by Peter Darman
With the defeat of Mithridates, Pontus became a Roman client kingdom, though the kings that followed the great warlord made huge efforts to be loyal servants of Rome, in return for which the Romans administered Pontus with a light touch. That said, when the great Roman schism between Octavian and Mark Antony erupted, Cleopatra’s lover demanded the King of Pontus march with his soldiers when the triumvir launched his invasion of Parthia. That king was Polemon and the invasion ended in disaster, defeat and his capture at the hands of the Parthians, though he was released when he had assured his Parthian captor he would never again lead his soldiers south of the Araxes River. That Parthian was King Pacorus of Dura some eleven years before.
Polemon, now in his fortieth year, looked older than his age. His thick mop of black hair was already showing signs of grey and his face wore a permanent weary expression. His mood had darkened when a Parthian army had laid siege to Sinope the year before, drawn to his kingdom by the presence of Parthian rebels who had taken up residence in his realm, much to his chagrin. The Parthians had departed but the rebels remained, and though their upkeep was paid for by the new leader of the Roman world, Octavian, now called Augustus Caesar, their presence was both unwelcome and dangerous, for as long as they remained there was a danger the Parthians might return to inflict further misery on his kingdom.
Polemon looked at the other members of the royal council sitting at the large walnut table. His fresh-faced son Zenon; the plump, bald Aetius, High Priest of the Temple of Ahura Mazda, the supreme deity who saw everything on earth; the tall, broad-shouldered Diophantus, the commander of the king’s army; and Laodice, the wild-haired leader of the hill tribes that populated Pontus’ mountains.
Polemon tossed the letter he had received the day before on the table.
‘Now the mountain passes are free of snow and ice, the letter I was expecting has finally arrived.’
‘An appeal from Cappadocia and Galatia?’ said Diophantus.
The king rested his elbows on the table and brought his hands together.
‘Appeal is one name for it. Demand might be another. Our august friends King Archelaus of Cappadocia and King Amyntas of Galatia thirst for revenge against Gordyene, which they hold responsible for the depredations committed by the Parthians last year.’
Aetius, dressed in a white robe upon which were embroidered gold stars, stroked his thick beard.
‘Is it wise to embroil Pontus in yet another war, majesty?’
Diophantus ran a hand through his thick black hair.
‘Will any war have the support of Rome, majesty?’
Polemon nodded thoughtfully. ‘A good point. Let us ask Rome.’
He clicked his fingers and pointed at one of the slaves standing against the wall of the spacious room the meeting was taking place in, the open balcony doors giving magnificent views of the Black Sea surrounding Sinope.
‘Summon Ambassador Arrianus.’
The slave bowed and hurried from the room. Another walked forward and refilled the council members’ silver rhytons. In theory, Pontus was a self-governing kingdom, free to make its own decisions. But freedom as a client kingdom of Rome had its limits, not least when it came to waging war against the Parthian Empire, and indeed Armenia on Pontus’ eastern frontier.
‘May I ask your opinion of our allies’ demand, majesty?’ asked Aetius.
‘My opinion is that war should be avoided at all costs,’ came the frank answer.
‘The Parthians should be punished for invading our land,’ growled Laodice, who had a simplistic view of the world and had no time for international diplomacy or politics.
‘As you and General Tullus invaded their land, Laodice,’ said the king, ‘I would have thought you are both equal when it comes to violating the territorial integrity of foreign kingdoms.’
‘That was Rome’s war, not ours,’ said the hill man.
‘But we paid the price,’ said Diophantus.
Even the uncouth hill man appeared reflective at the general’s words, perhaps remembering his fellow chiefs who did not return from Prince Atrax’s abortive campaign against Media two years before. Octavian, now called Augustus Caesar for reasons no one understood, had paid for the campaign and Laodice had been given command of the five thousand Cilician tribesmen mustered by the Romans. But many Pontic hill men, lured by the prospect of loot and rape, had swelled their ranks. Few had returned to their hill villages, being butchered on the Diyana Plain by the Parthians. A year later the Parthians had killed more hill men when the Parthians, led by King Spartacus of Gordyene, had invaded Pontus.
