by Peake, R. W.
“We already beat them,” I heard Vellusius complain to another man. “And now we’re going to let them go and have to fight them again?”
The Medians were continuing in their pursuit of Artavasdes. Shortly before dark, a messenger came riding into camp to report that the Armenian king had been joined by another large force, too large for the Medians to fight on their own. Antonius gave orders that we would break camp in the morning to go off in pursuit of Artavasdes, which did not give us much time to honor the dead, care for the wounded, or repair and replace equipment. The camp was a frenzy of motion as men were given a brief period of rest before being sent off to perform whatever tasks their Centurions deemed necessary. We knew that this was the time to pursue Artavasdes, before he could gather any more men and we were thankful that the battle had gone as well as it had, but it was still a strain nonetheless, though it did relieve us of the problem of disposing of the enemy dead, since we would not be staying. Nothing more ever came of Antonius’ accusations against Corbulo, Balbinus, Spurius, and me; in fact, he acted as if it never occurred, though I cannot say the same, I for one taking it as another sign of his inconstancy and fickle nature.
With a few thirds of a watch until dawn, we were finally finished, the men allowed to retire for the night to grab a watch's sleep, while the Centurions finished up the administrative tasks that come with men being killed. The urns are collected, and if there is time, the close comrades of the dead man are consulted for the copy of the will that they carry to find out if there are any special bequests concerning their remains. This night the urns were stored in the Legion wagon, then we all tried to get some rest, not knowing exactly what the next day would bring.
Breaking camp quickly, we did not bother to fill in the ditches, Antonius being so eager to resume the pursuit of Artavasdes. Sending the Galatians out as an advance guard the army rumbled out, following the churned earth left behind by Artavasdes’ flight and this time we did not have any objection or worry when he ordered the baggage train left behind, since he left three Legions to guard it. This allowed us to travel much faster, despite still being at a disadvantage when chasing a mounted army. Just past midday, we could clearly see where another force, probably twice as large from the size of the trail, joined up with Artavasdes, though it was still much smaller than ours. It was getting close to the end of the day, a time we would normally be heading to the spot selected for that night’s camp, when news was brought to Antonius from the Galatians. The Armenians had stopped just on the other side of a river some four miles away, making a fortified camp. Consequently, we continued to march to a spot where the enemy was just visible, the river making a silvery line across the ground. Again, Artavasdes had chosen ground that favored him, the banks rising steeply up from the river, which did not appear to be much of an obstacle, the water running swiftly but with the rocky bottom clearly visible. We began making camp immediately, digging the ditch, throwing up the rampart and pitching the tents before the baggage train and the Legions guarding it arrived. Once the rest of the army arrived, all Primi Pili were summoned to the Praetorium to discuss the plans for the coming day. We were all ready to cross the river, even knowing that with archers raining their missiles down on our heads, it would be a grim business, but Antonius had something else in mind.
“I've sent a message to Artavasdes, asking him to come treat with me here in camp.”
Antonius clearly expected a reaction for he stopped speaking and sat on the edge of his desk, arms folded as the room buzzed with comment. Once we had absorbed the words then settled back down, he continued.
“I have no desire to waste men in an assault across that river. You all know as well as I do that it would be a bloody mess trying to cross under fire.”
“Why don’t we wait him out?” someone asked. “We're in a better supply situation than he is. He can’t stay there for more than a day or two, then he has to try and make a break for Artaxata. We could pounce on him once he does that.”
I do not recall who it was that said this, but it was sound advice as far as I, and judging from the reaction of the other Primi Pili as well, was concerned, but Antonius shook his head.
“No, there are other factors at play that I can't discuss that mean I need to conclude this as quickly as possible. So, we're waiting to hear from Artavasdes.”
We were dismissed, as Balbinus, Corbulo and I speculated about what it could be that was now making Antonius so anxious to end this without battle.
“I heard that a courier arrived earlier today, riding hard. I wonder if that has anything to do with it.”
This came from Balbinus, although I had heard as much already, through Diocles, of course.
“Who knows with that man?” Corbulo grumbled. “He changes from one day to the next.”
I knew that Corbulo was still thinking about the incident the day before, and I confess it still rankled me as well. Returning to our respective Legions, I relayed the orders for the men to prepare for battle, going on to explain that this was not the Triumvir’s first choice. I just did not see why Artavasdes would accept an invitation to come into the camp of the man trying to destroy him, surrounded by men who hated him for his actions in the previous campaign, so I wanted the men to be ready for what I considered to be inevitable. It just goes to show why I am not an augur or in the divination business, because I was wrong.
The bucina of the guard Cohort at the Porta Praetoria sounded the call that a party approached as Scribonius and I were eating our dinner in my tent.
I shook my head at Scribonius’ raised eyebrow, saying flatly, “It’s just the messenger from Artavasdes saying that he’s declining Antonius’ generous invitation to come put his head on the chopping block.”
