[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome by Douglas Jackson Page B

Gaulan you will protect my honour should he prove incapable.’
    Valerius was still trying to work out whether to feel flattered or insulted when Ariston appeared at his side. ‘I told you she would be trouble.’ The Syrian shook his head gloomily.
    ‘She may have saved our lives,’ Valerius reminded him. He explained Tabitha’s invitation to travel on to Emesa with the column and Ariston’s expression became even more lugubrious.
    ‘I suppose this means you will no longer need my services?’
    Valerius had already given the matter some thought. He shook his head. ‘This land and these people are entirely unfamiliar to me,’ he said. ‘If I am to be of any use to Titus I need to understand how they think. How far from Emesa to Jerusalem?’
    ‘Twelve days, if the weather holds. Fourteen or fifteen if not.’
    ‘If you are willing to accompany us I will pay you for your knowledge of Judaea and for teaching me the rudiments of the language. You speak it?’
    ‘Of course,’ the Syrian bristled. ‘Hebrew is my second tongue.’
    ‘Then join us, and when we reach Titus you will have your reward.’
    The Syrian considered for a moment and then nodded his acknowledgement. ‘I will be happy to ride with you, even among these Chalcidean hellhounds and their vixen.’ He frowned and his voice took on a tutor’s solemnity. ‘First, you must understand that Judaea is not one country, but an amalgamation of several. Galilee is in the north …’
    By the time they reached Emesa two days later, Valerius had learned that the Judaeans were naturally rebellious, having previously fought both the Syrians and the Greeks. That despite their singular religion they were eternally divided, much as the tribes of Britannia had been and for all he knew still were. That the country wasn’t really a province at all, not being worth the attention of a governor of senatorial rank, but ruled by a mere procurator. ‘My knowledge of high politics is slight,’ Ariston had admitted. ‘But it seems to me that Rome’s only interest in the place is ensuring the Parthians have no influence there.’
    Emesa lay forty miles downstream from Apamea, on the east bank of the Orontes at the edge of a flat plain enclosed by hills on three sides, with blank, sterile desert on the fourth. During the journey, Gaulan had described it as a great metropolis, but Valerius considered it vastly inferior to the sprawling glory of Apamea. A massive mound topped by a palace complex dominated the city. Tight-packed houses surrounded the hill, hemmed in by the city wall and a scatter of suburb slums that lined the roads converging on it. The hilltop complex and a large temple apart, it looked a poor little place, and he said as much to Ariston.
    ‘Do not be deceived,’ the Syrian assured him. ‘Emesa may not be as lovely as Apamea, but it is more important by far. The palace you see is the seat of Sohaemus, the powerful king who rules here, and the temple to the south is the home of Elah Gebal, the sun god. Thousands come to worship during the great festivals and tributes, even from as far as Palmyra, which Sohaemus covets but cannot move against without Rome’s sanction.’
    Valerius was disappointed he’d had no opportunity during the journey for further contact with the mysterious Tabitha. He’d planned to impress her with the few Hebrew phrases he’d learned, but she’d ridden with the baggage train and he wondered if she was deliberately avoiding him. The feeling was strengthened as the soldiers set up camp and he watched her ride out towards the city with Gaulan and an escort, heavily cloaked and with a hood covering her dark hair.
    Serpentius appeared beside him. The Spaniard watched the riders. ‘I wouldn’t trust the Syrian camel thief to water my horse, but maybe he’s right and we’d be better off on our own,’ he scowled.
    ‘You seemed happy enough to talk to her a few days ago,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘You’re not usually so