Cato stared coldly at the men from Ligea before he spoke: ‘Majesty, I want the heads of those responsible for the capture and torture of Centurion Petillius and his men. Ask them who butchered my Praetorians.’
Rhadamistus addressed the council members and Cato noted the fearful glances they exchanged before their leader answered. Rhadamistus listened and then translated for Cato in a low voice.
‘He claims it was the Parthians. Their patrols have been watching us for the last three days. As soon as they saw your soldiers enter the forest they decided to wait until they were busy cutting trees before the trap was sprung. The Parthian officer tortured them before they were killed and displayed in front of the fort as a warning to Rome not to interfere in Armenian affairs. This man swears it was nothing to do with the townspeople. They are peace-loving, he says.’
‘Then I want the Parthian officer handed over,’ said Cato. ‘And every man in that patrol.’
‘That may prove difficult. They say the Parthians are determined to fight, but the militia is not, and since the militia hold the town gates, their commander has said they are ready to open them for us when we reach the city. After that we can have a free hand with the Parthians. You may punish them as you see fit, Tribune. These men say the Ligeans have always been friends of Rome and loyal to me. The men responsible for spurning me were forced from their posts by the people. They say the ruling council regards the Parthian presence in their town with hostility.’
Cato regarded the Ligeans with a faint sneer on his lips, then turned to Rhadamistus. ‘A word with you, Majesty, out of earshot of the council members.’
The two moved a short distance away before Cato continued quietly. ‘And do you believe them, Majesty?’
‘Of course not. They are craven liars, trying to save their skins. But that will not save them. Once we have entered Ligea they will be amongst the first to be put to the sword.’
Cato nodded. ‘Meanwhile we must make good use of them. We must agree to spare them and accept their protestations of loyalty, so that they betray the Parthians and open the gates. Once we have destroyed the enemy, we can punish those who betrayed you, Majesty, and those whom I hold equally responsible for the deaths of my men. Let the fate of Ligea serve as an example to all those who fail in their loyalty to you, their king, and Rome, their ally.’
The last words were leaden with irony and Rhadamistus raised an eyebrow.
‘Very well, Tribune. I will speak to them. I will tell them we are glad to be welcomed as friends, and in return we pledge to rid their town of our mutual enemy.’
Cato was already thinking about the next step. Although he felt confident that the Ligean envoys were genuine in their offer to betray the Parthians, it was possible that they might be setting a trap instead. He had no wish to let his two cohorts suffer the consequences of any double-dealing by the Ligeans. ‘We’ll need to approach the town as if we were preparing to lay siege. When the militia act we’ll have to move fast, before the Parthians are wise to the danger. Your horse-archers have the best chance of taking and holding the gate before the Parthians counter, Majesty. I’ll bring the Praetorians up as quickly as I can to support you. With luck we’ll catch the Parthians by surprise. Of course, once they realise they have been betrayed they’ll try to flee. In which case it would be prudent to position my slingers and your cataphracts on the far side of the town to block their escape.’
Rhadamistus had listened closely and nodded his approval. ‘A wise plan, Tribune. Truly, I am fortunate that your general chose you to serve me.’
Cato gave a modest bow of the head.
The Iberian glanced towards the waiting Ligeans. ‘Now, we must tell those curs what they want to hear and send them back to their accomplices.’
‘No. We only need to send one man, their leader. The rest can stay with us. If the commander of the militia fails to keep his word then we can make an example of them. Show the Ligeans what happens to those who try to deceive their king.’
It was late in the afternoon as the column resumed its advance and approached the town. The cataphracts and slingers had already set off on a roundabout route behind the hills to the south to block the road on the other side of Ligea. The baggage and siege trains were interspersed with the Praetorian centuries, and the dust raised by the mules and heavy wheels helped to conceal the size of the column, so that the enemy would not realise that the force approaching the town directly was smaller than that observed a few days earlier. For the infantry, the dust was an acute discomfort, and the men grumbled through the wool of the neckcloths most had raised to cover their nose and mouth. At the head of the column, and on either flank, rode the horse-archers. The largest group of riders was in the centre, led by Rhadamistus and Cato, with the Ligean envoys close behind, under guard.
A mile from the town they encountered a small group of Parthian scouts who watched the column for as long as they dared before turning their horses and galloping to safety. The gates of Ligea closed behind them and along the wall Cato could see the occasional flash of sunlight reflecting off helmets and the tips of spears. The column advanced unhurriedly and Cato gave the order to halt while they were still beyond bowshot. Behind him he heard Macro bellow the order for the men to set down their marching yokes, so that they would not be encumbered when the moment came to rush the town’s gatehouse. Cato called for his trumpeter and Narses to ride at his side and then turned to Rhadamistus and Macro.
‘Once the gates are opened, Majesty, send your horse-archers forward to take the gatehouse. Macro, you come up with the Praetorians at the run. The rest of the cohort will come up after you.’
‘My lads are ready and keen to go, sir. After what happened to Petillius and the others, we’ll let nothing stand in our way.’
