Valerius took a deep breath. ‘There is another possibility. Two men might get through where many cannot.’
‘Who?’
The one-handed Roman glanced to where the cavalrymen were walking their horses. ‘Serpentius has a leopard’s instinct for survival. He lived through four years and a hundred fights in the arena and he has saved my life more times than I care to remember. If anyone can reach Rome, he can.’
Otho nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then he can guide me.’
Valerius shook his head. ‘You are too conspicuous and too important to risk. I don’t know the details of your mission, but I understand why you were chosen. Senator Galba believes you have access to men on the Palatine and in the Senate who can persuade Nero to give up the purple and declare Galba his successor. That may be true, but it is also possible that Marcus Salvius Otho is being asked to place his head in the lion’s jaws.’ He hesitated, waiting for a reaction, but Otho remained silent, barely breathing and tense as a full-drawn bowstring. ‘What if there was another man, with similar access? A simple soldier, but one who once wore the Gold Crown of Valour? A bauble, and an undeserved one, but a bauble which impressed the impressionable. Even the Emperor was dazzled by its glitter. And there were others.’
Otho’s eyes turned calculating. ‘Perhaps my mission would be beyond the wit of a simple soldier?’
‘It is true that I am no politician.’ Valerius shrugged. ‘But Nero chose me to hunt down Petrus and I won Corbulo’s trust even when he thought me a spy.’ And, he thought, you know I brought secret messages of support to Galba from Vespasian in Alexandria, even if you don’t know the price he asked. ‘How can I make a decision until I have more details of Galba’s plan?’
Otho made him wait, pacing the river bank while he turned the proposition over in his mind before beginning to speak. ‘Nero is finished. He has lost the Senate, the people and, more important, most of the army. He clings to power in Rome only with the aid of the Praetorian Guard. His is a fortress made of straw and it only needs the slightest push to topple it. My mission is to persuade the Guard to provide that push.
‘Nymphidius Sabinus, who holds the Praetorian prefectship with Tigellinus, is the key. He will convince the Guard to abandon the Emperor and support Servius Sulpicius Galba. However, he is understandably nervous and seeks assurances that Galba will meet his price. You will visit him at his house on the Esquiline Hill, behind the Fountain of Orpheus, and hand over this seal. It is the token which will prove your identity. Tell him that Galba will pay whatever it takes to buy the loyalty of the Guard.’
‘Whatever it takes?’
Otho nodded. ‘Senator Galba was reluctant; he is not a generous man. But he was persuaded when I pointed out that every Emperor since Augustus has had to pay his dues to the Guard. Claudius handed over fifteen thousand sesterces a man and counted it a bargain for an Empire.’
Valerius stifled the questions that Otho’s statement raised in his head. All but one. ‘And you are certain Nymphidius has the power to do what he claims? Tigellinus has kept a tight rein on the Guard for five years. It would not be like him to lose control now when he needs them to keep his own head.’
‘Forget Tigellinus.’ Otho spat the name and Valerius belatedly remembered the part Nero’s favourite had played in separating Poppaea from her first husband. ‘He is finished. They say he wanders the palace like a spectre, afraid of his own shadow, or, worse, the Emperor’s. As for personal terms, you may offer Nymphidius everything short of the succession.’ His eyes glittered and for the first time Valerius realized the true extent of his ambition. ‘That prize belongs to only one Roman and it is not some rustic nearly man from Etruria.’
Valerius nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere. He’d come to understand that Otho’s arrogance was like a tribune’s sculpted breastplate: a protection against those who would question his authority rather than those who sought to harm him. The governor of Lusitania was a much more complex personality than he first appeared, a fact confirmed by Otho’s next words.
‘Be careful, Valerius.’ He laid a hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘Your peril does not only lie on the road. Galba’s freedman Icelus has languished in the carcer this past month, and two others who set out on our mission have not been heard of since they reached Rome. Nero is weak, but even a cornered pig can be dangerous.’
Valerius nodded his thanks. So, he thought, the game begins again. He remembered the many nights in Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo’s tent on campaign in Armenia and the mind-twisting game of strategy and nerve the general had played so skilfully. Caesar’s Tower: four levels, a thousand combinations, but only one winner. Nero had feared Corbulo, his greatest general, and had ordered his death. Valerius himself had only just escaped with his life, with the general’s daughter Domitia. His hand strayed to his pouch, feeling for the Caesar stone he had taken on the day Corbulo died, before he remembered that he had given it to Domitia in Alexandria. Where would she be now? The likelihood was Rome, and that was one of the reasons why he had volunteered to continue Otho’s suicidal mission to the city. The other reason was darker, cast a shadow over his mind, and was one he would share with no man, not even Serpentius.