‘I want a small fire on the rear of the hill where the enemy can’t see it, and prepare a torch.’
As he waited for the flames to take hold, a young trooper approached with a saddled horse and Valerius ordered him to hold it until he was ready. He ran to the fire, picked up the torch Fabius had laid beside it and thrust it deep into the flames. The dried grass and twigs caught immediately and he carried the flaming brand to the top of the hill and arced it three times above his head in a blazing rainbow.
‘All mounted,’ Lucca called. ‘Now?’ he asked as Valerius leapt into the saddle.
Valerius shook his head. ‘Wait.’
It seemed to take an eternity, but it must have been less than two minutes.
‘There,’ one of the troopers behind him hissed.
‘Quiet. Do nothing that might alert them.’
A tree exploded into flame two hundred paces away on the far side of the Dacian ring. Marcus and Serpentius had done their job well. The blaze began in the lower branches, but quickly spread to the dry leaves in the canopy and jumped to its neighbour, which instantly added to the fiery spectacle.
‘Wait!’ Valerius ordered. The burning trees were close to the further gap and he was gambling that the diversion would draw the Dacian blockaders to it. But he had to give them time to react. He could hear the tension in his own voice. ‘Wait. Remember, follow me straight to the trees and once we’re through turn along the line of the hills. We stop for nothing or nobody. Slaughter anything that gets in your way. Now!’
The horses had been sawing at the bit for minutes and the moment their riders gave them their heads they lumbered into motion across the upper slope, picking up speed with every stride. The Tungrians plucked their long spears from the makeshift palisade as they crossed the bank and ditch, instantly bringing them to the ready. Valerius felt the ground falling away beneath him. No question of worrying about fox or rabbit holes. Just pray. The trot swiftly developed into a headlong gallop. He could hear the thunder of hooves all around him, but he focused every ounce of his concentration on finding the gap. It was out there somewhere in the darkness beyond the Dacian fires. If he had his directions wrong by even a few yards his men would ride straight into the trees where they’d be swept from the saddle and butchered. But the fires would be his guide. From the top of the hill he’d noted that the near gap lined up with a large boulder at the base of the hill and the midpoint between the second and third pyres. The pale blur of the boulder swept by on his right and he set his horse for the narrow opening between the fires. With unnerving timing the wind came up, flames and sparks shooting high in the air before they swept across the space he was aiming for. But Valerius dared not check. His life and those of the Tungrians depended on this mad dash through the fires. Like his own mount, the animal beneath him had been bred for battle and trained for war; flame, smoke and noise held no fears for her. Shouts of alarm came from his left front and in the fiery light he saw a small army of Dacians racing to cut the riders off. It would be very close but there could be no stopping now. He dug in his heels and pushed the mare to her limit, feeling her surge beneath him. All around him the Tungrians did the same. By now the space between the fires was filled by a wall of flame and it passed in an explosion of yellow and red, a blast of heat and the stink of smoke and singed horse hair. They were through and if he’d calculated correctly the gap in the trees and the relative safety of the forest should be fifty paces ahead. The Dacian warriors had lost the race and they howled in frustration as the riders galloped past. But they had bows and spears and the air swiftly filled with flying missiles. A spear hurtled across Valerius’s front a foot from his nose. He heard a sharp cry accompanied by a sickening thud as a body hit the earth at high speed, but he had no time to think of reining in. The dark line of the forest was only half a dozen strides away.
He almost shouted in relief as he realized he’d struck the treeline exactly where he’d planned. In the same instant he saw shadowy figures moving hurriedly among the trees and as he charged through into the deeper darkness his horse smashed into one, hurtling a Dacian warrior aside with the sickening crunch of broken bone and a shrill scream of pain. The impact knocked the mare off her stride, allowing the surviving cavalrymen to pass them. An agile, clawing savage with a knife between his teeth scrambled at Valerius’s legs and hauled himself half into the saddle behind him. Valerius knew he was dead the instant the warrior retrieved the knife, and using all his strength he smashed back with elbows and skull in an attempt to knock the Dacian clear, at the same time knowing that to lose control of the horse would be just as fatal. But nothing would shift his assailant. Valerius heard a cry of triumph as the man hooked an arm around his throat, and screamed in impotent fury as he anticipated the deadly sting of the knife point in his exposed back.
With a crack like a branch snapping, the grip on his neck weakened. He darted a glance back just as the Dacian tumbled clear with the shaft of an arrow buried deep in his skull. At the same time a welcome presence loomed out of the darkness and Serpentius appeared grinning at his side, the Thracian bow in his right hand, his horse matching stride with Valerius’s own.
They were clear.
XXV
‘THIS IS AN unexpected honour.’
