the Parthians out of Armenia, not once, but twice. Vologases sued for peace and agreed that Tiridates should rule as Rome’s subject, but now, with Tiridates in Rome and Judaea alight, he sees yet another opportunity.’
He paused and took another drink from his cup, and the grey eyes scoured Valerius’s. ‘You understand that I am taking you into my confidence, tribune? I do it for a purpose. It is my instinct that Gaius Valerius Verrens serves Rome and my certainty that Rome’s best interests are served by stability in her eastern commands. Let me be frank. What I will say next I do not say in criticism of a fellow general, but as one officer giving another proper notice of what awaits him at his next posting. General Corbulo has been in the east for twelve years. Long enough to form friendships and alliances which may be of benefit to the region, but might be misconstrued elsewhere. Am I making myself plain?’
Valerius kept his face expressionless. The legate seemed to be confirming everything that Suetonius Paulinus had implied, but Vespasian’s next words surprised him.
‘Yet for all this Caesar has no more loyal general than Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo. You will form your own opinions when you reach Antioch, but I ask you to bear this simple fact in mind in all your dealings with the general.’ He paused and stared out to the ships waiting beyond the breakwater, choosing his next words with particular care. ‘Of course, if your own inquiries should conclude otherwise, you must act as you see fit. Nevertheless, you have a unique opportunity to influence the outcome of your own investigation, and for the good of the Empire. I see you doubt me. Let me explain. One of the most important functions of a good officer is to say what needs to be said, whatever the consequences and even if his commander does not want to hear it. It will not make him a popular officer, but it will make him a valued one. General Corbulo’s staff have been with him for a long time, perhaps too long, and I fear they have forgotten this lesson. His inclination will be to attack Vologases, and his inclination may well be militarily correct, but it will not be right. It would be seen in certain quarters as impertinent. A sign of independence at a time when independence has deeper meaning. A good officer,’ the grey eyes burrowed deep into Valerius’s skull, ‘would be doing his commander a service if he pointed out this simple fact.’
Valerius’s first thought was that he was being drawn into a trap. If Nero had personally ordered the inquiry into the workings of Corbulo’s headquarters, as Paulinus had insinuated, every word he had just heard and every suggestion implied was an act of treason and an invitation to bow his head before the executioner’s sword. He had known the moment of decision must come. Well, this was it. A sensible man would stand up and point out that he had no choice in the matter, that he was the Emperor’s agent and would do his duty. Yet he hesitated. A small voice in his head told him there were undercurrents here he could not see and did not understand. Titus Flavius Vespasian was the direct appointee of the Emperor. A trusted adviser with intimate knowledge of Nero’s court. Where was the profit in entrapping a lowly tribune on his way to do the Emperor’s bidding? A conspirator — and Valerius had ample experience of conspirators — would never have been so direct; there would have been subtle hints and cryptic asides, certainly an offer of advancement or reward and perhaps even the threat of extreme consequences if that offer was not accepted. Vespasian had spoken with the eloquence and passion of a man who believed everything he said, and with each unguarded word he heightened the odds of condemning himself. The message behind the words was that if Corbulo invaded Armenia without the Emperor’s direct order he would be exceeding the authority granted by Nero, and in the present political climate that course of action was likely to have serious consequences which would, in turn, weaken the eastern armies. Yet, if that were the case, why had Vespasian himself not already taken steps to stop Corbulo?
The general read Valerius’s look as if he could see into his mind.
‘I have known Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo for many years, as a colleague in the Senate, as a military commander, sometimes as a friend and sometimes as a rival. Our careers have had certain parallels. We shared our first legionary commands on the Rhenus frontier and he was of great help to me when I was preparing the Second Augusta for the invasion. Later I was able to help him in certain difficulties he had with Divine Claudius. Circumstances dictated that while his military career flourished, I was never able to repeat the successes of Britain. These are troubled times for the Empire.’ Vespasian’s voice took on a doleful tone and Valerius knew he wasn’t talking only of the Judaean revolt, the unrest in Germania and the whispers from Gaul. Nero’s revenge on the Pisonian conspirators had torn the heart out of the Senate and this man would have lost friends, and even though close to the Emperor would undoubtedly have come under suspicion himself. ‘If I offered this… advice… as a friend, it might be dismissed as a provocation. If I offered it as a fellow officer it would be interpreted as an insult. His successes and the — let us not be coy about it — reverence in which he is held by those he leads make him a difficult man to persuade. No, he might listen to a member of his staff, if that man were courageous enough to speak out, but I doubt anyone else could divert him from his path.’
No signal had been given, but the light clink of armour told Valerius that Titus had returned. Vespasian took another draught from his cup and stared at the map. Titus went to stand by his side. Valerius knew he was being dismissed. He also knew when he was outmatched.
‘In that case it would be better if I left as soon as possible,’ he said.
Vespasian nodded absently. ‘There is one more thing.’ He approached so close that even his son couldn’t hear what he whispered. ‘Tell General Corbulo that, whatever he decides, I will support him.’
Valerius didn’t know what to make of this cryptic message, but he nodded. Titus affected not to notice the exchange and accompanied him to the door. ‘A courier will be leaving for Antioch by fast galley in two days, escorting the general’s daughter, and you will be welcome to join him. In the meantime, I will see that all the equipment you lost in the shipwreck is replaced.’
Valerius thanked him. ‘But perhaps the lady Domitia would like to take a few days more to recover and travel in a little more comfort?’ he suggested tentatively.
‘No.’ Titus smiled. ‘She is eager to be reunited with her father. Her passage has already been agreed.’ Valerius returned the smile, but his heart sank at the thought of sharing a cramped ship with Domitia for another three days. Titus’s expression changed and his handsome face turned serious. ‘You may be surprised by what you find in Antioch. Sometimes men who serve for long periods in the east can become set in their ways. Be very careful, my friend, and do not expect a warm welcome.’
Only later did he realize that there had been a moment of decision — a hesitation — during his interview with Vespasian, and that if the decision had gone against him he would never have left Alexandria alive.
XX
Rome
Everything was on fire. Everywhere he looked the flames crackled and roared and consumed: apartments of wood and wattle, warehouses filled with oil and wool and timber, even the great marble temples which had seemed so solid and safe and invulnerable had burned. And flesh. So much flesh. The smell of roasting meat filled his nostrils in the same way the screams of the doomed filled his ears. He tried to shut it out, but it was as if the screams were inside his head. He saw a gap and ran for it, but before he could reach safety a wall of fire blocked the street. He could feel himself burning.
‘Mother! Make it stop.’
But Mother couldn’t stop the flames even if she had wanted to. Because Mother was dead. At his hand. Or if not at his hand, by his will; like so many. They came to him now, all those he had called friend and lover and, yes, even brother. One by one they pierced him with their accusing eyes and he did not know which was greater, the pain of their contempt or the agony of the fire that was melting his flesh from his bones like wax dripping from a candle. He remembered a pillar of writhing flame, a blackened skull with burning eyes, and a name: Cornelius Sulla. So this is what it had been like.
He opened his mouth to scream and flames filled his mouth and his nose and he felt them flash down his throat, incinerating his lungs and exploding his heart. He raised his arms to the heavens in a last despairing gesture and before his eyes shrivelled in his head he looked out over the Rome he had created, the sea of fire that was his gift to his people, and saw a fiery orb arc across the sky, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. A falling star? No. A fallen god.
‘Tigellinus!’
He shot bolt upright with the sweat dripping from his face as if he’d just emerged from the baths. ‘Tigellinus!’