‘Good.’ Cato took a last look round at the men of the cohort, forming up and waiting for the order to attack. Then he took a deep breath and urged his mount into an easy trot, gesturing at the trumpeter and Narses to follow him. Ahead there was a slight incline as the road approached the low mound upon which the town had been built. To the left of the town a trip of irrigated land spread along the bank of the river, while to the right the ground gave way to a range of steep-sided hills, sparsely covered with trees. Cato reined in and walked his horse towards the gatehouse.
‘Sound your bucina,’ he ordered.
The trumpeter spat to one side then raised the mouthpiece and blew three sharp notes, a pause and three more notes, as was the custom for those seeking a parley. Fifty paces from the closed gates Cato stopped and ordered the trumpeter to lower his instrument. On the tower above the gatehouse he could see a cluster of faces staring down at him. Then one man leaned forward, hands braced on the battlement, and called out to them.
‘He demands to know why Rome has violated the border of the kingdom of Armenia,’ Narses translated.
‘Is he a Parthian?’ Cato asked.
‘From his accent, I would say so, Tribune.’
‘Then tell him that Rome demands to know, what business has a Parthian in the land of an ally of Rome? Why has Parthia broken the longstanding agreement between our empires to acknowledge Armenia as a Roman protectorate?’
The response came a moment later.
‘The people of Armenia demanded the help of Parthia to rid themselves of the tyrant Rhadamistus, he says. Armenia no longer looks to Rome. He orders us to turn our column around and march back across the frontier.’
Cato’s gaze switched between the man on the tower, and the gates, which remained closed. His heartbeat quickened. Any moment now the militia should be flinging the gates open . . . But there was no sign of movement.
‘You will surrender Ligea to us,’ he commanded, trying to prompt the militia to act. ‘Surrender at once. If we are obliged to take the town by force then none will be spared.’
As Narses translated, there was a swirl of movement amongst those on the tower and then a figure was thrust up on to the wall and shoved hard in the back.
Arms flailing, he fell a short distance before the rope around his neck snapped taut and his body spasmed and then hung limp as it swayed from side to side. It took a moment and then Cato recognised the leader of the town’s council. Another figure was forced on to the wall and over the parapet to tumble and jerk to a halt, swinging against the other body. This one wore a mail vest and greaves and Cato guessed that he must be the commander of the militia. It was clear that the treachery of the Ligean envoys towards the Parthians had been uncovered by some pro-Parthian element in the town and the traitors had paid with their lives.
The Parthian officer called out again.
‘He orders us to leave, before we share the same fate.’
Cato stared at the swaying bodies for a moment, then made his reply: ‘I will lay siege to Ligea. You have until the ram first touches the wall to surrender. After that, no life will be spared. Rome has spoken.’
As soon as Narses had translated, Cato turned his horse about and the three men galloped back towards the column, Cato’s face set in an expression of cold determination as he formed his plans to storm the town and burn it to the ground, along with its inhabitants, down to the last living thing. Starting with the remaining envoys.
‘I take it the enemy isn’t keen on the idea of surrender?’ Macro greeted his commander.
‘No. But they will be.’ Cato glanced at the Ligeans under guard close by. They had followed the brief exchange outside the gatehouse and were stricken with fear.
‘Majesty, if you have no objections, I’d like to use them to demonstrate to the Ligeans what happens to those who defy their rightful king, and Rome.’
Rhadamistus chuckled. ‘Of course, Tribune. I would be delighted to see them put to good use.’
One of the group stepped forward, clasping his hands round Rhadamistus’s foot as he spoke quickly. The king kicked him away with a sneer.
Cato regarded the prisoners with contempt before he turned to Rhadamistus. ‘What is your pleasure, Majesty?’
Rhadamistus edged his mount over to the Ligean and leaned forward to pat him on the head, as if he were showing affection to a faithful hound. The Ligean looked up hopefully and gave an uncertain smile. Then Rhadamistus straightened up.
‘We should return them to their friends and families inside the town. Once you have set up your onagers, you can return them, one piece at a time. Starting with their heads.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The command post was on the spur of a hill that stretched out towards Ligea and offered good views over the ground that surrounded the town. A path had already been worn through the stunted grass clinging to the slope and Macro paused just below the crest to catch his breath after the steep climb in full armour. He removed his helmet and mopped the sweat from his brow before he turned, chest heaving, and braced his hands on his hips as he looked back. There was perhaps an hour of light left and the landscape was washed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Long shadows stretched out over the ground and the heat of the day had started to abate, much to Macro’s relief.
To his left was the camp, with its neat tent lines of the Roman troops and the less ordered sprawl of the Iberians. The ditch and rampart were deeper and higher than was usually the case with a simple marching camp, since the men had had more time to prepare the defences. Another ditch and rampart stretched from the camp down to the riverbank, and to the right of the town a similar fortification ran across the level ground to a rock outcrop below the hill. All of which had been constructed within a day of the column’s arrival outside Ligea. Those inside the town were now cut off from the outside. They had no access to the water from the river as the channel used to supply the town had been dammed. Thirst would be their biggest danger in the days to come, Macro mused. While for the besiegers the greatest danger would be the approach of any relief column. But with Iberian patrols keeping watch from high vantage points, there would be little possibility of the besiegers being caught by surprise.
