inspection many showed the filled cracks and wall repairs that were clear signs of earthquake damage, although not from a recent event. The river was always to their left, and when they turned off the main road towards it they were welcomed by a paradise on earth. Even the normally undemonstrative Tiberius gaped when he saw it. The governor’s palace proved to be a place of cool waters and shaded cypress and laurel groves, where waterfalls tumbled from the surrounding hills to create sparkling pools filled with small darting fish and purple herons stood frozen among the reedbeds. Further upstream the enormously rich Syrian merchants of Antioch had built villas in the Roman style, but nothing could match the magnificence of governor Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo’s official residence. Two storeys high with a roof of red tile, pale cream bricks and milk white marble, it dominated everything around it, stretching for close to a quarter of a mile along the bank of the Orontes.
Led by their escort, an exotic mix of Syrian mounted archers in pot-shaped helmets and green cloaks and bearded Scythian spearmen in fish-scale armour, they crossed the river by a stone bridge and turned upstream along an avenue of cypress trees. In the shade of the branches, still as statues, the soldiers of a full cohort stood at rest. The design on their curve-edged scuta was unfamiliar to Valerius. At the top of the shield, against a red background, a proud bull in silhouette dared any comer to challenge him, while below the metal boss a galley in full sail cut its way across the painted ash. On either side of the boss he was a little unnerved to see a pair of dolphins.
‘The Tenth Fretensis,’ Tiberius said in a low voice. ‘General Corbulo’s elite. They provide his personal bodyguard.’
There had been times in the last two weeks when Valerius believed he would never reach this point, and others when he had prayed he wouldn’t. All he could think of was Vespasian’s warning. If I know, General Corbulo also knows. He had revealed the true purpose of their mission to Serpentius during the voyage from Alexandria and the Spaniard had accepted the information with a bitter laugh. Now he surveyed their surroundings with the wariness of a stalking panther. They passed through a pillared gateway to be met by an honour guard and Serpentius draped Valerius’s senior tribune’s white cloak — a gift from Titus — over his shoulders. As they approached the palace, his heart stopped when he noticed the coach that had carried Domitia and her servant from Seleucia. That was the thing about guilt: it didn’t matter where you went, it would always be waiting for you.
He checked in his sword at the door and an aide ushered him through a maze of corridors to a large receiving room with a colonnaded balcony overlooking the river. Vine stems writhed like snakes up the pillars and entwined to form a ceiling of emerald green through which the sun sparkled like so many polished jewels. It was early evening, but this was midsummer in the Orient and even in the depths of the Orontes gorge the force of the day’s heat still lingered in the stones and the grass. Six men waited for him there, six men who surveyed him with looks that ranged from naked animosity to open contempt and in at least one case pure hatred. From their uniforms and insignia he guessed they were Corbulo’s senior commanders, at least three of them legionary legates. There was no greeting, only the merest acknowledgement of his existence.
Valerius felt hot blood rise inside him, but he kept his expression blank. So that was the way it was to be. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens, reporting for duty to General Corbulo. I was told he would be here.’
‘Since you have not lost your eyes as well as your arm, tribune, it should be clear to you that he has been detained elsewhere.’ The insult was deliberate and accompanied by a humourless smile. It came from the oldest of the six, a handsome, narrow-faced patrician with cropped grey hair. ‘You are interrupting an important conference. Surely your time would be better spent making yourself look like an officer for your interview and not some grubby recruit returning from his first patrol?’
Valerius bit back the retort that came to his tongue. The man’s age and the scarlet band at his waist marked him as a legionary commander, even if it hadn’t been already evident in the arrogant dismissal of a mere equestrian. He studied the grim faces and cursed Paulinus for his poor security. Then it came to him. Paulinus had made sure word of his mission preceded him. The consul knew that even with Olivia as a hostage, Valerius might be tempted to ignore his orders. Now he had little choice, because he was a pariah whether he carried them out or not. Yet something was not quite right with that theory. What… The legate’s sneer cut across his thoughts. ‘Perhaps you left your tongue where you left your hand? A gentleman would apologize and leave.’