Aulus Vitellius might have been greeting a guest at his townhouse on the Esquiline Hill instead of in the heart of a rough frontier fortress. Valerius had to remind himself that this man had just tried to have him killed. When he burst into the legate’s headquarters still dressed in a tunic stained with Dacian blood he had fully intended to kill him if it became necessary, but Vitellius met him with a disarming smile and graciously proffered a cup of wine. It was difficult to stay angry in the face of such charm.
‘I came here on the Emperor’s authority to question Publius Sulla,’ Valerius said. ‘You deliberately put him out of the way.’
Vitellius shook his head regretfully. ‘He was a good officer, but I had my doubts about the boy. It seemed safer to isolate him.’
‘And you sold us to the Dacians.’
‘Of course.’ The smile never faltered. ‘It’s not what I would have chosen, but one does what one must.’
‘Why? Five of your soldiers are dead. Festus the decurion.’
‘Auxiliaries.’ Vitellius tutted dismissively, as if the butchered men were chickens from the quartermaster’s store. ‘If they had done their job properly they would still be alive and we would not be having this inconvenient conversation.’
‘Why?’ Valerius persisted. ‘You
could have kept us in the fort for a week and sent us away without meeting Publius.’
Vitellius took a deep draught of wine, but Valerius knew the legate was only taking time to think. When the answer came it was a surprise for both its frankness and its tone. ‘I could tell you that I feared you would be persistent – they said: “Give him a challenge and he is like a hound with a bone; he won’t stop chewing until he reaches the marrow” – but that would not be entirely true. You have powerful enemies, young man, and the orders from those enemies were quite specific. They wanted you dead.’
Valerius felt cold fingers settle on his neck. ‘I am on a personal mission for the Emperor. Any man who raises a hand against me does so at his peril.’ Even as he said the words, he realized how impotent they sounded five hundred miles from Rome, at the mercy of a man who could have him killed with a single word.
The legate laughed at his innocence. ‘But which Emperor? There is the Emperor who sits upon his gilded throne, but, as I am sure you have noticed, my good friend Nero can be many Emperors. Perhaps the Emperor who sent you and the person who wished you to have an unhappy accident are one and the same? And there are those around him who wield an Emperor’s influence, and who wish, rightly or wrongly, to protect him from what the irritatingly persistent Gaius Valerius Verrens may find. Then there is the additional possibility that someone with access to the Emperor’s power is protecting not Nero, but himself.’
Valerius straightened. Was Vitellius confirming what Publius had said? ‘You must know who issued the order.’
Vitellius reached to his desk and picked up a document with a wax imprint in its bottom right corner. ‘The imperial seal, very similar to the one you carry. One does not question the instructions which accompany it. You will note that I was also instructed to have Publius Sulla killed the moment he returned to Viminacium.’ Valerius looked down at the dark liquid swirling in his cup. The legate smiled at his edginess. ‘Don’t worry, it is not poisoned. That would be a terrible waste of a remarkably good wine.’
‘But you are still under orders to kill us.’ Valerius’s voice had a hard edge to it and his hand hovered beside the dagger he had smuggled past the guards.
Vitellius gave a delighted shiver. ‘Why, you almost frighten me. Young and hard and dangerous. If I had been the type of man you are, Valerius Verrens, I would not be ruling this dusty outpost, I would be ruling the Empire.’
Valerius stared at him. Those were dangerous words. Words that could very easily get a man killed. ‘And now?’
‘And now, I am afraid, indolence is ingrained too deep. If it was offered to me upon a silver platter I would refuse it. I find work of any kind tires me and it is such a large Empire these days.’
‘I meant what now for us?’
He saw Vitellius frown, genuinely disconcerted. ‘What now? Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, has lived up to his warlike reputation and defeated two attempts on the lives of himself and his associates. It would be remiss of me to allow a third attempt. Whoever ordered this can only expect so much cooperation. With Publius Sulla’s death your mission is completed and you should return to Rome to make your report. You may leave at your leisure or you may return with me, as part of my bodyguard.’ He noticed Valerius’s confusion. ‘I too am to return to Rome, but for a rather more pleasant interview. Nero has awarded me governorship of Africa, where the opportunities for a man of talent are suitably wide-ranging.’ The smile grew broader and Valerius understood he was imagining the huge profits to be made from manipulating Africa’s vast grain exports. But his next words came as a surprise. ‘I will be allowed to appoint a military aide of my choosing. It would not be surprising if I were to select a holder of the Corona Aurea; the gold crown would add lustre to any proconsular retinue. The truth is that I value your soldierly talents, and, as a student of Seneca, your conversation. Of course, this cannot happen until the Emperor dispenses with your services, but, as I’m sure you understand, Africa, for all its rustic provinciality, might be more conducive to your long-term health than Rome. In a way, it is a pity. I have had my legion for less than a year and my enemies will say I have not served because I never fought a battle. But still …’
Valerius studied him, searching for the lie, but he suspected that even if it existed he’d be unable to detect it. If the offer wasn’t a trap, it was remarkably generous. As the governor’s military adviser, he would share his power – and his profits – and, when his term was complete, return to Rome a wealthy man. In addition, and despite his double-dealing and readiness to see him killed, Valerius found he liked Vitellius; someone to be wary of certainly, but likeable none the less. He doubted he would ever be bored.
