[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome Read Free Page A

of death, Valerius had suffered permanent exile from the shores of Italia and been branded an enemy of the state.
    Of course it wouldn’t end there. There’d never been any doubt that Domitian would send his assassins in Valerius’s wake. Even with Domitia’s support he wouldn’t have escaped Rome alive without the help of his former colleague Gaius Plinius Secundus. Pliny had loaned him money and supplied him with a list of contacts that allowed him to reach Antioch. Now he was on his own, and Valerius knew his only chance of long-term survival was to reach his friend Titus, Domitian’s brother, and somehow redeem his honour. It meant finding a way to Judaea, where Titus commanded his father Vespasian’s forces.
    But Judaea was a province in revolt and a lone traveller’s chances of crossing its war-ravaged deserts and mountains alive were slim. Valerius had sought a place in a well-guarded mercantile caravan that would take him some of the way in relative safety. Thanks to the assassin he must now consider that route closed. He could return to the coast and take ship from Seleucia to Tyrus or Appolonia, but Domitian would undoubtedly have the ports watched.
    Which left him with only one option.

II
    ‘I do not wish to appear ungrateful, lord, but the pittance I accepted to be your guide and protector on the road to Emesa did not extend to travelling through the hours of darkness.’
    Valerius gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to snarl at his companion. He wondered how much longer he could stand the sing-song whine. For two hours now, or was it three, he’d been listening to a litany of complaint. The horse was too high-spirited. He’d have been much better with camels. The night was cold. The saddle was hard. The date was not auspicious. The route …
    ‘Did I mention that the coast road would be quicker, more comfortable and, now I remember, safer?’
    ‘I’ve seen enough of the sea.’ Valerius’s patience snapped. ‘I told you I wanted to experience the interior. You assured me this was the scenic route, fit for conquerors, kings and emperors. We will walk in the footsteps of Alexander, you said.’
    ‘Indeed, lord,’ the other man said patiently, ‘but it is so much more scenic, not to say less dangerous, if one travels it by the light of the sun. Who knows what djinns and sprites haunt the darkness? Foul shape-changers who lure you in woman’s lovely form before turning into monsters with hooked claws and fangs to rend your flesh asunder.’
    ‘Then you should feel quite at home here,’ Valerius responded through clenched teeth, ‘given the quality of the women in the tavern where I found you.’
    Ariston, for that was the name he went by, registered the dangerous quality in the Roman’s voice and fell quiet. Dark-skinned and coarse-featured, he claimed to be of Greek origin, and had astonished Valerius with a laughable boast that he was descended from the Seleucid ruling house. If that were the case his bloodline had been much diluted. He’d been described by the barkeep who pointed him out as ‘part Bedou wanderer, part Palmyran bandit, with a touch of Gandhara Zoroastrian fire-worshipper thrown in to make him interesting’. The result was a hooked nose any eagle would have been proud of and a pair of luminous green eyes that darted restlessly from beneath a bush of curly hair. His almost feminine, thin-lipped mouth never seemed to shut. For conversation he favoured Greek, which suited Valerius well enough, but like many of the nomadic people of the province he could make himself understood in a dozen languages. Wrapped in a shapeless, hooded cloak of patched cloth that might once have been white, he appeared the least trustworthy-looking human being Valerius had ever laid eyes on. Yet when the Roman remarked that he’d doubtless have his throat cut on the first night, the innkeeper insisted that Ariston had a reputation for delivering those with whom he set out.
    ‘Then why,’