Sword of Rome Read Free Page A

nowhere to run. Patrols like ours are sweeping every district between Arausio and the river. Every pass to the east is guarded. I doubt you will want to go north. To the south, the sea. We could talk about your mission, which intrigues me. Late of Corbulo’s Tenth, but I would guess more recently with the traitor and coward Galba.’ He waited for a reaction, but when none came he ran his eyes over Otho, taking in the expensive horse, the fine clothes and the well-fed features. ‘Why would the pretender send a patrol so far into the territory of his enemies? A patrol with, let me guess, a
praetor
… no, not a
praetor
; these clothes belong to man of great means. A senator then, or of senatorial rank …?’
    Otho’s horse sensed his unease and moved beneath him. Valerius decided the conversation had gone on long enough. ‘Surrendering to your tender mercies does not appeal,’ he said casually. ‘I have a better proposition. Since we both know you are lying about the patrols – we saw no sign of them yesterday – I suggest you allow us to withdraw to the river. If we are unmolested I will leave my prisoners and the wounded on this side of the ford.’
    ‘And if I refuse?’
    ‘I will personally kill them, one by one, and take their heads.’ The words were said carelessly, but he kept his eyes as cold as the other man’s. ‘You must make your decision now. If you agree, you may recover your dead.’
    Claudius Victor stared at him for a long time. Valerius had a feeling the Batavian wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands, but even as he watched the eyes lost their menace. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I do not wish to appear any more careless than I do already. I accept.’ As he spoke, he moved his horse closer and Valerius’s hand strayed towards his sword. But the Batavian was only studying every detail of his face, taking in the lines, the scar that disfigured him from brow to lip, and the fathomless dark eyes that gave a hint to the qualities of the inner man: strength, determination and lethal intent. When he was satisfied, Victor looked down at Valerius’s carved wooden hand as if he had only just noticed it. ‘Not something to be easily forgotten,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘I will remember you, cripple; killer of my brother. We are a patient people, and when we meet again, as we will, I will take great pleasure in killing you in the old way.’ He nodded and turned away, and Valerius and Otho rode back to the Vascones.
    ‘How do you know the slippery bastard won’t come after us anyway?’ Otho asked. ‘He didn’t look like the kind who would care too much about a few prisoners, especially if you killed his brother.’
    ‘No,’ Valerius didn’t look back. ‘But he’s lost a lot of men and I doubt his troopers would thank him for losing any more, especially if we keep their heads. The head is the repository of a Batavian’s soul. That’s why they keep skulls as trophies: to deprive their enemy of his. They’re a hard people, the Batavians; good soldiers, but quick to anger. If Victor sacrifices his men, the next head they take might be his.’
    ‘What did he mean by killing you in the old way?’
    Valerius turned in the saddle and looked back to where his enemy watched implacably from the far side of the field.
    ‘It’s not encouraged these days, but the Batavians liked to burn their prisoners alive. Slowly.’

II
    ‘We don’t have any choice. We have to go back.’
    Otho shook his head. The suggestion was unacceptable. ‘Our only option is to carry on. My orders from the governor of Hispania Tarraconensis were clear.’
    Valerius noticed the aristocrat didn’t refer to Galba by the grandiose title the governor had awarded himself – Lieutenant to the Senate and People of Rome – and wondered what that signified. They had stopped to rest near the burned-out ruins of an estate on the west bank of the Rhodanus, the great river that linked Lugdunum with the port of Massilia.