investigate where you will, with my sanction, and when you have done so you will make your report. Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo has nothing to hide and nothing to fear. Of course, while you are spying on my staff, my spies will be spying on you. You would expect nothing else, I’m sure?’
Valerius tried to hide his surprise. At best, he had expected to be banished to some remote outpost, and there had always been the possibility that he might conveniently disappear in a desert ambush. Again, there was that surprising sense of support from the silent presence behind him. Corbulo continued.
‘The one stipulation I make is that, in the meantime, you serve under my command in any way I see fit. Do not thank me. I assure you it will be arduous, difficult duty and the manner of it may not suit you. I grant that you have fought and by all accounts fought well.’ He glanced at Valerius’s wooden fist. ‘But you have no experience of campaigning in the east. You will find that having one hand is a greater handicap against the Parthians than against your Celtic queen. A man who has faced barbarian chariots and spearmen is of little use against mounted archers who sting like hornets and then fly off to fight another day. They have a habit of eating the young, inexperienced officers they capture for breakfast.’
Corbulo continued to regard him with an unblinking stare, but a soft miaow broke the silence and the governor failed to suppress a rueful smile. Clearly his notorious attitude to discipline didn’t extend to his youngest daughter — or her cat. The general picked up his stylus and rubbed it thoughtfully between his fingers. ‘Very well. Domitia, I believe the kitchen servants require your supervision.’
There was no hint of argument against the obvious dismissal, only a soft rustle of silk and the scent of perfumed oils before Valerius felt her presence beside him.
‘I am glad to see you well, tribune.’
Her voice was lower and huskier than he remembered. Valerius turned and felt the familiar flutter as he looked into eyes the colour of polished walnuts.
‘My lady,’ he bowed. ‘I thank you for your kind words and your good opinion.’
‘Oh, I think I am in a better position to judge my saviour’s character than a few wrinkled old generals,’ she said, ignoring her father’s growl of disapproval. ‘Come, Puss Puss.’ She walked out followed by the fluffy white kitten.
The general’s expression softened. ‘My daughter tells me that you saved her life… and her virtue?’
Once more, and from an entirely unexpected angle, Valerius felt the point of a dagger tickling his spine. ‘The general’s daughter is a lady of great character and fortitude and a credit to her father,’ he said carefully. ‘She withstood pirate attack, shipwreck, mutiny, thirst and fire without a single word of complaint. If anything she was strongest of us all.’
Corbulo nodded absently. ‘And you were together for how long?’
How long? A lifetime. Valerius understood that the general felt the conversation had to take place and the questions had to be asked, but the room suddenly felt more dangerous than the slippery, blood-soaked boards of the pirate galley. ‘I believe it was six days between the wreck and the morning General Vespasian’s son came to our rescue. We had run out of water and I doubt we would have been alive an hour later.’
‘She speaks very highly of you.’
‘I did my duty and nothing more.’ Valerius kept his voice steady and tried to think of anything but the night beneath the cloak. He had a moment of inspiration. ‘I would commend the name of Tiberius Claudius Crescens to the general. Tribune Crescens is a remarkably resourceful young man. He rode close to sixty miles through the desert for help.’
The general nodded again. ‘Very well, I will interview him later. In the meantime, I plan to convene a strategy conference with the officers you met below. You are aware of our situation?’
‘General Vespasian was kind enough to brief me.’
‘Good. That will save time. You will take up your position immediately. Your predecessor, Tiberius Alexander, was a good man; he will have left everything in order.’
‘He must have been popular,’ Valerius risked the rueful suggestion. ‘His comrades do not appreciate the arrival of his replacement.’
Corbulo laughed. ‘It’s not your arrival they do not appreciate, tribune, or even the fact that they think you are a spy. It is because they think you are here to kill me.’
XXII
‘General Gaius Licinius Mucianus, legate of Sixth Ferrata.’ Corbulo introduced the handsome aristocrat who had insulted Valerius on the balcony. The sneer remained in place and the long nose twitched as if it had smelled something distasteful. ‘Marcus Ulpius Traianus, Tenth Fretensis.’ Traianus was younger than his fellow commander, fine-boned and heavy-lipped with piercing blue eyes. ‘Aurelius Fulvus, commanding Third Gallica, and Gaius Pompeius Collega, Fifteenth Apollinaris.’ The two men nodded and Collega, who had not been at the earlier conference, gave Valerius an uneasy smile of welcome. Only one other man remained in the room after Corbulo’s aides had set out an enormous table with a series of overlapping maps, and the general presented him warmly as his camp prefect and quartermaster, Casperius Niger. Niger had dark hair shot with grey and the swarthy complexion and uncompromising features of a native easterner, but he was clearly one of Corbulo’s most trusted members of staff.
Tension filled the room like a fog, mixed with that peculiar suppressed excitement and anticipation Valerius remembered from the conference where the Colonia militia had received their orders for the defence against Boudicca.
Corbulo stood hunched over the table, his eyes taking in every detail of the maps. This was ground he had covered many times, but he understood the traps and pitfalls that awaited him among the treacherous river valleys and the barren mountains, the dusty plains and featureless deserts. His commanders knew the situation well enough, but General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo was Rome’s greatest general because he considered every detail and his watchword was preparation. The first few minutes were a mirror of the summary Valerius had received from Vespasian. The situation in Judaea was worsening, the rebel strength and confidence increasing with every day the Romans failed to avenge the defeats suffered by Vespasian’s predecessors.
‘General Vespasian has almost completed his preparations in Egypt and he will begin shipping his main force to Ptolemais, here on the Judaean border, north of Galilee where the largest concentration of rebel forces is believed to be, while his cavalry carries out diversionary operations in the area between Ashkelon and the Dead Sea.’ Valerius nodded. That explained Titus’s mission into the desert. Corbulo’s voice changed and Valerius caught a hint of irritation. ‘I have orders to consolidate my position in Syria, while giving as much support as can be spared to Vespasian. To this end Sixth Ferrata, Third Gallica and their associated auxiliary units will march south from their positions at Zeugma and Cyrrhus to prepare defensive positions and stockpile supplies for sixty thousand men.’
Mucianus frowned. ‘It will take all our reserves and I will have to strip every town and village between Antioch and Damascus.’
Corbulo fixed him with that steady gaze. ‘Nevertheless it must be done. I have already sent to Sergiopolis and Palmyra to have their stores of grain, oil and wine moved to Damascus. I see no reason why it should not be waiting for you when you arrive there. Any shortfall will be made up by a special requisition from Cappadocia and Egypt.’
‘If we withdraw entirely from Zeugma and Cyrrhus it will leave the main crossing of the Euphrates undefended and the road to Antioch open,’ Collega pointed out. ‘If you are wrong, the Parthians will be able to outflank our eastern defence line and Syria will be at their mercy.’
The other three legates looked at him and Valerius realized this was what they had been discussing during the afternoon.
Corbulo ushered his commanders closer around the map and motioned to Valerius to join them.
‘I have recently received word from our spies in Parthia that King Vologases has sent out a call to raise a force of seventy thousand men — heavy cavalry, slingers, spearmen and mounted archers — and is preparing to march north from his capital on the Tigris,’ he said solemnly. ‘There can be only one reason for this. He means to take advantage of the rebellion in Judaea and the fact of his brother’s absence from Armenia to retake control of that country. I cannot allow that.’
