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

Valerius had asked, ‘if he is such a paragon, isn’t he a guide for the merchant caravans out of Palmyra where the real money is made?’
    The man had shaken his head in mock sorrow. ‘That would be because the traders wouldn’t let him within a hundred paces of their daughters.’ He grinned. ‘He may not look it, but our Ariston is a terrible one for the ladies.’
    The Syrian had accepted the commission readily enough, but his protests started when Valerius insisted on setting out before daylight. Ariston boasted of being from a long line of fearless warriors whom no bandit would dare attack, but it seemed his fearlessness didn’t extend to the dark. ‘Only a fool or a fugitive creeps about after the sun has gone down,’ he muttered peevishly. ‘We should wait.’
    But the dawn risked exposing Valerius to the eyes of his enemies and after further negotiation he persuaded Ariston into motion. They left the city by the Beroea Gate – two men and three horses, the pack horse heavily laden, helped on their way by a modest bribe to the gate guard. Ariston led Valerius along the eastern road, with the Orontes always to their left. It was his plan to follow the river to the next major stopping place, which meant a day’s march east before turning south. With the gods’ will it would take them another eight days to reach Emesa.
    Flat slabs of local stone provided the road with a good surface and even in the dark they made good time. Dawn saw them skirting the foothills of the mountain range that hung like a wall over Antioch. The morning mist cleared quickly and they broke their fast in the shelter of an olive grove beneath a sky of pristine, eggshell blue while their horses drank from the foaming waters of the river. On the opposite bank, the valley was carpeted with fields already worked by slaves ploughing and planting the fertile dark earth. It was a tranquil pastoral scene, evidence of a land settled and at peace, and Valerius said so as they prepared to mount up.
    His words drew a high-pitched laugh from his companion. ‘Ayah, peace provided at a price by your legions for the Greeks who own this land and these slaves and those vineyards on the hills yonder. All paid for by the taxes of people who have never seen a legionary, nor asked for or needed his protection.’
    Valerius favoured him with an indulgent smile. It was the argument of the barbarian from one end of the Empire to the other. They were simple people who couldn’t understand that, just because the benefits provided by their taxes weren’t visible, it didn’t mean they didn’t exist. ‘But you have fine roads that can be travelled in all weathers,’ he pointed out as he pulled himself into the saddle. ‘Bridges that never wash away and wells that never dry up.’
    Ariston shrugged dismissively. ‘Does it matter if a man reaches his destination in a day, or a week? The destination will still be there when he arrives. Or he gets his feet wet crossing a stream that will, in any case, cleanse them or cool them on a hot day? A well is very fine, but only a fool does not know how to find water.’ He looked towards the distant mountains. ‘This river was once named for Typhon, the dragon who was its creator. It is said the gods sought him out with their lightning bolts and in his agony he tore up the earth and created this valley, before fleeing underground where he unleashed the waters. Now it is the Orontes. Who knows what it will be next?’
    ‘Whether I reach my destination in a week or a month your mindless chatter isn’t taking us any closer.’ Valerius kicked his horse into motion, but Ariston’s words still rang in his head. What the Syrian said was true. Nothing was permanent but the earth and the mountains and the sea. Everything else had its time, even empires.
    Ariston turned moody and sullen after the rebuke and they barely exchanged another two words before they halted in the late afternoon. The Syrian wanted to use the daylight