The Blood of Rome

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Centurion Macro, I sense that you do not approve of my actions.’

  Macro stared back, trying his best to conceal his disgust at a man who could butcher defenceless prisoners for sport. His voice was strained as he replied in halting Greek: ‘Those men are captives of Rome. You have no right to kill them. Especially since my commanding officer gave his word that they would live.’

  ‘They are our enemies. Yours and mine. We are at war with them. It is our duty to kill them until the war is over. You Romans can’t be trusted to do your duty, so I am doing it for you instead. This way we don’t waste any time, nor food nor water on these Parthian scum. Nor do we have to waste any of our men guarding them. Now, take your men out of the fort and let me finish my work.’

  ‘Work?’ Macro arched his eyebrows. ‘Is that what you call this? I can think of a better word for it.’

  ‘Really? And what would that be?’

  Macro forced himself not to reply, anxious that the situation did not spark off a fight between the two sides that would destroy any hope for the wider mission’s success. Rhadamistus watched his troubled expression closely and smiled.

  ‘Come now, Centurion, surely this is no way for friends to speak to each other? I suggest that you take your men out of the fort and wait outside if the sight of blood distresses you.’

  ‘We’ll leave once you hand the prisoners over.’

  The Iberian prince took a step closer, so that he towered over Macro. ‘You will address me by my title. I have overlooked this for the sake of our alliance. I will not do so again. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ Macro swallowed bitterly. ‘Majesty.’

  ‘That’s better. Now take your men outside.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘Not while those prisoners are alive, Majesty. They come with us. I insist on it.’

  ‘I see.’ Rhadamistus nodded, and backed off a few paces. ‘Very well, I have grown tired of killing those dogs in any case. I shall take no more heads.’

  Macro let out a relieved sigh and immediately felt the edge taken off the tension in his muscles. He bowed his head to the Iberian prince before the latter turned and paced towards his waiting men who stood ready with their weapons. Macro saw him wave in the direction of the Parthians and issue some instructions in a calm, casual tone. At once the Iberian archers turned on the prisoners and loosed their arrows into the dense target. They shot swiftly, nocking arrow after arrow, and the range was too close to miss. The Parthians cried out piteously and shrank from the barrage of lethal shafts, but there was no refuge, no cover, and the cries quickly died away as bodies fell, one upon the other, until there was a fresh mound of corpses and the twitching of the wounded, accompanied by their agonised moans.

  All this happened under the eyes of Macro and his men, before he could even think how best to act. Then it was too late. As soon as the last of the prisoners went down the archers closed in and drew their daggers to cut the throats of those still living, and there was none for Macro to save.

  Rhadamistus took a sip from his wineskin as he surveyed the scene and then called across to Macro.

  ‘Like I said, Centurion, I have taken no more heads.’ He laughed. ‘You see, I too am a man of my word.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘I’m telling you, Cato, he seemed to be having the time of his life. Just standing there and butchering the prisoners. That Iberian lad is not quite right in the head. Oh, sure, he’s a brave one. Leads from the front and all that, but he’s dangerous. He’s got a taste for blood, and woe betide anyone who crosses him.’ Macro shook his head. ‘For a moment there, back in the fort, I was sure he might even turn on me and my boys.’

  ‘Then it’s as well you did nothing to provoke him any further,’ Cato replied tersely as he shielded his eyes and peered into the distance. A mile ahead he could pick out the small groups of horsemen screening the advance of his column. To his right rose a range of hills that overlooked the narrow strip of level ground on each side of the tributary of the Euphrates that the local people called Murad Su, according to Narses. There was arable land on either bank, and farms and villages dotted the landscape. Rhadamistus and his horsemen ensured that they seized every decent mount along the route to ensure that no warning of their advance could be given.

