The Blood of Rome

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Moving on.’ Corbulo nodded in the direction of the main hall where the other guests were still feasting. ‘I take it the elaborately dressed giant in your retinue is Rhadamistus?’

  ‘King Rhadamistus, yes.’

  ‘A king without a kingdom is not much of a king, in my view. And since his father is not keen on having a potential rival return to Iberia, then he is barely worthy of the title “prince”. The truth is, he is a tool of Roman policy. He will be returned to the throne of Armenia again only because Rome is prepared to force the issue at swordpoint. In return he will be our ally and will do our bidding henceforth. That is the price of our support. I dare say that some in Rome are already looking to ensure that Rhadamistus agrees to bequeath his kingdom to us on his death. At which point Armenia will become a fully fledged province of the Empire and that will put an end to Parthia’s scheming.’ Corbulo waved a hand dismissively. ‘But that’s work for the future. What matters now is getting him back on the throne as swiftly as possible. Aside from that motley crew of hangers-on that are with him, does he have any soldiers at his disposal? Or any allies he can call on to fight with him?’

  Quadratus turned to Pinto. ‘Well?’

  His aide nodded. ‘There’s some men from the Iberian contingent his father provided him with to seize the throne in the first place. Five hundred infantry and perhaps two thousand mounted men. But that’s all, sir. He was not on the throne long enough to make any firm alliances with surrounding kingdoms.’

  ‘A pity,’ Corbulo responded. ‘Still, two and a half thousand men. That’s something. Though not nearly enough for him to win back his kingdom alone. And that is the priority right now. I must have Armenia securely in our hands while I raise, equip and supply the army for any campaign against Parthia.’

  Cato felt a chill of anxiety at the general’s words. As far as Cato knew, the emperor’s orders extended to retrieving Armenia. Was it possible that Corbulo intended on widening his remit? The prospect of yet another costly campaign across the vast expanse of unmapped Parthia filled Cato with foreboding.

  Corbulo cleared his throat. ‘I’ll need to speak with Rhadamistus later. But for now, I’m pleased that we have established the basis of our working relationship, my dear Quadratus. Together, I am sure we will do the Empire proud. And while there’s still wine and food to go round, I suggest you two return to the feast.’

  It was a blunt dismissal and the governor and Pinto rose and made their way out of the room without another word. Once the door had closed behind them, Corbulo’s features relaxed into a smile. ‘I don’t think I made any friends there. But he needed to be put firmly in his place.’

  Cato nodded.

  ‘I noted your expression at the end. When I mentioned a campaign against Parthia. I take it you disapprove of any wider operations?’

  It was a very direct observation and Cato was discomforted that his superior had divined his feelings so easily. ‘Sir, I have no say in the matter.’

  ‘No say, but plenty of opinions, I’m sure. Speak freely, Cato. I value honest comments from my subordinates when the time is appropriate, and strict obedience once a matter is decided and the order is given.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I share that philosophy.’ Cato collected his thoughts. ‘Very well. I can’t help being concerned about the army being drawn into a wider conflict with Parthia. Rome has been down that road before and it has not gone well for us.’

  ‘I am aware of that, and have no intention of repeating the mistake. I fully intend to limit the campaign to winning Armenia back for Rome. But if Vologases widens the conflict, then I have to be ready to meet any attacks across the Euphrates, as well as any attempt to seize Armenia once again. What I will not be doing is hurling myself deep into Parthia in an attempt to win deathless glory and fill my coffers with Parthian gold and silver.’ Corbulo paused. ‘I believe there is an unwritten contract between a general and the men he leads. An honourable general does not risk their lives unnecessarily, nor should he ever price his personal ambition above their lives. There, Tribune Cato. Does that reassure you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. That’s good to know.’

  ‘And you can hold me to that standard. This I swear.’ Corbulo moved round behind his table and sat down opposite Cato. ‘I also believe in taking the initiative whenever possible. Keep the enemy off balance and the battle is half won. Which is why there must be no delay in restoring Rhadamistus to the Armenian throne. I dare say what’s left of his army is little more than a rabble. Their ranks will need stiffening if he is to have any chance of success. He needs Roman soldiers behind him. And some siege equipment if his rival, Tiridates, decides to hold out in the capital city, Artaxata. The problem is, I have no troops directly to hand, except your cohort . . .’