‘Enough.’ The word snapped through the air like a cracking whip. Valerius’s tormentor stiffened before acknowledging the order with the slightest nod of the head.
The figure who filled the doorway was tall, with a slim muscular build that belied his age and grey, challenging eyes that dared you to disagree with him. Deep lines scored his face and he had a long hooked nose that reminded Valerius of one of the desert eagles the nomad tribes of the east used to hunt foxes and jackals. He wore a long tunic of raw silk secured by a belt of gold links that gave him the appearance of an eastern potentate. Many generals Valerius had served under were more administrators than soldiers — Aulus Vitellius had been one — but Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo was a truly great commander because he could fight as well as he led. Valerius had heard the stories. If Corbulo negotiated, it was from a position of strength with a legion at his back. If he retreated, it was only to find a better way to attack. He was no longer young, but he knew how to wage war and he knew how to win. This was a hard man, body and mind forged in combat into a weapon as potent as the swords his legionaries carried. His enemies feared him, his officers respected him and his soldiers loved him as they would a strict father — or a stern unforgiving god.
‘So, you are my new second in command?’
Valerius rapped the wooden fist against his leather breastplate. The unblinking eyes never left his face and the younger man swore he could sense the quiver of trapped energy and an air of deadly intent bordering on menace. Corbulo’s scrutiny continued for more than a minute while the sweat ran down Valerius’s back in a warm stream.
Eventually, the ordeal ended. Or perhaps it was only beginning. ‘Come with me,’ the governor said curtly.
He led the way through the palace to another, smaller room on the floor above and sat down behind a large desk with scrolls stacked neatly to one side and a stylus and a pile of wax tablets in front of him. A legionary of his personal guard stood on either side of the entrance and Valerius took his place in front of the desk. He caught the sweet scent of perfumed water and noticed a dark-haired figure reclining on a couch on the far side of the room playing with a small ball of fur.
‘Your orders?’
Valerius reached inside the pouch at his waist and handed over the scroll.
‘Ambiguous,’ the general said after he’d studied the contents.
‘Sir?’
‘Your orders are ambiguous. You are to be my second in command, but I am to use you in any way I see fit in the service of the Empire. In effect, I could make you part of the foundations of the new basilica I am having built and no one could question it. Do you agree?’
It was a dangerous question, to which there seemed no safe answer, but it demanded one. Valerius decided that attack was his best policy. ‘I do not, but judging by the welcome I received a few moments ago some of your senior officers do.’
A sniff from the corner seemed to signify that Domitia held a different opinion. Valerius felt the dark eyes on him and wondered why she was here. Had her father arranged it to keep him off balance and increase his humiliation? Or was he simply indulging his daughter? The latter seemed unlikely, and perhaps it was neither, but Valerius still felt he was caught in a trap.
Corbulo glared in the direction of his daughter. ‘They seek to protect me. Would you have them do otherwise? They look at Gaius Valerius Verrens and see a traitor in their midst.’
So it was out. Corbulo was aware of his mission and didn’t care if he knew it. In some ways that made it simpler. ‘I am no traitor. I was asked to prepare a report, nothing more.’
‘A spy then?’
The hackles rose on Valerius’s neck, but Corbulo raised a hand before he could reply.
‘From my daughter, and from certain other sources, I have been given some notion of the manner of man I am dealing with. Unless I am mistaken, or misinformed, he is a man of honour. The fact that you have undoubtedly been proved in battle is of little significance. I have known brave men of little judgement and some of no judgement at all. On the other hand, when faced with pirates, shipwreck and mutiny, you conducted yourself with intelligence and imagination. I sense that you are not a man to be swayed by either blandishment or threat, and that is what has brought me to my decision.’ The grey eyes brightened. Was there a mocking challenge in them? ‘You will
