Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] Page 5

  ‘I wish you a safe onward journey, lord.’ Petro smiled gravely as they said their farewells at the foot of the gangway.

  ‘I will miss your stories as much as your company,’ Valerius replied. ‘Who knows, perhaps we will meet again if Fortuna wills it.’

  A merchant pointed him in the direction of a trustworthy slave who would carry the small chest containing his belongings to the governor’s palace. The slave led the way through the steep, narrow streets behind the harbour. Valerius had climbed these same streets with Serpentius and he felt a pang of something very close to grief as he remembered looking down at his friend in the medical tent outside Jerusalem. Serpentius had lain on his side with a bloody bandage covering the terrible wound in his back inflicted by the Judaean turncoat Josephus. The feral, vicious sneer that made the former gladiator appear so fearsome had been replaced by a haggard, grey mask. His eyes were closed and his sunken cheeks bristled with a week’s growth of white stubble. Once he’d been the most dangerous fighter to grace the arenas of Rome. Now he looked like an old man.

  They had been as close as brothers, and with the same instinctive understanding. Valerius felt more vulnerable without Serpentius by his side than he did without the right hand he’d left in the burned-out ruin of a villa in Britannia.

  Tarraco sprawled over a series of ridges overlooking the sea. Valerius followed the slave to a broad square at the top of the largest hill. On the far side lay a single enormous building with white stucco walls and an ochre-tiled roof that shimmered in the midday heat. A pair of legionaries guarded the pillared entrance and they stiffened to attention as Valerius approached and announced he had an appointment with the governor.

  ‘Your name?’ The men eyed Valerius’s travel-stained cloak with suspicion.

  ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens. I’m an old friend of governor Secundus.’

  One of the soldiers gave him a look that said ‘we’ll see about that’. ‘Wait here.’ He disappeared inside leaving Valerius under the gaze of the remaining guard, returning a few minutes later with a look of consternation on his stolid, peasant face.

  ‘He said to ask you to show your right hand.’ Valerius flicked back his cloak to reveal the carved wooden fist that replaced the hand he’d lost at Colonia. The soldier slammed his fist into his chest in salute. ‘Please follow me. The governor apologizes for not greeting you personally, but he is indisposed at present.’

  Just how indisposed became clear when the guard led Valerius into a shaded courtyard with a garden at its centre. Gaius Plinius Secundus sat on a couch in the portico with one foot raised. He had put on weight since Valerius had last seen him and heavy jowls gave him a mournful air quite at odds with his normally cheerful disposition. The couch was surrounded by low tables, most filled with scrolls, but one left clear for his writing tools. Pliny had a voracious appetite for knowledge, always reading or investigating, collecting specimens, testing out new theories and disproving old ones.

  He looked up as Valerius came into view and managed a pained smile. ‘You have never been more welcome, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Pallas?’ A young man stepped from a doorway behind him. ‘Have the main guest room prepared for my friend and tell the cook there will be two for dinner,’ Pliny ordered. ‘I did not expect you for another week at the earliest, or I would have had you met at the harbour. Not personally, of course, as you can see. You’ll have a cup of wine?’

  ‘I will, Pliny, but I’m sorry to see you like this.’

  ‘I’m suffering from a touch of gout. It won’t kill me but it makes movement difficult. Hippocrates suggests it is caused by an overindulgence in drink, food and sex.’ He produced a wry smile. ‘While I plead guilty to the first and second, I’m afraid the third is long behind me these days. You had an uneventful journey, I hope?’

  Valerius nodded. ‘It gave me time to read the reports you sent to Rome.’

  ‘Yes.’ Pliny sounded doleful. ‘Would that they had been more optimistic. But I prefer not to talk on an empty stomach. After dinner I will give you a more up-to-date view of the current situation. Now,’ he picked up his stylus, ‘Pallas will see to your baggage and get you settled in. I must finish this chapter of my Historia Naturalis. The subject is medicines we can obtain from plants. Did you know that Colchicum autumnale, the common meadow crocus, can be turned into an infusion which is a specific for gout? Unfortunately, taken in excess it is also a deadly poison and I choose not to test the theory.’

