Douglas Jackson: Scourge of Rome

‘I told you you would feel the hand of God, my Roman friend. The hand of God brought you here and now you will lay down your sword. Good,’ Josephus said, as Valerius obeyed, his eyes never leaving the blade at Tabitha’s neck. Something flickered on Tabitha’s face and with the slightest shake of the head he warned her not to try anything that would risk her life. ‘You understand your situation?’ Josephus continued. ‘Our transaction must be conducted swiftly, because I fear your comrades have accidentally fired the outer court. Now the leather bag at your waist, which I assume brought you here. Untie it, remove the object inside so I can confirm its identity, return it to the bag and place it beside the sword.’ Again Valerius obeyed. The Judaean’s eyes lit up as he recognized the scroll. Valerius waited for a momentary lapse in concentration, measuring his distance and his chances, but Josephus read his look and smiled. ‘No, no, Valerius, I have no wish to harm the lady Tabitha, but I will have no hesitation if you force it on me. Back off from the bag and stand against the wall.’ When he judged Valerius was far enough away he moved towards the scroll, his sword edge never moving a hair’s breadth from the pulse in Tabitha’s neck. ‘My dear, you will-’

Without warning the Judaean cried out as something smacked into the centre of his back and dropped to the stone floor with a metallic clatter. The sword fell away from Tabitha’s neck, but not so much that she could escape. With a groan of agony Josephus turned to stare at his attacker. Hidden from Valerius in the doorway, Serpentius of Avala lurched into the room and stood with his right hand raised, ready to throw the second of his little Scythian axes.

‘I don’t miss twice.’ The Spaniard’s voice was a rook’s ragged caw. He swayed like a tree in a gale, but Josephus saw something in his eyes that told him that, even wounded, Serpentius was a deadly threat. With a last despairing glance he decided the scroll wasn’t worth his life and darted towards the thick curtain at the rear of the room.

Tabitha retrieved the scroll as Valerius picked up his gladius . He turned to follow Josephus, but she gripped his arm. ‘No, Valerius. Look to Serpentius.’

For the first time Valerius noticed the grey pallor of his friend’s features. He crossed the room in three strides and caught the Spaniard in his arms as he collapsed. Serpentius let out a groan of agony and Valerius felt a warm stickiness on his hand. Laying his friend to the ground he stared at his palm with a cry of disbelief.

‘I’ve killed enough people to know when I’m dead. That backstabbing Judaean bastard,’ the Spaniard rasped. ‘Get out of here with your woman.’

Valerius tried to turn Serpentius over and inspect the wound, but the Spaniard’s fingers gripped his wrist until Valerius thought they would tear the flesh. Still the Roman wouldn’t give up. ‘This is going to hurt.’ He took the wounded man by the shoulders and pushed him on to his side so he could see the injury. By now smoke had filled the altar chamber and flames were licking greedily at the curtained doorway of the sanctuary, sending tiny streams of sparks dancing upwards. Valerius willed himself not to panic. ‘See if you can find another way out,’ he called to Tabitha, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

Serpentius’s tunic was heavy with blood and Valerius winced when he saw where Josephus had struck the blow. A wound low in the back like this would invariably be fatal. He found the entry point and tore the cloth apart, revealing a puncture in the flesh close to Serpentius’s spine.

‘I told you I was dead,’ the Spaniard groaned. ‘Now give me my sword. Remember?’

Valerius remembered. A sword in my hand and a friend at my side . The gladiator’s farewell. ‘We’re going to get you out of here,’ he insisted. Serpentius gave a grunt that might have been a laugh. Valerius had never felt such empty despair. He’d always thought of Serpentius as a big man, but now he realized that his size was an illusion created by his strength and his speed and his presence. The Spaniard felt like a bag of bones in his arms.

‘Don’t give up on me now.’ He studied the wound again. Somehow he needed to stop the bleeding. He sawed at the hem of his robe with his sword, cutting off a long length of makeshift bandage. Taking one end he wiped the blood from Serpentius’s back. It was only then he noticed the ragged edges of a second wound. A wound in Serpentius’s side. It couldn’t be. But when he looked again he saw the unmistakable signs of the sword’s exit. His mind racing, he traced the path of the wound with his fingers, ignoring the Spaniard’s groans of agony. Too low! Josephus the amateur had struck too low. Maybe Serpentius had twisted when he’d struck, or he’d been forced to make the thrust from an angle. The result was a blow that had skidded off Serpentius’s lower spine and under the flesh across the top of the hip bone. It must be agonizingly painful and could have nicked what Pliny called the renes , but it might not be a death wound. The Spaniard gasped as Valerius cut two smaller pieces of cloth from the bandage and plugged the wounds, then wrapped them in place with the rest. Ignoring his friend’s suffering, he hauled Serpentius to his feet.

‘You will not die, Serpentius of Avala. Do you hear me, you Spanish bastard? You will not die.’

‘Leave me,’ Serpentius whispered. Valerius shrank away as a gust of wind turned the curtain into a tower of flame and filled the room with a new blast of heat and smoke. ‘What better end for a man like me than in the ruins of a burning city? What greater memorial than the name Jerusalem, which will be spoken down the ages?’ By now the flames were licking the timbers above their heads and Valerius put an arm under Serpentius’s shoulder to take his weight and hauled him bodily towards the inner chamber. ‘Please, Valerius.’

‘Trust me, Serpentius,’ Valerius said into his friend’s ear. ‘Have I ever failed you?’

‘There’s no way out,’ Tabitha’s cry from the inner doorway sent a new thrill of fear through him, but his mind told him she was wrong.

‘Josephus found a way out,’ he insisted. ‘So there must be one.’

Between them they hauled the heavy curtain aside and pulled Serpentius into an empty room half the size of the other. A dozen store cupboards had been built into the walls, but their doors hung from the hinges where the plundering legionaries had smashed them open and they’d left nothing, apart from a few pieces of furniture and vestments scattered across the floor. By now the heat was becoming intense. Smoke seeped past the curtain and they could see a glow through the gaps at the sides. Valerius looked into Tabitha’s face and saw resignation.

He laid Serpentius on the marble floor. ‘Look after him,’ he ordered.

A padded couch with tapestry skirts stood against a bare wall and in desperation he hauled it aside. Cowering beneath was the figure of a heavily built man and Valerius’s hand went to the knife at his belt.

It was only when the big man raised his head that he found himself staring into the solemn dark eyes of Simon bar Giora.

The Judaean bowed his head and raised a hand as if to fend off the blade, but the blow never came. After a moment, Simon looked up into Valerius’s face. ‘I know you, Roman.’ His voice echoed his disbelief, but his next words proved his mind was still sharp enough. ‘Let me live and I can save you.’

‘Kill him,’ Tabitha spat. ‘He more than any man is responsible for this.’

Valerius shook his head. ‘I’d rather save your life than see him dead.’ He looked to where the bottom of the curtain was already alight and turned back to bar Giora. ‘If you can save us, why didn’t you save yourself?’