  Cato felt his heart beat faster. ‘My cohort? But we were assigned to serve as your escort, sir. Who will guard you?’

  ‘I don’t need all of them to guard me. I’m quite safe here in Tarsus. A small party of bodyguards will suffice. Besides, I will have two legions and plenty of auxiliaries to hand once Quadratus sends them up from Syria. It will take many months to prepare the army for a campaign. It’s likely I won’t be able to move before next year. But a smaller force is much easier to provision and send on its way. That will be your command, Tribune. Your cohort and any auxiliary troops I can spare. Your orders will be to escort Rhadamistus and his forces to Artaxata and place him on the throne. Then you will assist the king in holding on until I am ready to bring the army up to deal with any threat from Parthia.’

  ‘What if the Parthians reinforce Tiridates first, sir?’

  ‘I doubt that will happen. Firstly, they too have to mobilise their forces and ready the necessary supplies. Secondly, I received some interesting intelligence from our sources in Parthia. It seems that King Vologases is facing a threat from one of his vassal states, the Hyrcanians. Better still, his son, Vardanes, has betrayed his father and thrown in his lot with the rebels.’ Corbulo smiled thinly. ‘The fact that he was handsomely bribed by Roman agents might have had something to do with it. In any case, he can afford the services of enough mercenaries to give his father plenty of trouble. More than enough to distract him from operations in Armenia for a while. Tiridates is on his own. So, you’ve no worries on that score, Tribune Cato.’

  ‘I guess not, sir.’

  ‘It should be a straightforward enough operation. It should take you no longer than three months from now. Get your man to the capital, get him on the throne and remain there until further orders. I’d say your biggest challenge is not to throttle the bastard before it’s all over.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I’ve heard enough about the man to know he’s an arrogant individual with a cruel streak a mile wide.’

  ‘Ah . . .’

  ‘Just keep him out of trouble, Cato. I’m sure you can manage that. I’ve got to know you well enough these last few months to be confident you are just the man for the job.’

  ‘If you say so, sir,’ Cato said flatly.

  There was a short silence before Corbulo gestured towards the door. ‘That’s all for now, Tribune. Best enjoy what’s left of the feast. It’ll probably be the last decent meal you’ll get for a while.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘That’s it.’ Macro steadied the fishing rod in the boy’s hands and patted him gently on the shoulder, as they stood on the edge of the river, not far from the city. ‘You’ve got it, Lucius. Now you have to be patient. When the fish comes to the bait you must let it take a good bite. Not a nibble. You’ll feel the rod move a little in your hands. But don’t pull sharply yet. Wait for the fish to jerk the rod. Then you strike. Pull back hard to fix the hook and the fish is yours.’

  Lucius looked up with an excited grin. ‘Mine to eat for supper!’

  ‘That’s right. Of course, if you are really good, you’ll catch enough for all of us to eat for supper.’

  ‘Yes. I promise, Uncle Macmac.’

  ‘Now then, young lad.
You’re old enough to stop using baby talk. No need for Macmac now. You can call me Macro when it’s just you, me, Petronella or your dad about. Otherwise it’s Centurion Macro, or sir. You understand?’

  Lucius looked up seriously and nodded. ‘Why?’

  ‘If you want to be a soldier one day, you need to get used to it. Best start early, eh?’ Macro reached down and repositioned his hand on the fishing rod. ‘Now, concentrate. Uncle Macro’s hungry and he wants fish for supper. Those are your orders for the day. Catch fish.’

  ‘Catch fish,’ Lucius repeated and pressed his lips together as he stared fixedly at the point where the line entered the flow of the river, creating a faint V on the surface of the water. Macro eased himself back and climbed through the reeds growing along the bank until he reached level ground, where Petronella was sitting in the shade of the trees as she unpacked the small hamper they had brought with them from Tarsus. The city, some two miles away, was just visible above a bend in the river, white stone and red-tiled roofs bright in the sunshine.