The faint crack of one of the onagers releasing another rock drew Macro’s attention to the siege weapons secure behind earthworks just beyond bowshot of the walls. The battery was garrisoned with a century of slingers, as well as the crews of the onagers and bolt-throwers. Under Macro’s instructions the weapons had been assembled shortly before, and he had come up to the command post to report to Cato. Before the battery took aim on the gatehouse there had been the distasteful duty of sending the heads and body parts of the Ligean envoys over the town walls to drop amongst the townsfolk. Macro shook his head at the thought. Killing a foe in battle was one thing, cutting down a bunch of unarmed cowards was demeaning to all concerned, and had left him feeling sullied. He only hoped that the short bombardment of bloodied body parts might undermine the enemy’s desire to resist. If not, the steady battering down of the gatehouse should weaken their will. The question was, would the defenders seek terms before the ram was brought up?
Macro looked down to where Centurion Ignatius’s men were assembling the ram and the wooden frame of the mantlet that would protect the crew. Already men were fastening lengths of timber, cut from the nearby forest, to the frame and covering them with hide. Once the ram was suspended beneath the mantlet the latter would be ready to be hauled forward to complete the job of breaking into the town. That would be the last chance the defenders had to surrender, according to the customs of war. If they forced the attacker to make an assault, with the risk of casualties that entailed, then it was deemed that the defenders had only themselves to blame for the consequences when the attackers sought revenge for the loss of their comrades. No quarter could be expected.
Tucking his felt cap into his helmet and holding the latter under his arm, Macro continued up the final stretch of the path and approached the command post. A company of Iberian spearmen guarded the tents and awnings occupied by Rhadamistus and his closest followers. The spearmen waved Macro through the perimeter and he crossed to where Cato was seated on a stool as he observed the scene below and made notes on a waxed slate. He looked up at the sound of Macro’s boots crunching across the gritty soil. His friend looked exhausted, Macro thought, his eyes listless and his face lined where the dust had settled into the smallest creases of his skin and scar tissue.
‘Sir, beg to report the siege battery is complete and is targeting the gatehouse and the walls on either side, as you ordered.’
‘And the prisoners’ bodies?’
‘Cut up and returned to the town like you wanted.’
Cato sensed a hardening of his friend’s tone and enquired evenly: ‘You disapprove?’
‘Not my place to comment on orders given to me by my commanding officer, sir.’
Cato smiled wearily. ‘When you speak to me as formally as that, then I know you disapprove.’
‘Well, aside from the mess it’s made on the onager pouches, not to mention having to dispose of the offal, I am not quite sure what good it has done. After all, they had come to us to offer help. Not their fault it didn’t go the way they planned. By killing the envoys and lobbing them back to their families in pieces, I don’t think we are going to win much support down there.’ Macro jerked his thumb in the direction of Ligea. ‘The townsfolk weren’t too keen on their Parthian guests before, and now we’ve given them reason to form a common cause. Strikes me we should be practising a little more divide and conquer, if we want this over as quickly as possible.’
Cato listened in silence and then thought a moment before offering a reply: ‘It’s too late for that. We have to take the town now. Can’t afford to leave any hostiles across our lines of communication.’
‘What lines of communication? We’re out on a limb here, sir, living off the land. Our best hope of success is to get the Iberian lad on his throne as quickly as possible. This siege is going to waste time and lives. Every day we spend here gives the Parthians time to prepare their defences in Artaxata.’
Cato nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s one argument. But there’s another. Once knowledge of the fate o
f Ligea spreads through Armenia, then I doubt we’ll have any trouble from any other towns we march through.’
‘That’s not what you were telling me the other night, after you’d spoken to Rhadamistus.’
‘Then I’ve changed my mind. Perhaps he is right after all.’
Macro ground his teeth. ‘This isn’t like you, lad. Not at all. This is to do with what happened to Petillius and his boys, isn’t it? Blood for blood?’
Cato stared back. ‘Is there anything wrong with wanting to avenge your comrades?’
‘Plenty, if it means putting the rest of the column at greater risk than was already the case.’ Macro raised his hand and ran it through his hair. ‘Look, I can see this has shaken you, and no doubt you’re bloody exhausted. We all are. But you have to keep your head and think clearly. You of all people.’
Cato stood up suddenly and looked down at Macro, his voice strained. ‘You forget yourself, Centurion Macro. I am in command here. I give the orders. I do not have to explain those orders to anyone, least of all those who serve under me. You will not question me again, do you understand? Just do your duty.’
Macro took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Cato . . . Sir, I know my duty. It is to serve Rome, serve the officers Rome places above me, and to serve my brothers-in-arms. I have always been dutiful to Rome . . . and to the closest of my comrades and friends. That is why I speak as I find.’
‘Then perhaps you should speak less, Centurion,’ Cato suggested tersely.
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