Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] by Douglas Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

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 behindthe 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 The feral, vicious sneer that made the former gladiator appear so fearsome had been replaced by a haggard, grey mask.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 intoa shaded courtyard with a garden at its centre.