  ‘Then I will leave you to your work,’ Valerius bowed.

  They dined on succulent steaks of tunny fish and squid cooked in its own ink, followed by a pair of roasted fowl and slices of apple and pear coated in honey. The food was served on silver platters and Valerius smiled at a memory. ‘The last time we ate together, it was on chipped fireclay in your kitchen,’ he said. ‘Who would have believed our fortunes could have altered so radically?’

  ‘That’s true.’ Pliny washed his fingers in a bowl brought by one of several slaves who attended them. ‘We have much to be thankful for, you and I. For instance, it is sometimes difficult to believe that I once watched the friend sharing my table kneel beneath an executioner’s sword. There are few alive who can claim such an experience. It still puzzles me that Domitian saw fit to commute the death sentence to exile.’

  The observation contained a certain measure of query, and if anyone deserved the truth it was Pliny, who had risked his reputation by speaking for Valerius at his trial. But Valerius had learned to be wary. Only two other people knew of Domitia Longina Corbulo’s intervention, and the reason for it. Better it stayed that way.

  ‘There’s nothing he would have liked better than to see my head rolling in the dust,’ he admitted. ‘But the letter Mucianus brought from Vespasian rescinded my original death sentence and he couldn’t go against his father’s express wish.’

  ‘An emperor’s favour is not to be underestimated, nor disdained.’ Pliny’s features took on a troubled air. ‘For instance, I honour him for this appointment, but there are times when I wish I was alone with my books back in Rome. Any proconsulship would be a burden for an honest man with the Empire’s interests at heart, but this is doubly so. When Vespasian summoned me to the Palatine he told me the man who solved the conundrum of the missing gold of Hispania Tarraconensis would be the man who saved the Empire. Even able-bodied I’m not certain I would have lived up to his expectations. There is so much to do here. The answer lies in the north, and with this leg I doubt I would survive the journey. That is why I asked him to send you. He has outlined the general situation?’

  ‘Since the late war the yields from the northern mines have dropped dramatically.’ Valerius repeated what Vespasian had told him. ‘Bandits are blamed, perhaps the richest seams have been worked out, and there are said to be manpower problems. What I don’t understand is why you haven’t sent a mining expert to investigate?’

  ‘But we have,’ Pliny cried. ‘An experienced engineer, Marcus Florus Petronius. Does the name mean anything to you?’

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘He said he served with you in Armenia. You traversed some mountain track together. The longest night of his life, he told me.’

  Now a face swam into view. Petronius had been the man who’d guided the night march to outflank Vologases, the Parthian King of Kings, before his defeat by Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo.

  ‘A good choice,’ he complimented Pliny. ‘I remember Petronius as clever, enterprising and courageous.’

  ‘And with substantial experience of the mining industry.’ Pliny’s face turned grim. ‘His latest report hinted at a great revelation. What was happening at Asturica Augusta was of even greater significance than we originally believed. But he would not make direct accusations until he had proof. Since then, nothing.’

  ‘Is it possible his reports are being intercepted?’

  ‘I doubt it. We had alternative procedures in place. It seems he has simply disappeared. I tell you this so you will not underestimate how dangerous
this could be, Valerius. The goldfields are in barely accessible mountain areas and the mine workers were once Rome’s most implacable enemies. It took Augustus ten years and seven legions to conquer the Astures and the Cantabri.’

  ‘But that was ninety years ago,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘They’ve been living under Roman law ever since. Galba raised an entire legion from Hispania.’

