used the general’s daughter to redeem yourself. I have no doubt you will try again.’ His unrelenting gaze moved to Serpentius. The wiry Spaniard tensed and Valerius willed him to keep his hand away from his sword. Mucianus’s face twisted into a glacial smile. ‘He has the look of a killer even without a blade in his hand. But the general has been warned. He will be watching you and the next time there will be no escape.’
He turned abruptly and walked off after the governor.
‘What did he mean by knowing where your loyalties lie?’ Serpentius asked, letting out a long slow breath.
‘He thinks we have been sent here by the Emperor to kill Corbulo.’
The Spaniard spat in the direction of the retreating legate. ‘I know who I’d rather kill.’
‘We have enough problems without worrying about Mucianus.’
Serpentius nodded. ‘Like who spattered blood on those sandals General Vespasian’s son gave you?’
‘When did you steal them?’
The Spaniard feigned shock. ‘Not steal, my lord. Borrow. Only until my spares are mended. Thanks for that.’
Valerius turned to him. ‘You didn’t kill him, did you?’
‘No, but whoever did it is very good.’
‘As good as you?’
Serpentius grinned. ‘I hope we’ll find out.’
Valerius looked again at the green cloth that had been in Turpio’s hand. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. If this was planted on Turpio to point us in the direction of the auxiliaries, why bother implicating you? Bluff and double bluff? It just seems too complicated.’
‘There’s a simpler explanation.’ Serpentius bent to tie the straps of his sandal. ‘Someone in the palace hears that Turpio’s been found with his throat cut and decides there’ll never be a better opportunity to get rid of us.’
‘Which means that we don’t have just one enemy to find, but two, and the chances are that they’re both about to accompany us five hundred miles into Armenia.’
XXVI
‘My cavalry commander must have a horse worthy of him.’
If beauty is the perfection of form, she was the most beautiful thing Valerius had ever seen. A groom held the reins to steady her noble head and Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, proconsul of the east and governor of Syria, stood by her shining flank. The sword that hung from the four-pommelled cavalry saddle was the ceremonial blade Valerius had pulled from Corbulo’s wall, but it had been modified for war.
With a flourish the governor drew it free and the blue-sheened blade glinted menacingly in the morning sun. ‘It has a great history and it is not right that it should spend its life as a decoration.’ Corbulo’s voice contained that unsettling mix of steel, certainty and charm that made him who he was. ‘I have had the jewels removed and the hilt bound with leather strips to improve the grip. It is a soldier’s weapon now. The balance is a little unusual. You will notice that it is weighted towards the point, but that can be an advantage when you are using a sword from horseback. Here, take it.’
Corbulo spun the weapon with a soldier’s practised hands so that the hilt was towards Valerius. The young Roman took it remembering the weight and the feel from his encounter with the snake. The sword’s energy ran through him like heat from a blazing fire. He tried two or three cuts and it was as if the blade had a life of its own. Still, he only had eyes for the horse, and when Corbulo spoke again it was with an old cavalryman’s pride and a glint in his eye.
‘I owe you my daughter’s life, tribune Gaius Valerius Verrens, not once, but many times. I hope you will accept this gift in part payment. She is an Akhal-Teke, from my own stables: the horse of kings.’
Valerius stared at the astonishing animal whose forefathers had carried Alexander the Great from Athens to the shores of the Indus; freshly groomed she was a work of art in polished bronze, her coat of fine hairs gleaming in the sunlight. He approached the horse’s head and allowed her to take in his scent through wide nostrils which flared and snorted as he stroked her silken ears with his good hand. Only when he was sure she knew him did he look into the glistening dark eyes behind curling lashes and knew she was his for ever, and he hers.
‘They are by nature a desert breed,’ Corbulo continued. ‘But she has a touch of Karabakh in her; not enough to affect her speed or her stamina, but enough to accustom her to the mountains. They are hardy stock and need little water.’
She was long and lean with an elegantly curving neck and a proud head. Her breast was narrow, shaped like a ship’s prow and made for cutting through the desert air when she was given her head to run free on the long, slim legs. ‘I will call you Khamsin, after the hot desert wind Hanno warned me about,’ Valerius thought, only he must have spoken aloud because Corbulo nodded. ‘Yes, Khamsin. A great name for a great horse.’
‘Why don’t you try her?’ The familiar soft voice was betrayed by an edge of suppressed emotion. How had he not noticed she was there? He turned and realized that Khamsin was not the most beautiful thing in the world. Today, that honour belonged to Domitia Longina Corbulo. She wore a long dress of virgin white, belted with gold, that left her shoulders bare beneath the walnut tresses that flowed left and right of her wide forehead and framed the oval of her face.
‘With your permission, lady?’ He handed over his helmet, bringing a gasp of surprise from one of the watchers.
Domitia accepted the burden and nodded imperiously. As she watched, Valerius whispered encouragingly in the horse’s ear before using his left hand to help him vault into the saddle. The groom handed him the reins, and oblivious of all but Domitia’s gaze he walked the mare slowly to the gate. Beyond the trees lining the road lay the sandy ring of the governor’s personal circus and it took all Valerius’s patience to keep Khamsin to a walk. He was not the only impatient one. He could sense the controlled power surging below his loins and imagined the great heart thundering in her chest. She had a fine, high-stepping walk as befitted a mare whose sire a hundred generations earlier may have been brother to Bucephalus. His left hand was free to control the rein, but he wrapped the leather around the walnut fist of his right and used his thighs, knees and heels to command her. When he reached the circus he kicked her gently into a trot, feeling the free-moving muscles working sweetly beneath him as she danced across the packed sands. The warm breeze kissed his face and he laughed for the joy of it. Khamsin felt it too, pricking up her ears and shaking her head from side to side.
‘Very well,’ Valerius grinned. He reached to pat her neck and nudged her into a canter. The change was immediate and effortless, a surge in pace, and now she wasn’t just moving but flowing over the ground. Too soon, they reached the far end of the arena and he shifted in the saddle. Left knee forward, right knee back, and she pirouetted like a leaf falling from a tree. Not falling, dancing. A single fluid movement that left them facing the way they had come. Khamsin must have sensed his exhilaration because she whinnied with pleasure. There was no stopping it now. He dug his heels into her flanks, but truly she needed no encouragement. She moved straight to the gallop and suddenly they were speeding arrow-straight down the length of the arena. Valerius crouched low over her shoulders and saw the ground flying past in a blur below. He had never travelled at such a speed, but he felt no fear, only the astonishing sensation of the blood bubbling in his veins and thundering in his ears. She seemed to shift beneath him to ensure that he stayed fixed in the saddle and her movement was so smooth that he might have been in a carriage. He wanted it never to end, but here were Corbulo and his staff at the entrance, watching in astonished wonder. He saw Domitia’s face flash past, her eyes wide with delight and her mouth gaping, decorum forgotten as she clutched the fair girl who had replaced Suki. A ragged cheer broke out and for the first time he used the reins to gently coax her to a halt. He slipped from the saddle and stood by the horse’s head, whispering his thanks for her efforts. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, but he could tell it was with excitement, not exertion, and she gave off the satisfied feeling of a job well done. He wished he had something to reward her for her efforts.
He turned at the sound of running feet to find Domitia approaching with his polished iron helmet in her hands. For the first time he truly saw her for what she was. A girl, not a woman. A girl on the verge of womanhood, perhaps, but one still with the ability to become lost in childish glee. After the exhilaration of the race he was overwhelmed by his own emotions and if she had come three paces further he would have swung her into his arms.