  It was two days since they had taken the fort guarding the crossing, and an uneasy mood had settled on the column as they entered Armenian territory. The Praetorians and the auxiliaries kept themselves apart from the Iberians. Before the massacre of the prisoners, there had been an amicable enough relationship between the allies, with some trading of rations and trinkets, and good-humoured attempts to learn each other’s tongues. Now, they marched apart, ate apart and no attempt was made to mix within the camp at night. Rhadamistus did not seem concerned about the tension when Cato had cause to confer with him each night about the next day’s advance. The Iberian prince spent each evening in his comfortably appointed tent, drinking and feasting with his inner circle of noblemen. When the drinking was done, Rhadamistus retired to his sleeping tent, along with one of the veiled women from his entourage. It was not, Cato reflected, how he himself would have acted as a king returning to claim his throne. Far better to win the people’s hearts rather than behave like a common bandit, looting their meagre stocks of food and wine, and abusing their wives and daughters.

  ‘Provoke him?’ Macro repeated. ‘I did nothing of the sort. The bastard jumped my men and disarmed them, and then started lopping off the prisoner’s heads. Prisoners, I might add, who would have fetched a nice price in the slave markets. I’d say he did rather more to provoke me.’

  ‘And you did the right thing by keeping a cool head.’

  ‘I should have put a stop to it,’ Macro continued in a sour tone.

  Cato leaned on his saddle horn as he half turned to his friend. ‘And what would have happened then? What could you have done differently that would not have ended in a fight between you and his men?’

  ‘We could have taken them on.’

  ‘Maybe. But at what cost? You’d have lost most of your century and Rome would have lost the chance to place our man on the Armenian throne. We’d have had to abandon Armenia to the Parthians. Put that in the balance against a little loss of face and I think you can guess how the emperor and his advisers might view things. Even if you survived the fight in the fort I doubt that Nero would have let you live another day once he heard what had happened.’

  Macro thought for a moment and scratched his head. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Cato, ‘if you had the worst of the encounter, I’d have lost a good friend.’

  They shared a brief laugh, and Cato was glad to have lightened the grim mood of his companion. He was feeling the burden of command weigh down on him more and more the further they marched beyond the frontier of the Empire. Even though Armenia was nominally an ally of Rome, the people had far closer blood ties to the Parthians. The hostile demeanour of the natives and the overbearing behaviour of Rhadamistus and his followers wore away at Cato’s conviction that he could see this mission through successfully. It was a calculated risk in any case. Corbulo had wagered he could wrest the initiative back from the enemy with a quick strike into Armenia. And he had dispatched Cato with just enough men to warrant the risk, but not so many that the general could not afford to lose them. It no longer mattered whether it was a calculated risk or a mere gamble, Cato concluded. They were committed. That meant their fate was bound to that of Rhadamistus. Whatever Cato or Macro might make of their ally’s untrustworthiness or cruelty, they must ensure that he reached Artaxata alive and triumphed over his Parthian rival. Armenia was the prize, he reminded himself. His superiors deemed the kingdom strategically vital to Rome’s influence in the east. And that was all that mattered.

  The column continued its advance, and each day the hills increased in scale until the horizon was bounded by mountains in every direction, with the river forced to conform to the increasingly rugg
ed terrain as it flowed through the foothills. The rate of advance was dictated by the heavy wagons of the siege train, which ground and bumped along the stony track. The slightest of inclines slowed progress to a crawl and the column was forced to halt to allow the wagons to catch up. Even though it was early summer and the trees were green with fresh leaves and the grassy hills were speckled with bright flowers, the nights were cold and Cato was obliged to send out forage parties for firewood as well as food. But there were no attacks on the foragers, and as darkness fell the camp was illuminated by ruddy pools of firelight that bathed the men warming themselves in a lurid glow.

  With every mile they advanced, Cato felt that he and his men were more exposed to danger as they tramped across a landscape that was utterly unknown to him, about which he had read only the scantest details before leaving Rome. He was made acutely uncomfortable by the need to rely on the guides of Rhadamistus, who led the column further and further into the mountainous region. It was difficult to hold his suspicions in check, especially as he knew that false guides had caused the ruin of previous Roman expeditions against Parthia.