  ‘Roman citizens,’ Pliny agreed. ‘The sons of families who prosper under Rome’s rule, but many – some would say most – have not. You must not underrate the level of resentment you will find in Asturica and I believe there may be ample reason for it. The mines are owned by the state, but much of the workforce and supplies are provided by Asturian aristocrats. Little more than bandit chiefs with a head for business and an eye for a profit. Originally the men who worked the mines would have been slaves – captives from the Cantabrian Wars – but Augustus soon realized he needed a more stable workforce. He ordered hundreds of villages uprooted entire and moved to where they could provide a workforce for the mines.’ He paused in his narrative while a slave cleared away the last of the plates and poured another cup of wine from the jug. ‘Tens of thousands of people,’ he continued eventually, ‘torn from their ancestral farmlands and hunting grounds, deprived of a living and forced into the service of the state. The men from the communities around the mines provide their labour to offset the taxes imposed on them by Rome. And it is not just the mines. Many of the processes use substantial amounts of water, sometimes enormous amounts, to clean the ore or, in some cases, to flush it from the mines. This requires the diversion of hundreds of native streams, the building of miles of canals and aqueducts, and all in terrain that can scarcely be traversed by man. The miners who work for the leaseholders are poorly paid and according to Petronius the food is fit only for pigs. They work by the light of oil lamps in a perpetual cloud of smoke, never seeing daylight for sometimes months on end.’ Pliny’s face darkened at the image he was creating and Valerius realized he must have inspected one of the southern mines and was speaking from experience. ‘The mining process also creates a fine dust that can turn a man’s lungs to stone if breathed for long enough. There are frequent collapses which can bury dozens, sometimes hundreds of men. They chip at the face of the rock with picks, or power massive crushing machines before the ore is carried to the surface on the backs of the miners, encouraged, shall we say, by overseers armed with whips. So you see, Valerius, any benefits provided by Roman rule only accrue to a few rich men and those who support them, not those who actually create the wealth.’

  Valerius hesitated before he replied, considering the impact of the mining operations on the people and the land. He wondered what he would have done if it had been his people and his land. ‘I am surprised they bear it,’ he said eventually.

  ‘They do so only with reluctance, I can assure you,’ Pliny acknowledged. ‘And because they have little choice. We have deprived them of their traditional livelihoods of hunting and farming. Their hills have been stripped of timber to supply charcoal for the smelters. For generations they have known no other life. The populace is composed of large confederations, such as the Cantabri, the Astures, the Vaccaei and the like. These in turn are divided into individual tribes. I have charted them all, but those that interest us are the Cigurri, the Lancienses and the Zoelae. If indeed raiders are disrupting the gold trains they are the most likely tribes to supply them, but …’ he raised a hand to suppress the question he knew was coming, ‘they are also divided into smaller clans, any of which could be responsible. Security for the goldfields is provided by a few cohorts of the Sixth legion at Legio. The commander there has sent a request to take his troops into the hills and carry out a sweep intended to wipe out any bandits in the area. I understand his frustration, but I have ordered him to hold his hand. Such a move would be like thrusting a stick in a hornets’ nest and I cannot act without proof. Before the late wars the proconsul of Hispania Tarraconensis could call on the power of three full legions, but now …’

  ‘The present proconsul has the leavings of two …’

  ‘And those scattered across the entire province,’ Pliny confirmed.

  ‘You don’t paint a very pretty picture, Pliny,’ Valerius said drily.

  ‘Best you should know exactly what you are getting into, Valerius. The Emperor has promised to give me more soldiers – either the First Adiutrix, or more likely the Seventh –’ he smiled at Valerius’s reaction ‘– you have fought with both, I know. But the situation on the Rhenus is such that he can’t afford to move them quite yet. He is also committed to improving the lot of the ordinary people of Hispania. I have drawn up plans to widen the allocation of Roman citizenship and grant new powers to local communities. But to make these changes requires gold. Somehow, we must provide it and end the corruption which is endemic to these people.’ He let out a soft belch and laid aside his cup. ‘I always find a bath eases the digestion. Will you join me and we can continue our discussion?’

  ‘Of course.’

  VI

  ‘The hand is so much part of you it seems wrong when you remove it like that,’ Pliny said. Undressing in the apodyterium, Valerius had pulled off the stock and laid the wooden fist of his right hand aside. ‘Does it affect you at all?’

  From anyone else such an enquiry would have been bad manners, but Valerius was perfectly accustomed to Pliny’s habit of questioning everything. Any experience that could broaden his knowledge would be of interest.

  ‘It was odd when I first had it fitted,’ Valerius admitted. ‘Each time I removed it I experienced the pain of the day it was taken from me. But use makes master. These days I take it off every night and replace it each morning almost without thinking.’