‘I appreciate your kindness,’ he said non-committally. ‘And it would be an honour to serve as your escort, but I would be neglecting my duty if I didn’t return to Rome at the first opportunity.’
‘Well spoken!’ Vitellius rapped his fist on his desk. ‘And you will return by the quickest route, I promise you. We leave by fast galley in three days, and reach Vindobona six days later. At Vindobona, I will release you from your duties and you can ride to the Emperor immediately. In the meantime, you will be able to update me on what is happening in Rome.’
Valerius bowed his agreement. It seemed there was no escape from Vitellius’s relentless pursuit.
Marcus, Serpentius and Heracles were waiting for him outside the headquarters. He could tell from their faces that they expected the news to be bad, but they brightened when he explained the general’s plans. Marcus nodded approval. ‘Better to be rowed halfway home than to be tied to a horse for two weeks.’
‘True,’ Valerius agreed. ‘But we leave Vitellius at the first opportunity. He might be entertaining, but he’s also dangerous to know, even when he isn’t trying to kill you.’
That feeling was reinforced on the long trip upriver, a journey punctuated by the occasional shout of command, the measured swish of the oars and mesmeric rush of the waters beneath the hull. Vitellius had been a member of the Emperor’s inner circle during the early years of his reign and he had an inexhaustible supply of scandalous, and almost certainly treasonable, gossip about Nero.
‘He was a fine young man,’ the general mused one warm afternoon as the oarsmen powered them towards Aquincum on the river’s broad bend. ‘With all the usual young man’s enthusiasms: drink, Syrian strumpets and vicious amusement. It was unfortunate that he came to the throne before he was fully formed. Power changed him, as it does any man. At first, he was happy to be advised by Seneca and Burrus and he surprised us all by his grasp of the complexities of Empire, but not even Seneca could compete with Agrippina’s meddling. She whipped up a whirlwind when she tried to play the palace aides and the senators off against each other. Eventually, it consumed her.’ He shook his head at the woman’s folly. ‘In the meantime, the Emperor’s passion had moved on from chariots to the overpaid, muscle-bound youths who drive them.’
Valerius learned more than he wanted about Nero’s carnal appetites. The boys, girls and women – of course, he had heard whispers, but Vitellius’s attention to detail when he was in his cups could be stomach-churning. ‘Three Sumerian giants, two virgins and his own aunt … you have never heard such a caterwauling. The rape of Rubria, of course; the debauch of a Vestal virgin was beyond even Caligula’s excesses. We tried to keep it quiet, but at the next inspection …’
When he wasn’t captivated by the sound of his own voice, the general had a voracious appetite for tales of the British rebellion and Suetonius’s reaction; the tactics he had used and why he’d used them, the deployment of auxiliaries and cavalry. Valerius, who was no storyteller, found it increasingly hard to satisfy. In the end he had to repeat the epic of the last stand of the Colonia militia and the final hours of the Temple of Claudius five or six times.
‘By the gods, what an end to make. You may think differently now, but you will learn in time that a hand is a small price to pay for having been present. Suetonius was wr
ong, though, to take such a terrible retribution. I am not too old to learn from his dispositions, but I know that a general, or a politician for that matter, cannot be motivated by anger or hatred. He should have made an example of the woman and her chieftains, enslaved a few hundred noblemen and kept the rest happy by parcelling out the confiscated lands among them. Now, tell me again about the last battle. The slope was where …’
By the time they reached Vindobona, Valerius had fought the last battle until he was ready to jump overboard and take his chances in the river. It was a hasty farewell, delayed only by the legate’s obvious reluctance to be abandoned.
‘Do not forget my offer, Valerius,’ he reminded him, offering his hand. ‘We would do very well together, you and I, and they tell me that Africa is not such a bad place. Rich, but quiet, and the women are willing and beautiful. By the end you might well have a legion. An African legion, but still a legion. Think on it.’
Valerius said he would, reflecting that a great many people seemed to be tempting him with a legionary command. They agreed to meet in Rome before Vitellius left for his province.
As they rode out of the city he felt Serpentius studying him. ‘What is it?’
The Spaniard shrugged. ‘I was just thinking you got on very well with the general considering he tried to get us killed.’
Valerius laughed. ‘Isn’t that what every general does? You can’t fight them all.’
Serpentius grinned and they kicked their horses on, towards the great wall of white-tipped peaks to the south. To Rome, and Nero – and a stark choice.
XXVI
IT WAS STRANGE, this sensation of being one of the walking dead. He could almost feel the executioner’s breath on the back of his neck. Of course, nothing was certain in Nero’s world, but there was no denying he had failed, and in Nero’s world death would always be a potential consequence of failure.
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