  On the evening of the tenth day they made camp on the edge of a dense forest of pine trees which provided a plentiful supply of fuel for the campfires. Beside the rampart the river flowed by and the men were able to take the opportunity to wash clothes and bathe as twilight settled over the Armenian countryside and the scent of pine needles filled the air. It was a peaceful enough scene, and once Cato was satisfied that the camp was secure for the night he went down to the river for a swim. Removing the leather cuirass he wore on the march, his sword belt, tunic and boots, and lastly his loincloth, he stepped into the shallows and gasped at the coldness of the water. A short distance upstream a group of Praetorians stopped larking about and watched him curiously, amused by the sight of a senior officer stripped of any trappings of rank and as naked as them.

  Feeling exposed and slightly ridiculous, Cato waded a few steps further and submerged himself. The shock of the cold water on his skin felt like fire for a moment as he struck out lustily for fifty paces in a bid to get used to the temperature. Then he turned and trod water, and saw that the men had returned to their amusement and no longer regarded him as being of any interest. The river flowed slowly at this point, and Cato was able to observe the camp with a practised eye and was pleased by the neatness of the ramparts, the palisade and watchtowers at each corner and the horse lines beyond the outer ditch. Smoke rose lazily in the still evening air and scored a series of faint lines against the violet sky. The dull gleam of the sentries pacing along the wall and keeping a lookout in the towers was reassuring proof that his men were vigilant and ready for any emergency.

  The current had carried him a short distance beyond the fort, and so Cato began to swim directly for the bank rather than fight the current in a more direct line towards his kit lying on the bank. As soon as his feet could touch the bottom he surged into the shallows and emerged dripping water and feeling refreshed and hungry as he paced up stream. The air felt comfortable after the chill of the river and he pulled on his tunic and tied his boots and bundled the rest of his kit under his arm before striding down to the men splashing in the shallows.

  ‘Time to get out, lads. It’ll be dark soon and I want everyone safely behind the ramparts before then.’

  The men returned to the bank as he strode off towards the nearest gate and exchanged a salute with the sentries standing guard at the entrance to the camp. Within, most of the men were busy cooking their evening meal over the fires, and away to Cato’s right, beyond the neat lines of tents of the Praetorians and the slingers, he saw the Iberians tents, massed with no apparent order, other than that they were erected around the much larger tent of Rhadamistus. There was a stretch of open ground between the two forces which underscored the residual lack of trust that still lingered.

  When Cato reached his tent he found Narses waiting for him outside.

  ‘My king requests that you join him for dinner.’

  ‘Requests?’ Cato smiled slightly. ‘I imagine the original wording was that he commands me to join him.’

  Narses smiled back. ‘Indeed, Tribune. I merely wished to couch the invitation in more diplomatic terms out of respect for your sensibilities.’

  ‘I appreciate your tact and will attend His Majesty directly.’

  ‘As directly as convenient would be greatly appreciated, sir,’ Narses said anxiously.

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ Cato paused a moment. Rhadamistus was not in the habit of inviting him to his evening feasts. ‘What’s the occasion?’

  Narses sighed. ‘The prospect of imminent action, I should think. Knowing him as well as I do.’

  ‘Imminent action?’ Cato arched an eyebrow.

  ‘You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, sir.’ Narses bowed and hurried away. Before Cato could call him back and demand a more detailed response, the Iberian had ducked between the tents and disappeared.

  Rhadamistus and his circle were already eating when Cato arrived. The Iberian prince greeted him effusively and beckoned him over to the couch to his right, the place of honour. Some slaves brought him platters of spiced mutton and bread and a jar of wine. As Cato settled, Rhadamistus rolled on to to his side to face him.

  ‘Feast well, my friend. Tomorrow we will reach the town of Ligea and my revenge against those who betrayed me will begin.’

  Cato had been about to eat a strip of mutton but now replaced it on the platter as he looked at the Iberian prince. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of any town nearby, Majesty.’

  ‘That’s because you and your men march like snails and you have no cavalry. My advance patrols first observed the town two days ago.’

  ‘And you did not see fit to inform me that we were approaching this town, Ligea?’

  ‘Would it have made a difference if I had? We are here now and Ligea is a short march beyond the forest. You will see it for yourself tomorrow and the enemy are sure to surrender once you demonstrate the power of your siege weapons.’

