Alexander. Auxiliary units arriving with the rearguard of Corbulo’s force stared unhappily as their cavalry deserted them. There were a few shouts of derision, but Valerius and his men ignored them. The squeak of wheels alerted him to the arrival of a line of heavily laden carts. He remembered his puzzlement when he had noticed them in the baggage train at Zeugma. Now he saw again the massed ranks of Parthian warriors packed into the valley and thought he understood. So that was what the old fox intended?
With a last look back to where Corbulo awaited the first Parthian attack, he urged Khamsin forward.
To whatever fate would bring.
At first the going was easy on the dry flatlands north of the mountains. Valerius was able to deploy his regiments three abreast across the plain and minimize the dust cloud by keeping them to a walk. Only when they were well away from the valley did he have his signaller sound the trot. At first, the entire force was contained within a square mile of grassland, but, gradually, the country became more broken and the troopers were forced back into column. Even riding eight abreast Valerius was dismayed to realize his force stretched back almost five miles. Petronius, the engineer who had accompanied Corbulo’s expeditions, rode at Valerius’s side, occasionally consulting one of his scrolls and studying his surroundings with fierce concentration.
‘This is it,’ he said when they reached a path leading up a valley identical to a dozen others they had passed.
Valerius thought he sensed doubt. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Certain.’
‘How many times have you been this way?’
‘Once. Eight years ago.’
‘Once?’
Petronius nodded. ‘Once.’ He saw the look in Valerius’s eye. ‘But I’m certain.’
The ground rose gradually and the path became less distinct. To their front lay what appeared to be an impenetrable mountain range, but for now Valerius kept his concerns to himself. He and Petronius rode ahead of the column until they reached a small plateau. When Valerius looked back he felt his spirits quail. By now it was almost dusk. In the golden haze the dust raised by the line of cavalrymen stretched far into the distance, snaking along a track that was now only wide enough to accommodate two horses at a time. The men at the tail would still be far out on the plain. It was impossible.
‘Can it be done?’ He cursed the fear in his own voice. Not fear for his life, but fear that he would fail.
‘I believe so,’ the engineer said. ‘With the gods’ aid.’
Valerius heard the unspoken ‘and if the commander can hold his nerve’.
‘Then it will be done.’ The words emerged as a snarl and Petronius flinched at the violence in them.
It was the numbers, Valerius thought. The numbers made it impossible. Perhaps if he sent half of his regiments back it could be done. But that would leave him with too few men to achieve what Corbulo demanded.
‘Is there any reason why Vologases shouldn’t do what we are doing?’
Petronius hesitated before answering. ‘No, but… it is unlikely. He already has the alternative of continuing along the Tigris to outflank us in the west. It would cost him a week and General Corbulo has placed a token force there to block him, but it could be done.’
Valerius looked at the sky as the first riders began to pass him. ‘It will be dark in an hour.’ The engineer nodded. ‘Order them to dismount and wrap their horses’ hooves to deaden any sound.’
He was still on the plateau when Hanno rode up twenty minutes later. The Syrian’s exhausted eyes mirrored Valerius’s thoughts. ‘It is impossible,’ he said quietly.
Yes, it was impossible, but it had to be done.
Because if Valerius failed, Corbulo’s army was doomed.
XXXVIII
Rome
They came for Annius Vinicianus in the ghost hour before dawn, when the spirit is at its lowest and the mind dulled. He had been proud of the way he’d held out against their repeated questioning and threats. There had been no violence so far, and though he was a Roman citizen who would soon take his seat in the Senate, that had surprised him. He was no fool; he knew of the horrors Nero had visited on his enemies. That he had been treated so gently he put down to the fact that he had commanded a legion before he was thirty, and, more so, to being the son-in-law of the illustrious Corbulo.
How he wished he had listened to his father-in-law. Who could have predicted a little drunken tittle-tattle among old friends would lead to a damp cell and an uncertain future?
Without warning the door smashed back and he huddled against the wall as six jailers burst in wielding clubs and screaming at him to get to his feet. Helpless and bewildered, he was dragged bodily through a series of tunnels, but his legs told him that he was descending with every step. The deeper they went, the darker his thoughts; he had imagined this moment, had steeled himself for it. In his imagination he had conducted himself with dignity. Now, he felt only a hopeless terror that manifested itself in a weakness in his bladder and a head bursting with panic. His nostrils filled with the thick stink of decay and putrefaction until it blocked his throat like something solid. Far above him the palaces were filled with light and perfume; down here the slime and filth of ages coated the walls, glinting green in the eerie glow of the torchlight. Somewhere ahead a man screamed, a shriek of mortal agony that froze his blood and anchored his feet to the ground. It was as if a signal had been given. His guards turned on him and he went down screaming under a hail of punches and kicks. A blow from a nailed sandal dazed him and he felt himself picked up and carried until they reached some kind of wooden door that creaked when they opened it. Inside, stairs descended ever more steeply into the hill, like the passage to the Underworld. His stunned mind registered the rattle of chains and he felt his tunic being ripped away. When he opened his eyes he was fettered to a wall by the arms in a wide room lit only by the low red glow of a brazier. In front of the brazier a table was arrayed with a butcher’s selection of blades, hooks and irons that turned his bowels to liquid.
The guards left him without a word and his mind fought the horror of what was to come.
It was a few moments before he noticed the eyes. They glowed an unearthly red, like the eyes of a rat reflected in the light of a street torch, and they belonged to someone, some… thing hiding in the darkness on the far side of the brazier. As he watched, the eyes came closer and he saw that they belonged to a hairless, flesh-covered skeleton that rattled something across the bars that held it captive. The creature stared at him with the intensity of an executioner and for the first time Annius Vinicianus knew the true meaning of fear. Without taking its eyes from him, the filth-covered beast began to rub the human thigh bone it held on the stone floor of its cage, sharpening the end to a fine point. Annius felt each unhurried scrape of the bone like a nail across the inside of his skull.
‘You have met our Egyptian, I see.’
He flinched at the unexpected voice from the doorway. Offonius Tigellinus, a short sword naked in his hand, walked unhurriedly into the centre of the room and took his place by the hot coals. Annius sensed someone else in the stair, but the Praetorian prefect waved a languid hand and they were left alone with the baleful creature in the cage. Tigellinus allowed the silence to stretch until the thin membrane inside the younger man’s head that is the dividing line between insanity and madness was near breaking point.
‘They caught him in Alexandria,’ the Praetorian said presently. ‘Some sort of merchant. Children and young girls had been disappearing and they eventually traced them to his door. It must have been quite distressing. All that meat hanging on hooks, dried and salted as if it was in some butcher’s storehouse. He had a special liking for fresh liver, I believe. Astonishing that they didn’t kill him there and then. The Emperor was visiting Egypt at the time and decided to keep him as a pet. And an entertainment.’
Annius’s eyes were locked on the red craters that held him as a snake holds a mouse. He choked back the bile that filled his throat at the thought of the horrors that had occurred inside these walls, the screams of the victims unheard beneath thousands of tons of rock and marble.
‘I am innocent of any crime.’ He despised himself for the fear that was so apparent in his voice.
Tigellinus shook his head sadly, not because it was not true, but because the young man chained before him could be so naive. ‘Everyone who comes here is innocent at first.’ As he spoke, he stepped closer and his voice
