‘Winter,’ said my commanding officer, ‘is too fucking close. We shouldn’t be marching anywhere now. We should be training these lazy bastards until they have forgotten their own names and their mothers’ names and the name of the girl they fucked last night if they ever knew it at all and remember nothing but their place in the formation and how badly they want to kill the man opposite them. We should be blocking the passes into Italy and securing the navies. We should be
…’ He cupped his hands to his face in despair. ‘We should have left by now and we’re not ready. Most obviously, we don’t have Valens and Valens is supposed to be leading half of this fucking army. Find him. Bring him here. Remind him of his duties, however pleasant you have to be. You can be pleasant, I’m sure.’
Caecina wasn’t Lucius, he didn’t freeze a man’s blood in his veins with one look, but he wasn’t a happy sight when he was angry and he was beyond angry now. With the thought of that as my spur, I set off for the big double gate that let out on to the Quirinal and from there to the Capitol.
That day, the gateway was far more crowded than it had been, but that was to be expected; the half of Rome that wasn’t lining the streets to cheer the legions’ departure was here trying to make some last-minute sales to men with too much silver in their pouches and little hope of spending it on anything approaching luxury in the days ahead.
At the gates, I had to shoulder my way past boys selling luck charms (Long life and good health to you!) and women selling finches in small cages (Bright songs for bright spirits! Joy on your march and good health to you!), and I was contemplating what kind of chaos it would cause if I set about the citizens with my staff when Juvens appeared at my shoulder.
‘Going somewhere interesting?’
Until recently, Juvens had been despondent. Failing to find Trabo had buffed the shine off his reputation and he’d been sullen and sour for over a month. But since discovering that his nemesis was the bear-man he’d never looked more cheerfuclass="underline" however fearsome your quarry, hunting a living thing was preferable to hunting a shadow. I should know; I was still hunting Pantera.
The men at the Inn of the Crossed Spears were Juvens’, and they had clear orders to follow their man but not spook him. Still, I would have been with them, were it my target and my men.
‘Why are you not at Scopius’ inn?’
‘Because Trabo knows what I look like and we’d lose him for ever if he saw me.’ Juvens’ smile was irritatingly indulgent. ‘You’re looking cross. Did I see the blessed Caecina venting his wrath on you?’
‘No, you saw him vent it on Icelus. I merely caught the backlash.’
‘Which is why you are veritably running across the city.’
‘I’m not running.’
‘Of course not, just walking at a speed that would put a bolting horse to shame. May I trot alongside?’ Juvens was panting. I slowed my pace and found the veins were pulsing in my neck.
I shoved past a tall Mauretanian curse-vendor (Honoured lords! Lay low your foes, whosoever they may be!) and wondered if I could buy one of his tabs for Caecina, and what it might cost to pay for his silence afterwards. I was safely past before the thought had taken root.
‘Are we going to collect Valens?’ Juvens asked, at my shoulder.
‘I am going to find General Valens, yes. You, meanwhile, are waiting for a report from your men and are instantly ready to act on it. If not, you’d better have a good excuse.’ Turning, I found I could walk backwards almost as fast as I could forwards. ‘Unless you’ve been ordered to follow me?’
I didn’t want to think that likely, but it wasn’t impossible. Lucius was ten times more frightening than Caecina and Lucius delighted in turning a man’s family against him; or if not his family, then his closest friends. Squeezing through the crowds, I studied Juvens, searching his open, playboy face for signs of subterfuge.
Ten paces on, I gave up; I wouldn’t have known what to look for anyway and I wasn’t going to treat my closest friend as an enemy. If I did that, Lucius would have won, and while I might have given my oath to the emperor, and had every intention of holding to it until death, I had given nothing at all beyond necessary obedience to the emperor’s brother, nor did I ever intend to give more.
Quite what we thought would happen when Lucius ascended the throne — because he was obviously aiming for that and part of the reason Caecina was so unwilling to leave Rome was that it meant leaving Lucius behind with his brother — was anyone’s guess and too far away to contemplate. Thus did I keep myself sane.
With Juvens easy at my shoulder, I came to the Aventine, strewn with big houses with gilt-tiled roofs and fountains that had flowed with wine instead of water on the occasion of the emperor’s birthday.
Here was the real wealth, the vast, overstated, too-much-money-and-no-sense wealth that buys fripperies because they are today’s fashion; British slaves this month, Thessalian next; pate of larks’ tongues today, caviar tomorrow; wine yesterday, a different wine today, a different one again tomorrow. Always wine. And gold; there was so much gold here, a man could have died blinded by its shine. Valens lived on the crest of the hill, with a view north in the direction his legions were due shortly to march.
The front door to his house was locked and barred as if he had already left and sent the slaves away, but a door at the side gave on to a walled garden aburst with colour and scent; many dozens of fruit trees bowed under the bounty of their harvest, while late-flowering roses climbed the walls, assaulting the air with their perfume. A small river flowed cheerily down the slope, though I would have bet it was not natural, and that Valens was not paying his due to the water commissioners for diverting their aqueduct to this small patch of glory.
This was my first impression, taken in a single sweeping glance, which ended at the gardener’s hut. There, a group of slaves was huddled round a prone figure, headed by Hermonius, physician to the wealthy, and, in my opinion, one of the most morbidly dangerous men in Rome.
‘Valens?’
I was running now, if not fast enough to put a bolting horse to shame, then at least fast enough to leave Juvens behind. At the hut, I skidded to a stop: it was Valens, prone, perhaps breathing, with a splattering of vomit near his head and clumps of foul, bloody diarrhoea clotted about his buttocks and the ground around.
The stench was enough to throw a man back. I gagged, covered my mouth with my hand, and knelt, feeling for a pulse. The slaves had backed away; they had no authority and could exert none. I grabbed the closest, a youth of perhaps eighteen. ‘Run to the Quirinal hill. Find Scopius who tends the Inn of the Crossed Spears. Tell him we need his wife, to tend your master who has both vomiting and loose bowels. If you can’t find him, ask the silver-boys. Tell them there’s gold in it and no harm to their master. Don’t gawp at me, child; I was born here, I know how the streets run. Go! ’
He ran. I turned back in time to grab Hermonius, the physician, and bodily prevent him from taking a lancet to the general’s veins. ‘You can leave. We don’t need you.’
‘You, sir, have no authority, while I- Ah! ’
I had drawn my blade and slammed the flat of it back-handed across the physician’s chest, sending the man flying into a pile of mule manure.
I stood over him, with the point at his face. ‘My blade is all the authority I need. You will leave. I will send for you should we have need of your particular lack of skill.’
I watched the physician scuttle away, and then rolled my general gently on to his back, sent for sponges and water and waited for the slave to reach Scopius and Gudrun, praying all the while that at least one of them would come.
Chapter 31
Rome, the ides of September AD 69