A groom held the reins to steady her noble head and Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, proconsul of the east and governor of Syria, stood by her shining flank. The sword that hung from the four-pommelled cavalry saddle was the ceremonial blade Valerius had pulled from Corbulo’s wall, but it had been modified for war. With a flourish the governor drew it free and the blue-sheened blade glinted menacingly in the morning sun. ‘It has a great history and it is not right that it should spend its life as a decoration.’ Corbulo’s voice contained that unsettling mix of steel, certainty and charm that made him who he was. ‘I have had the jewels removed and the hilt bound with leather strips to improve the grip. It is a soldier’s weapon now. The balance is a little unusual. You will notice that it is weighted towards the point, but that can be an advantage when you are using a sword from horseback. Here, take it.’ Corbulo spun the weapon with a soldier’s practised hands so that the hilt was towards Valerius.