I could always count on Scribonius to argue a point when he did not see things the same way, which is a rare luxury for a Primus Pilus, who is usually surrounded by men who are thinking of their own advancement and want to be in the good graces of their Primus Pilus. However, I was more fortunate than most in that I had several Centurions who liked to argue. Now, he sat back with his frown as he shook his head.
“I wouldn't be so sure, Titus. These are nobility we're talking about. Artavasdes is a king, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's so sure that Antonius will respect that fact that he comes riding in with all the ceremony he thinks he deserves.”
“Then he doesn’t know Antonius,” I retorted, but Scribonius was not moved.
“Oh, I think he does well enough. He also knows that if Antonius does something to him, every client king in the East is going to hear about it, and will always be wary of answering a summons from Antonius. How many client kings are there out here?”
“Too many to count,” I grumbled, but I was beginning to see his point. Still, I was not so willing to concede. “Fifty sesterces says that he doesn’t show up.”
“Taken,” he said instantly.
It was a matter of less than a third of a watch passing that I learned I had lost the bet, when one of Diocles’ friends from the Praetorium came running to find him.
A moment later, Diocles came rushing in where Scribonius and I were still relaxing, his face flushed.
“Artavasdes has been taken prisoner by Antonius.”
I sat bolt upright, too shocked to be angry at losing the bet. I looked over at Scribonius, and I took some satisfaction in seeing his mouth hanging open, clearly as surprised as I was. I had been sure that Artavasdes would not show himself, he was sure that he would, but I had insisted that if he did, he would regret it, which Scribonius did not believe would happen. So we were both wrong and right at the same time, though I immediately regretted not wagering that Antonius would do exactly what he had done when Artavasdes did show up. I stood up, directing Diocles to go to the rack and bring my armor, not willing to go see the Armenian king while I was dressed in anything but my proper uniform. I turned to Scribonius, asking if he wanted to come, but he waved off the invitation with a grin.
“No, I thi
nk I'll stay here and think about how I’m going to spend your money.”
“I should have bet you that Antonius would do something like this,” I grumbled, to which he only laughed and nodded.
“You should have, but you didn’t.”
He dodged the cup I threw at him before I pushed aside the flap to head to the Praetorium. The camp was abuzz with men running from one fire to the next, the news leaping through the camp faster than I could walk. The reaction from what I could see was mixed; some of the men were happy at the news, while others cursed bitterly, disappointed that the chance of more fighting and more plunder seemed to have gone.
“Don’t get discouraged, boys,” I called out to a clearly disconsolate group sitting around their fire. “There’s still the Parthians to take care of.”
That thought cheered them considerably and they immediately began arguing over how much wealth was awaiting them with the conquest of the Parthians. Reaching the Praetorium, I noticed the ground outside the tent was soaked with dark stains immediately outside the entrance, the men of the Brundisium Cohorts still dragging the bodies of what I assumed were Artavasdes’ bodyguard off somewhere. There were a number of other Centurions of various rank milling about, but nobody was being allowed into the Praetorium by Rhamnus’ men, who blocked the entrance.
“You finally bloodied your swords. Too bad it was on unarmed men,” I heard someone call out to the guards at the entrance, the faces of all four men darkening at the insult, but they said nothing, which was wise of them.
Pushing my way through the throng, I did not really expect to be let through, but was surprised when the guards stepped aside.
“We have orders for all the Primi Pili to be allowed in, but nobody else,” explained the Brundisium Centurion standing just inside the entrance.
I saw a knot of men gathered, recognizing Spurius and a few others and walked over. They were talking in low voices, and even before I got within earshot, it was clear they were not happy.
“It’s got to be because of Cleopatra,” someone was muttering.
I looked over to Spurius, who was as unhappy as the others. Thinking that he was likely to know more because he had a good relationship with Antonius, I asked him what he knew.
Apparently, I was not the first, since he snapped irritably, “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I know as much as any of you, and that's that Artavasdes answered Antonius’ request for a parley, and when he showed up Antonius was waiting with some of his Brundisium boys. They slaughtered the bodyguard before they even knew what hit them, and they dragged Artavasdes off into Antonius’ office.”
“I didn’t know that much,” I replied, which seemed to soothe his temper. “All I heard was that Artavasdes had been taken.”
“It’s shameful,” opined Servius Palma, the Primus Pilus of the 5th Alaudae, one of the Legions who had come over from Macedonia. “There was no honor in what Antonius did.”
He shook his head in disgust, sparking an intense debate among the gathered men. From what I saw, it seemed to be evenly divided. Not surprisingly, Spurius was defensive about Antonius’ actions.
“He removed not just an enemy king, but the commanding general of an army we would have to fight. I don’t see how that's a bad thing.”
“What kind of message does it send to the other client kings?” I asked, seeing looks of surprise at this thought, and I was a little ashamed that I was essentially stealing Scribonius’ idea, but not enough to credit him. “Do you think any of them are going to be eager to answer a summons from Antonius, knowing that he would go as far as he has?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Spurius admitted, then clearly did think of something. “But Artavasdes was an enemy because of his actions against us during the last campaign. Any client king who remains faithful to Antonius has nothing to worry about.”