  ‘I could use a drink,’ said Macro as he sat heavily beside her.

  Petronella handed him a flask filled from the public well outside the silversmith’s house. They could have drunk from the river, but few people were prepared to do that downstream of a city. Macro pulled out the stopper, raised the neck of the flask to his lips and took several gulps before he set it down.

  ‘Needed that. It’s a hot day.’

  ‘Too hot.’ Petronella was fluttering a fan at the side of her face. ‘I doubt I’ll get used to it.’

  ‘You will. I’ve seen enough of the Empire to know a person can get used to anything: the bitter cold and snow of the north, or the glare of the sun on a desert, so bright it hurts your eyes. You’ll see.’

  She glanced at him. ‘Are we likely to be here some time?’

  ‘Depends on the Parthians. If they’re sensible, they’ll see that Nero means business and they’ll back off and leave Armenia to us. Once Rome makes a decision then everyone knows that we’ll see it through to the end, whatever it takes. That’s the reputation we’ve built up ever since the earliest times. Makes our enemies think twice before they take us on.’

  ‘And yet the Parthians have decided to take Rome on.’

  ‘Parthia’s different,’ said Macro. ‘They think they’re our equal. That’s why they’re prepared to take the risk from time to time.’

  ‘And are they? As powerful as Rome?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Macro sniffed. ‘Bunch of soft easterners. All flowing robes and eye make-up, as I recall.’

  ‘And yet they’re confident enough to defy Rome,’ Petronella mused. ‘Can’t be that much of a pushover then. And if they’re so soft, why haven’t we made them part of the Empire already?’

  Macro did not particularly like this line of questioning. It cast doubt on the proficiency of the Roman legions, of which he was inordinately proud. So he reverted to the standard line taken by soldiers keen to dispel the reputation of the Parthians.

  ‘Oh, I suppose they can put up a decent fight from time to time. But the truth of it is that they’re not proper soldiers. They don’t fight fair. They’re a crafty, devious, downright dishonest bunch. Full of tricks and traps. That’s the only reason they’ve given us any trouble over the years.’

  Petronella thought a moment. ‘Sounds to me like they’ve found a successful way to deal with you and your legions.’

  Macro laughed and patted her hand indulgently. ‘Leave soldiering to the experts, my love. We know what we’re talking about. I’m telling you. We’ll sort the Parthians out without much trouble.’

  ‘I hope so.’ She stared at him and then cupped his bristly cheek in her hand. ‘I’m just worried for you. That’s all. You, and your friend Cato.’ She nodded in the direction of Lucius, his head just visible amid the gently swaying tops of the reeds. ‘And Lucius. He’s already lost his mother. And his grandfather. Cato’s all the family he has left.’ She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I just want you both to come back from the campaign alive.’

  ‘We’ve managed to survive so far. Been a few times when I thought we were done for, not that I’d admit to it at the time. But we’ll be fine. I swear it, by Jupiter Best and Greatest.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s listening then. Macro, my love, I hate to say it, but you’ve been lucky. Luck doesn’t tend to last. And there’s, well . . .’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Your age. You’re no longer a young man. You’ve served out your enlistment, so why not retire, take your gratuity, and settle down somewhere quiet with me?’

  Macro shifted uneasily. ‘I’m still the man I was. And I’ve got some good years ahead of me. Besides, I have to look after the lads. They count on me. And there’s Cato. He’s clever and a gifted soldier, but he needs looking after too. A few more years in the legions for me, Petronella, that’s all. I’ll call it a day the moment I can’t keep up with the rest. Anyway, this campaign should provide me with plenty of booty to pay for a decent home for us. The Parthians are as rich as Croesus. Easy pickings.’

  ‘As long as you don’t end up being pickings for them.’

  ‘Pah!’ Macro had had enough and pointed to the hamper. ‘What did you bring for us to eat?’