  ‘The enemy? There are Parthians in Ligea?’

  ‘I doubt it. If there are any Parthian forces in Armenia then they are most likely to be protecting that coward Tiridates skulking in my capital.’

  ‘I see, so the people in Ligea are Armenians, rather than our enemy.’

  Rhadamistus frowned. ‘They are my enemy, Tribune. Ligea closed its gates to me when I was forced to flee. They declared for the usurper and refused my followers and myself any shelter or succour. And for that they will pay with their lives. Like all those who betrayed their king. I mean to teach the people of Armenia a lesson about the price of treachery.’

  Cato listened to his words with a sinking heart. He could easily imagine the circumstances under which the hapless people of Ligea were confronted with a king on the run demanding their help, and knowing that if they answered the call then they would inevitably incur the wrath of the new ruler sitting on the throne in Artaxata. They had chosen the safest path at the time. Cato would have done the same himself. And now they would be living in abject terror when they realised the man they had spurned as a fugitive had returned at the head of a small army. But there was an opportunity to be had here, Cato realised.

  ‘Majesty, would it not be wiser to show mercy to the Ligeans? Perhaps they acted out of fear of Tiridates, rather than animosity to you. Pardon them and their gratitude will reward you many times over as they spread word of your magnanimity. Punish them and they will become your implacable enemy and the fate of their town will act as a beacon to unite other towns and cities against you.’

  Rhadamistus shook his head. ‘Fear is the key. You made that point yourself just then. They feared Tiridates and so turned against me. So I must make them fear me even more to make them turn against my rival. That is the secret of power. I learned that from one of your emperors, Caligula. “Let them hate, as long as they obey me.” Wise words.’

  Cato kept his mouth shut. He remembered the years
of terror under Caligula and was not inclined to regard that emperor as anything other than dangerously insane.

  ‘Wise words,’ Rhadamistus repeated with emphasis. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Majesty, since the author of the aphorism was murdered by his own bodyguards, and most of his family along with him. I would hate for the same to happen to you should your actions turn your people against you.’

  Rhadamistus laughed. ‘They will do as I wish, or they will face the consequences. Let Ligea be an object lesson for them all.’

  Cato steeled himself before he spoke again. ‘I do not think it is wise to take unnecessary risks. Ligea may be a small town. It may be easily taken, but that will come at the cost of lives and time, neither of which it would be wise for us to squander if we are to have the best chance of capturing Artaxata. I suggest we bypass the town and continue our march, Majesty. At least, if we must halt before the town gates, then offer them the hand of friendship. Who knows? You may win new recruits to our force. We could use more men.’

  Rhadamistus stared back a moment and then nodded. ‘Very well, there is some wisdom in your words. I will give the matter some thought. It is true that we need to reach Artaxata quickly. Besides, I am keen to be with my wife, Zenobia . . .’ He reached for his cup and took a thoughtful sip before he continued speaking, but without meeting Cato’s gaze. ‘My Zenobia. She is the most beautiful of women, Tribune. The partner of my labours. There is nothing she would not do for me. She is as worthy of being a queen as any woman in this world. All men desire her, yet she is mine. Mine alone.’ His expression darkened. ‘And she is in hiding. Waiting until it is safe for her to emerge.’

  Cato could not help expressing his surprise. ‘You left her behind?’

  ‘Tiridates’ assassins would kill her as eagerly as they would me. It is better for her to remain hidden until my return. Somewhere she will not be found.’ He glanced shrewdly at Cato before he continued. ‘You know the effect that such a woman can have? Sometimes it is like staring at the sun. Which is why I need the company of lesser women from time to time.’ He clapped his hands and called out loudly in the Armenian tongue. At once a flap lifted at the rear of the tent and three young women were ushered in by one of his bodyguards. Cato was dimly aware of the sound of a trumpet sounding above the hubbub of conversation, but his attention was drawn to the women, each one a beauty. They wore simple flimsy linen tunics and shuffled across the tent until they stood before Rhadamistus, eyes cast down with fear. He ran his gaze over them and then pointed to the woman in the middle.