“While I agree that Artavasdes deserves to be treated as an enemy, do you think the other kings see it that way? From their point of view, Artavasdes simply recognized the inevitable when the baggage train was destroyed and took care of his men by taking them home.”
Spurius clearly did not like this argument, but I saw other heads nodding up and down.
Normally, I would not have cared whether or not Spurius, or any other of the men gathered there took offense, yet never far from my mind in those days was the political climate in which we were living, the vision of Uncle Tiberius’ wrinkled bald head popping into my head, compelling me to say, “I'm not saying that I disagree with what you're saying, or what Antonius did. I'm saying that I think it may cause Antonius difficulties in the future, and any problem for him becomes a problem for us.”
Even Spurius seemed to accept this, but Palma was not through with voicing his opinion.
“I still think it’s shameful, and I can assure you that Octavian is going to view it in the same light.”
There was something smug in his tone, some hint that he was speaking with more than just speculation that caused me to look more carefully at the man, and I saw that I was not the only one. Was this yet another of Octavian’s agents, I wondered? I felt a by now familiar churning in my stomach at the thought that here was yet another piece in the game that I, or anyone else for that matter, had to watch carefully. Perhaps it was this thought that colored my thinking, but I suddenly looked at Palma through different eyes, seeing something oily in his demeanor, something devious in the way his eyes shifted from one man to the next, imagining that he was carefully watching the reactions of the others so he would have something to put in his report to Octavian.
Whatever the cause, the conversation came to a standstill, it suddenly seeming that men had run out of things to say, therefore we turned our attention back to Antonius’ office, which still had the flap down so we could not see what was taking place inside. Excusing myself from the group, I wandered over nearer to the praetorium entrance, as I had seen Corbulo and Balbinus arrive and was more comfortable in their company. I had not forgotten that I was positive that Balbinus ostensibly worked for Octavian, but I sensed that his support was half-hearted, so I suppose I distrusted him less than Palma. As I neared, I heard Ahenobarbus’ harsh voice coming from within Antonius’ office. I slowed my progress so that I could more clearly hear what was being said by the most outspoken of Antonius’ generals.
“Antonius, this is a huge mistake that you’re making.”
The Triumvir’s voice was surprisingly mild at such an unequivocal rebuke. “I heard you the first several times you said it, Ahenobarbus. If you're going to keep repeating yourself, this is going to be even more tedious. I understand. You don't approve my capture of our royal prisoner here.”
I do not know if Antonius was going to say something else because Ahenobarbus interrupted. “I don't give a rotten fig about the way you captured this bastard.” It was clear that Artavasdes was sitting nearby, but was saying nothing. “It’s your plan to withdraw the army from the campaign that I object to. The men aren't going to like this at all, and I can't say that I blame them. This campaign has been blessed so far, and it’s clear that the men view how things have gone as a sign that we've been favored by the gods. To throw that away is almost criminal!”
“Be careful, Ahenobarbus,” Antonius’ voice was still soft, but there was now a distinctly dangerous edge to his tone. “I don't take being called a criminal lightly.”
If Ahenobarbus was intimidated, his words and tone did not show it as he retorted, “Then what would you call it? There's no military reason for us to turn back now.”
“There's more to this than martial reasons why I've made this decision, Ahenobarbus. Truly, I've accomplished what I set out to do. Artavasdes of Media and I have already concluded a treaty of friendship and I've promised Alexander will marry his daughter as soon as they're of age. Don't you understand? With the capture of this bastard here, and the treaty, I've brought both Media and Armenia under my control.” There was a pause that lasted so long I was about to move away, then A
ntonius continued, and what he said froze my blood. “And you know the contents of this message from Rome and what it means. It’s not bad enough that Octavian used his sister to try and shame me, now the cocksucker has the gall to announce to me, ME, Marcus Antonius, that since he had every confidence I would achieve my goal of subduing Media, Armenia, and Parthia that he saw no need to set aside land for my veterans in Italia! He said that I would have more than enough land with the conquest of the East that I could supply my veterans with land here!”
“All the more reason you need to continue the campaign into Parthia,” Ahenobarbus retorted. “The men who are retiring next year need this campaign, Antonius. And now that they’re not getting land in Italia, they need it even more.”
“Who says they’re not going to get that land?” Antonius shot back, the fury making his voice throb. “Do you think I'm just going to sit by and let that happen? But I can’t do anything about it here in the wastes of Armenia. That's why I have to get back to civilization.”
“So you're going to Rome, then?”
There was a catch in Ahenobarbus’ voice that gave me the feeling that he already knew the answer and did not like it.
“No. I'm returning to Alexandria. It’s only two or three weeks sailing away from Rome at this time of year. I can do what needs to be done through my Senators and allies without having to be there in person.”
“I think this is a mistake that will haunt you the rest of your days, Antonius,” were Ahenobarbus’ final words, and while I do not know if this was the crucial error on which all that followed hinged, it certainly had an impact.