  Pliny limped past the tepidarium to the caldarium and slipped into the steaming pool of clear water with a groan of ecstasy. ‘I also find a bath eases the pain of the gout. Now, where was I?’

  ‘You were talking about corruption in the goldfields.’ Valerius dropped into the pool beside his friend.

  ‘Ah, yes. Corruption. Bureaucracy is essential to the successful flow of gold, silver and lead from the mines of Hispania to the vaults of Rome. Yet in a system of supply and demand there is always room for a venal official to make a profit. Leases are auctioned to the highest bidder, but that bidder will undoubtedly also be the one who pays the largest bribe to the official in charge. Most of the mines are state-operated, but miners have to be fed. How simple for a mine operator to claim he paid out x sesterces a day to feed his workers when in fact he is paying out y and pocketing the difference? Fortunately, or unfortunately, the flow of gold was so immense that as long as the people responsible maintained it those in charge were happy for them to take their cut. Corruption became part of the system, therefore whatever else you discover you will find corruption.’

  ‘Then how will I know if I’ve discovered something significant?’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot answer that,’ Pliny admitted. ‘But I’m confident you will know it when you see it, Valerius. What Petronius uncovered plainly went beyond mere corruption – gold production is two thirds the level before the civil war. Perhaps if you can find out what has happened to him you will have taken the first step to discovering what it was?’

  Valerius frowned. It was like being asked to find a single turd in a cesspit. Whatever the outcome, he had a feeling his hands were going to get very dirty. ‘Do you have any suggestion how I go about this?’

  ‘I have an old comrade who lives in Asturica Augusta.’ Pliny’s voice dropped and his eyes flickered towards the doorway. Valerius suppressed a wry smile. If his friend believed his secrets weren’t safe in the very heart of his headquarters they were in deep trouble indeed. ‘His name is Marcus Atilius Melanius. He is one of the city’s leading citizens, but a man who lives quietly in retirement and has no links to the mining industry. Petronius was to contact him in time of need, but I don’t know if he ever did. At least he will be able to show you how the land lie
s. Do you intend to use the title Vespasian conferred upon you?’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Valerius admitted. ‘On the one hand high rank conveys a certain level of power; on the other it makes me conspicuous and could prevent people from speaking. Better, I think, to enter the city as a simple traveller, perhaps with a letter of introduction to your old comrade. Whatever Petronius discovered is likely to be buried deep, but someone somewhere has knowledge of it.’ He paused for a moment, staring at a wall painting of a sea monster devouring a bireme galley, but his mind was already in the north. ‘The key is to find that person and put pressure on them. That might be the time to bring out the Emperor’s warrant.’

  Pliny nodded thoughtfully. ‘You may be right. Perhaps we can discuss it further in the morning? I intend to stay immersed for another hour. I doubt you will want to stay that long …’

  Valerius thanked him and pulled himself out of the pool. Normally an attendant would have been waiting to dry the governor and his guest, but the slave was nowhere in sight. Valerius had to search through cupboards to find oil for the stump of his arm. When he’d dressed he pulled the cowhide stock of the artificial hand over the mottled purple surface of his wrist and tightened the leather thongs with the ease of long practice. He was preparing to leave when an odd sound drew his attention: a soft gurgling as if someone had decided to empty the main bath.

  He slipped to the curtained doorway. Yes, it was definitely coming from the caldarium. He drew the thick curtain slowly to the side. At first his eyes struggled to interpret the scene in front of him. Two fully clothed men, stocky and bearded, were apparently working on something in the bath. A thrill of fear paralysed him for a moment, during which the anonymous something heaved up and thrashed, before the combined strength of the two men submerged it again. Pliny!

  Valerius crossed the marble floor in four strides, his left thumb automatically seeking the little button on the back of his wooden fist. The man holding Pliny’s lower half must have noticed movement because he looked up with a cry that alerted his fellow assassin. Too late. The second man rose and half turned to meet the threat, but Valerius had already launched into a scything punch that took him on the upper cheek.