‘If we attack Gordyene, then Dura and Hatra will march to defend it,’ said Diophantus, ‘and I have little faith we will be any more successful fighting those three kingdoms than the last time we clashed with them, especially if we do so on their own territory.’
It was a brutally honest assessment but one which Polemon agreed with, nodding his head sagely.
‘The army lost many men supporting Atrax,’ continued Diophantus, ‘and suffered further losses last year. If Cappadocia and Galatia want to wage war against Parthia, I say leave them to it.’
‘Pontus needs peace, I agree,’ said Polemon.
Aetius sipped at his wine. ‘We will have no peace while the foreigners remain in the kingdom.’
Pontus contained Greeks, Anatolians, Jews, Persians and a smattering of other races, but they all knew who the high priest alluded to: the followers of Prince Atrax and King Tiridates. Atrax had originally mustered two and half thousand horse archers and a thousand mounted spearmen when he had launched his invasion of Media. But battlefield losses and desertions had reduced that number to barely fifteen hundred, and more were expected to desert now spring was here and men could travel back to Parthia through the mountains. Success is a powerful motivator, but failure and defeat are guaranteed to thin an army quicker than pestilence. Atrax was seen as a spent force that had been defeated before the walls of his own city by a meagre garrison reinforced by only two hundred soldiers from the Kingdom of Dura. No one, apart from Atrax himself, believed the former son of King Darius would make a triumphant return to Parthia. The same could be said of King Tiridates, who for a brief period had been king of kings of the Parthian Empire. He too had been brought low by King Pacorus of Dura and had fled to Roman Syria where he had sought sanctuary. He had ensured himself a warm welcome by bringing the kidnapped son of High King Phraates with him, the infant being whisked away to Rome to be used as a bargaining chip for the return of the Roman eagles lost at Carrhae and Lake Urmia. In the coalition organised by the Romans to trap and destroy the Parthian army that had invaded Pontus the previous year, Tiridates had made his way north to be a part of the venture. In the aftermath, he and his two hundred mercenary horsemen had remained.
‘Pontus is in the unhappy position of harbouring two of Parthia’s most wanted men,’ stated Aetius, ‘and while they remain here we shall have no peace.’
‘Then kill them’ suggested Laodice, ‘and their followers.’
‘The Romans, who pay for their upkeep, believe they may yet have a useful role to play in the negotiations with the Parthians,’ said Polemon.
‘Perhaps we could get the Parthians to kill them,’ offered Zenon.
Barely out of his teens, only Zenon among those present knew that his father had been instrumental in saving the Parthians from disaster the year before, when the king had warned King Pacorus of the approach of the Cappadocians and Galatians from the south. At the time he had disagreed with the decision, especially as the pretext that Pacorus had saved his father’s life and he therefore was obliged to return the compliment, he viewed as flimsy at best. But the subsequent Parthian victories at Corum and Kayseri had revealed his father’s gesture had been inspired, for he firmly believed that if the Parthians had remained in Pontus they would probably have captured Sinope and put its population to the sword.
‘Explain,’ demanded his father.
Zenon faltered, intimidated by t
he august members of the council. This was only his third time he had attended the royal council.
‘Spit it out,’ commanded his father.
‘If Cappadocia and Galatia are determined to attack Gordyene,’ said Zenon, ‘then it would be prudent to encourage Prince Atrax and King Tiridates to participate. If the campaign succeeds, then we will have two allies ruling Gordyene. If not…’
He did not finish his sentence but they all knew what he meant. If the army of Gordyene triumphed, which seemed likely, then both Atrax and Tiridates might die at the hands of the Parthians.
‘In theory, your plan has merits,’ conceded Polemon, ‘but our erstwhile allies to the south will be expecting Pontus to take part in any campaign, which is the last thing I desire.’
‘If your majesty sent your Roman commander to participate in the campaign, the sons of Pontus would be spared unnecessary bloodshed,’ opined Aetius.
