Sword of Rome(4)

‘There are, but … ah, I wondered when he’d make up his mind.’ A single horseman trotted across the bloodied ground towards them. When he reached halfway, he rammed his spear into the turf and advanced another ten paces before raising his hands to show he was unarmed. Valerius nodded to Serpentius. ‘Get the men back into the shelter of the trees and take the prisoners with you.’

‘Watch him,’ the Spaniard warned. ‘I don’t like the look of this one. If he’d kill his own, he’s not going to worry overmuch about turning you into buzzard bait.’

‘When did you become my nursemaid?’ Valerius didn’t wait for an answer, but every sense screamed at him to be wary as he kicked his horse into a canter. Before he reached the lone Batavian he heard the sound of hoofbeats, and slowed to a walk as Otho joined him. ‘You’re an even bigger fool than I thought.’ He didn’t look at the other man, but let the anger turn his voice hard. ‘You’ll get us both killed.’

‘Always the hero, Valerius. You never let anyone forget Colonia and the Temple of Claudius. Do you think that my not having fought makes you a better man than I? Or perhaps you disapprove of the fact that I was once Nero’s friend?’

Valerius reined in and studied his companion. He could feel the Batavian’s eyes on them. ‘I counted your wife as a friend. She did not deserve what happened to her.’

Otho’s face froze and his hand slipped to his sword. ‘Perhaps one day I will kill you for that,’ he whispered.

‘Perhaps you will, but for the moment we have more important things to do. Like staying alive.’ Valerius hauled his horse round and together they approached the enemy.

He was dressed, like his auxiliaries, in plaid tunic and trews with a cloak of wolfskin, but his chain-link armour was close knit and of the highest quality. If that wasn’t enough to declare his status, he wore a heavy gold torc round his neck that was worth a year’s wages to the legionary who claimed it. The first thing Valerius noticed were his eyes, which were an empty washed-out blue that reminded him of sea ice. He had only seen eyes like that in one kind of man: a man who could kill without feeling and compassion and would keep on killing long after other men would be sickened by it. As he drew the roan to a stop, the pale, expressionless features forced their way into his consciousness and his heart fell as recognition dawned. They exchanged salutes. It was the Batavian who spoke first.

‘You have a decurion among your prisoners? Younger than his comrades—’

‘Gaius Valerius Verrens, late of Legio X Fretensis.’ The young man’s lips pursed in annoyance at the interruption. He glanced at Otho, expecting a similar introduction, but Valerius ignored him and the governor of Lusitania was sensible enough to keep his identity to himself.

‘One of Corbulo’s officers? You are a long way from home. Claudius Victor, prefect Third Augusta Batavorum, attached to Legio IV Macedonica. I repeat my question.’

‘I am sorry. He was very brave.’

The Batavian nodded slowly. ‘And now I must kill you.’

Valerius looked across the field to where the enemy dead lay. ‘You have already lost twenty men. Why would you wish to lose twenty more?’

Victor shrugged. ‘What are soldiers for?’

‘True,’ Valerius conceded. ‘But it makes their officers seem careless if they lose too many.’

The thin lips twitched, but if anything the pale eyes grew colder. ‘Then perhaps you would like to surrender? I can have three hundred men here by nightfall. You have 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.’