Sword of Rome(63)
By the time they sighted Placentia Valerius’s legs chafed against his mount’s flanks and man and beast were weary beyond measure. Even Serpentius rode slumped in the saddle. They had little option but to enter the city, if only to replenish their supplies and seek fresh horses. But the lure of a bed after days of having the cold earth clawing through their blankets and into their bones provided an added incentive. Dusk was falling when they reached the town, which guarded the only crossing point on the Padus for twenty miles and was surrounded by stout walls that showed recent signs of repair. As they made their way to the entrance, Valerius noticed Serpentius cast a sour glance at the city’s amphitheatre, a massive wooden structure that dominated the cluster of streets beyond the original city boundary. The former gladiator had fought for his life in a dozen stadiums like it and his friend reflected that it was no surprise he had little love for such places or the people who frequented them. The heavy wooden gates had already been barred and a decurion stepped sharply from a rough hut in the shadow of the twin towers that flanked them. Four spearmen appeared at his back and raw, suspicious eyes looked the two strangers over. Valerius saw the grip on each spear tighten when the men noticed the Imperial brand on their horses.
‘Your names and your business?’
‘Gaius Valerius Verrens, on the road to Mediolanum, and this is my freedman, Serpentius of Avala. We seek a room for the night.’
The decurion had the lined face of a man who’d been forced to make too many tough decisions lately. He studied the Spaniard, taking in whipcord muscles and the menace in the dark eyes. ‘Freedman, eh?’
Valerius shrugged. ‘These are dangerous times. Even a humble trader in wheat and barley needs protection. We are on our way to negotiate a price for the next harvest with the farming commune of Claudius Cornelius, though I fear our timing could be better.’
‘I’ll grant you that,’ the soldier agreed. ‘But still I cannot allow you entry until I know where your loyalty lies.’
‘A trader doesn’t concern himself with politics, only with profit,’ Valerius said airily. ‘But Marcus Salvius Otho was still Emperor when I left Rome, and it is in his name this travel warrant is signed.’ He handed over the paper and the decurion studied it. ‘Will that suffice?’
‘It will suffice here.’ He waved at one of the spearmen to open the gate. ‘But it would have got you in trouble had you used it at Cremona, where we hear loyalties are confused; or in Mediolanum where they have already declared for the false Emperor, Vitellius; aye, and at Novaria, Vercelae and Eporedia, too, may the gods curse them.’
‘Is that how it stands throughout Gallia Transpadana?’
‘A little more or a little less,’ the decurion said thoughtfully. ‘We had a squadron of auxiliary cavalry pass through less than a week ago. Their officer demanded Placentia swear its allegiance to Vitellius and damn the killer of old men, Otho. But the men of Placentia know their duty. The Senate and people of Rome made us; sent six thousand veterans to carve out a home here on the Padus, gave them land and the means to work it.’ His eyes met Valerius’s and challenged him to deny it. ‘They were our forefathers. They, and they who came after, paid the price often enough in blood and fire, but we acknowledge their debt. The Senate and people of Rome proclaimed Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus Emperor and it is Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus who has our oath.’ He stepped back to allow a young family to pass through the gate carrying what looked like their entire possessions on their back. The grizzled features lost a little of their certainty. ‘That officer will have made the same demand of any number of places and more forcefully to the weak than to the strong. Some will have obliged him and meant it, others not – there has been smoke on the horizon where smoke should not be – but most will be like those fornicating bastards in Cremona and pledge their oath to whoever wants it at any given time.’
Valerius thanked him for the information, and enquired his name so he could show his thanks at a happier time. The decurion only grinned. ‘As you say, master merchant, these are dangerous times, and in dangerous times things can come back to cause a man pain, even his name. If it pleases you to suggest an extra wine ration for the first century of the town watch, then that is your business. For your kindness I will venture another. A word of advice. The way north was safe enough when it was patrolled by loyal auxiliary cavalry, but that is no longer the case. Beyond the river most of the land is still untamed swamp and forest. Out of sight of the road it is the realm of bandits, thieves and escaped gladiators; outcasts who answer to no man and would cut your throat for the price of that patched cloak you wear. Join a larger group if you can, but, if not, be wary.’ He nodded, his advice given. ‘If you want lodgings for the night you could do worse than seek out the Fat Sturgeon. It’s on the far side of the city – the river side – past the street of the silversmiths, but worth the walk if a man likes his wine sweet and bread that won’t break his teeth.’