It was no secret the high priest had taken an instant dislike to Titus Tullus, formerly a lowly centurion in the army of Mark Antony, who by dint of luck had risen to become deputy commander of a Roman legion that had fought in Parthia to overthrow the usurper Tiridates, though Aetius believed only sorcery could have brought about such an improbable scenario. Tullus and his colleagues had then made their way to Pontus, where by another stroke of luck King Polemon was seeking a replacement for the commander of his corps of Romanised foot soldiers. In no time Tullus had ingratiated himself with the king and had been appointed commander of the corps, encouraged by the Roman ambassador in Sinope, who desired a fellow Roman to be at the heart of the Pontic army. The corps had been destroyed at the Battle of Diyana but Tullus and some of his men had escaped, though deserted would be a more accurate word, and made their way back to Pontus. Tullus had convinced the king to rebuild his unit of replica Roman legionaries, Polemon only too happy to agree, especially as the Roman ambassador had pledged Roman gold to support the project.
‘General Tullus is a Roman and several of his commanders are Roman, it is true,’ said Polemon, ‘but the majority of his soldiers are natives of Pontus, Aetius.’
‘It would appease the gods,’ insisted the high priest.
‘Please elucidate,’ commanded Polemon,
Aetius stood, preparatory to giving a lengthy sermon.
‘Briefly,’ ordered the king.
Frowning, Aetius retook his seat, much to the amusement of Laodice. Aetius gave the barbarian hill man a withering look before speaking.
‘The gods send us signs all the time, and it is to our peril that we ignore these signs. Our Lord Ahura Mazda, the giver of light and fire, the embodiment of truth, goodness and wisdom, sent Mithra, God of Light, to warn us of the folly of harbouring foreign mercenaries and the friends of those mercenaries.’
His stern words were met with blank expressions, which did little to appease him.
‘We are all familiar with the depiction of Mithra, I hope,’ he groaned.
‘A sun disc in a chariot drawn by white horses,’ answered Zenon, trying to be helpful.
Aetius slammed a fist on the table, causing the prince to jump and the king to sigh.
‘Precisely, young prince,’ said Aetius.
Diophantus, none the wiser, looked at his king, who was equally confused.
‘We are waiting, Aetius,’ said Polemon.
‘Those with eyes to see would have noticed that the commander of the Parthian army that besieged this city last year was King Pacorus of Dura,’ said the high priest smugly, ‘who worships Shamash, whose symbol is a sun disc. The bodyguard of his brother, King Gafarn of Hatra, ride on white horses, which indicates to me that the Parthians were aided by the gods who are angry with Pontus.’
Diophantus was far from amused.
‘So the gods aided our enemies?’
‘I am no commander,’ said Aetius, ‘but can anyone explain why, at Kayseri, the Parthians, being surrounded on four sides and outnumbered, emerged victorious? Only divine intervention can explain such a miracle.’
‘Surely the gods would wish us serve vengeance on those who have defiled Pontus?’ suggested Diophantus.
‘Mortal man cannot fathom the minds of the gods,’ snapped Aetius, ‘but the presence of foreign trouble-makers in this land will continue to draw their enemies to Pontus.’
‘Like flies to shit, you mean,’ said Laodice.
The high priest ignored him.
‘You have presented an interesting religious argument, Aetius,’ said Polemon, ‘but as king I have to deal with matters both physical and spiritual, and not least our alliance with Rome.’
A displeased Aetius went to object but Polemon held up a hand to him. He was relieved to see an officer of his palace guard enter the room and approach him. The commander stopped and saluted, Polemon waving him forward. The officer stooped to whisper into the king’s ear.
‘I will come immediately.’
The king rose, prompting the others to do likewise.
‘I will think on what we have talked about. Do not discuss what we have spoken about with anyone outside this council.’
He walked from the room into the marble-tiled corridor leading to the throne room.