  ‘Lamb pastries, those falafel things the locals are keen on, and there’s some fruit.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  They stared out over the river silently for a moment, watching a cargo ship ease its way towards Tarsus under its sweeps, long oars with wide blades, handled by three men. Neither of them was keen to resume the earlier discussion about the coming campaign. At length Petronella spoke. ‘Do you really think Lucius will catch anything?’

  Macro shook his head. ‘No. But it keeps the lad busy while I concentrate on you.’ He put his arm round her waist and squeezed, drawing her closer. They kissed. Then again, longer this time, and then Petronella lay back and pulled him on top of her.

  ‘No more talk. Make love to me.’

  Macro eased the folds of her stola up, revealing her thighs. ‘That’s my girl . . .’

  Lucius was getting hot under the noon sun and the fish weren’t biting. No matter how hard he prayed to Fortuna or the local river god. Even though Macro had told him to keep the rod steady, he was getting bored and began to experiment by lifting it up so that the baited hook cleared the water and then letting it drop back again with a satisfying plop. But still there were no bites. He began to wonder if Macro had any further advice on how to catch fish. Macro seemed to know how to do everything. He could sharpen knives, carve wooden soldiers, tell rude jokes and spit further than Lucius ever managed. He recalled the phrase that Macro tended to use quite often in his company when things did not quite go as planned.

  ‘Bollocks to this,’ Lucius muttered with delight, then turned sharply to look up through the reeds. Petronella did not like him using ‘soldier’s curses’ as she called them. She said that the son of a high-ranking officer must not use such language.

  ‘Bollocks to that,’ Lucius chuckled softly. ‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks . . .’

  He raised the rod and swung the line on to the riverbank and set it down before he climbed back through the reeds. As he approached the top he could hear Petronella letting out some soft cries. Pain or pleasure, it was hard to tell. Then he saw them, Macro on top, her legs wide, one tucked round his back.

  Lucius shook his head. They were wrestling again. Just like the very first time he had found them at it and they’d hurriedly explained what they were doing. They liked to wrestle a lot. Macro always seemed to come off worse, letting out a deep groan and then rolling aside as he gave up the fight.

  Lucius let out a soft sigh of exasperation as he turned away and made his way back down to the water’s edge. They’d be wrestling for a while yet, he knew. And when Macro lost again they were always too tired to do anything for a while.

  Lucius picked up his rod, checked that the small piece of gristle that served as bait was
still firmly fixed to the hook and then cast it into the river. He squatted down, one hand holding the rod, the other supporting his chin, as he gazed across the water and waited for the first fish to bite.

  Cato was waiting for them at the silversmith’s house when they returned at dusk, tired but cheerful after their day by the river. In the end Lucius had caught three fish, late in the day when the cool air encouraged the fish to emerge from the shadier parts of the river. These he proudly raised for his father to see.

  ‘I caught ’em! Once Uncle Macro showed me how.’

  ‘Uncle Macro?’ Cato smiled.

  His friend nodded. ‘We’ve moved things on from Macmac.’

  ‘Pity, I had grown used to it. The men of the cohort will be disappointed as well.’

  Macro’s eyes narrowed. ‘They wouldn’t dare . . .’

  ‘Not to your face.’

  ‘The first one I catch will be digging the shit out of the centurions’ latrines for the rest of the campaign.’

  Cato’s smiled faded as he considered the news he had to break to the three of them. But that could wait for a little while. He crouched down to admire his son’s catches.

  ‘They’re beauties. Must have been a hard fight to land them.’

  ‘Yes. Very hard.’

  ‘Well done, Lucius. I’m very proud of you.’ Cato tousled his hair. ‘I can’t wait to eat them for supper.’

  ‘But they’re mine.’ Lucius looked crestfallen. ‘I caught them.’

  ‘Now, now, lad,’ Macro intervened. ‘Soldiers share their rations. If I’d caught them then I’d be sharing them with you.’

  ‘But you didn’t. Too busy wrestling with Petronella. That’s why I caught them.’

  ‘Wrestling?’ Cato glanced up at the others. ‘Oh, I see.’