The palace was light and airy and was a mixture of the Greek and Persian influences that had shaped Sinope, and indeed all Pontus. The audience hall where the Roman ambassador waited contained rows of white marble columns fashioned in the Greek Corinthian style. Each column was thin and fluted and had a decorative capital with a design of scrolls and acanthus leaves. The columns supported a cedar tiled roof and would have graced any palace, but each capital was covered with gold leaf to emphasise that this was the audience chamber of a Pontic king, descended from a long line of illustrious monarchs.
Polemon waved the guard away when he entered the chamber, smiling at the individual with a martial bearing who was standing as straight as a javelin admiring the gold at the top of the columns. He bowed his head at the king when he spotted Polemon.
‘Majesty, how may I be of assistance to you?’
‘Let us take the air,’ replied Polemon.
Gaius Arrianus was a recent arrival to Pontus, having been recently appointed ambassador to the court of King Polemon. Aetius and Diophantus had taken an instant dislike to him, believing, probably correctly, that he had been sent to keep a close eye on the affairs of Pontus and ensure the kingdom and its king remained loyal to Rome. For his part Polemon had tried to remain aloof from the Roman, but in truth found his company agreeable. He had been surprised to discover that Gaius was not Roman at all but a Greek, from Nicomedia, born to rich parents who were determined their son should have a good start in life. As Greece was ruled by Rome this meant sending their son to the great city itself, where by all accounts due to patronage and diligent hard work he prospered, to say nothing of the subtle influence of his parents’ great wealth. Following a period of military service fighting in Gaul, he returned to Rome and became a quaestor, a magistrate, and two years later became another, more important magistrate, an aedile, responsible for the care of the city’s temples and public buildings. It also allowed the office holder to wear a purple-bordered toga, the attire Gaius was sporting as he walked from the palace into the bracing air blowing off the sea. The palace was part of Sinope’s citadel, the strongest part of the city’s impressive fortifications, though resembled a Greek temple rather than a fortress in appearance. Polemon closed his eyes and took in the sea air.
‘Cappadocia and Galatia desire war against Gordyene.’
Gaius’ broad forehead creased a little. ‘And what does Pontus desire, majesty?’
Polemon opened his eyes.
‘Peace, Gaius. What I have always wanted. The Parthian invasion last year inflicted more destruction and losses on Cappadocia and Galatia than Pontus, thank Ahura Mazda, though we did not escape unscathed. But another war would mean more cost, and I have no desire to fight King Pacorus for a third time.’
‘It may comfort you, majesty, to know that King
Pacorus is, according to reports, content to remain in his kingdom, though an attack on Gordyene might tempt him to march to support his…’
Gaius tried to fathom how King Pacorus was related to King Castus of Gordyene.
‘Great nephew,’ said Polemon. ‘The late, unlamented King Spartacus was his nephew.’
‘Ah, I see. The problem, majesty, is that Rome is currently subsidising the forces of Prince Atrax and King Tiridates resident in your kingdom, to say nothing of the seven legions raised last year in support of Pontus, Cappadocia and Galatia.’
‘I will be frank with you, Gaius, the soldiers of Atrax and Tiridates cannot remain in Pontus indefinitely. It would be better if they were disbanded.’
Gaius looked away from the blue of the Black Sea to examine the city of Sinope below the citadel: the grid layout of its roads and buildings, the lavish mansions where he had a residence and the many gardens sprinkled among the homes and businesses. Atrax, Tiridates and their bored and troublesome supporters were lodged in the city of Trabzon to the east of Sinope.
‘Rome would not be inclined to raising legions once again to support a war against Gordyene,’ said Gaius, ‘which might lead to a general conflagration between Rome and Parthia. Something that neither Augustus nor Phraates desire. But I accept your point that the Parthian rebels cannot remain in Pontus indefinitely.’
‘Rome may be paying for their upkeep, Gaius, but Pontus has to deal with the consequences of their indiscipline. The situation is growing intolerable.’
Polemon turned away from the ambassador to stare at the turquoise sea surrounding Sinope on three sides.
‘King Archelaus and King Amyntas are proposing a meeting at the town of Melitene where the details of a campaign against Gordyene will be thrashed out.’
