Wraiths

by Peter Darman

  ‘He needs to know Atrax is dead,’ Bullus told him, ‘and we need to know who died in the battle he has just fought. Some of our other targets may also have fallen.’

  He looked at Klietas. ‘Let’s hope he does not remember you spilling wine on him last year.’

  ‘Well, it looks like he has won a great victory,’ said Bullus, ‘which should sweeten his humour. Perhaps we should have brought the head of Atrax with us, as a present for Castus.’

  ‘King Castus,’ Talib reminded him. ‘All of you must be on your guard. The King of Gordyene is not Pacorus of Dura.’

  *****

  Melitene was full of exhausted, demoralised and frightened soldiers. The voluminous palace at its centre was also full, of the bodyguards of those kings who had managed to escape the great slaughter on the plain. Archelaus, Amyntas and Artaxias had all reached the town safely, though all with greatly depleted retinues. Archelaus was in the pit of despair and had retired to his private quarters upon reaching the palace. Artaxias was in a state of shock and near collapse. Only Amyntas was unbowed, raging at all and sundry and threatening to ride out of the town the next day and put every Parthian to the sword. It was an empty boast and so the only man who kept his head plied the king and his surviving Gaul nobles with alcohol to hasten their slumber.

  Archelaus was fortunate Titus Tullus was the temporary governor of a town now under threat of imminent siege. He had closed the gates in the face of a stream of stragglers from the battle, instructing his officers manning the walls to ignore their pleas for admittance. He placed the town under curfew and closed the gates to the palace.

  It was late into the night, the palace filled with his soldiers standing guard in every corridor and on the walls, when Gaius Arrianus, who had been conspicuous by his absence during the drama of the kings’ return, visited the governor in his office. Titus Tullus looked like a malevolent demon in the light cast by the oil lamp on his desk when the ambassador entered the office. Tullus instructed a slave to fetch the pair wine. Gaius saw the papyrus sheets on the governor’s desk.

  ‘Turning your hand to book-keeping, general?’

  Tullus looked at the sheets. ‘Compiling a Greek tragedy, more like. I have been piecing together what happened on the plain earlier, from the officers and nobles who made it back.’

  The slave returned and filled two silver goblets with wine, bowing his head and retiring with the jug.

  ‘Leave it,’ ordered Tullus. ‘It is going to be a long night.’

  He took a large gulp of wine.

  ‘From what I have learned, and piecing together the fragments of testimony of those that were there, it appears our young friend Castus is a military genius.’

  Gaius sipped at his wine, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

  ‘That is quite a claim.’

  Tullus examined his notes.

  ‘By all accounts he was heavily outnumbered, especially in the centre where our gallant allies attacked his foot soldiers with over thirty thousand of their own. The enemy line buckled but did not break. It bent inwards, sucking in the foot soldiers of the kings.’

  Tullus put down his goblet to gesture with his hands.

  ‘On the wings, the Parthians scattered our own horsemen prior to encircling the bulge and attacking the rear of the kings’ foot soldiers trapped in what had become a huge salient.’

  Gaius listened without emotion. Tullus let his hands fall on the table between them.

  ‘You can imagine what happened next.’

  ‘A modern-day Cannae,’ said Gaius.

  Tullus gave him a blank stare.

  ‘Nearly two hundred years ago, the Carthaginian general Hannibal used the same tactics to wipe out a Roman army at a place called Cannae on Italy’s Adriatic coast,’ explained Gaius. ‘It would appear King Castus is a student of history.’

  ‘Well, he and his army will be before the walls of Melitene in the morning.’

  ‘I assume Polemon, Atrax and Tiridates are all dead,’ said Gaius.

  Tullus took another gulp of wine.

  ‘Only Tiridates is dead for certain, cut down on the ground, by all accounts. Polemon and his son were captured, though they might be dead by now. As for Atrax, he was last seen fleeing north. What a mess. Let us hope we can hold out until the reinforcements from Syria arrive.’

  Gaius shook his head. ‘They will not be needed. I think we can persuade the conquering Castus to return back to Gordyene without delay.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Zeus smiles on us, general,’ smiled Gaius, betraying his Greek heritage, ‘for he has gifted us a great treasure that we can give to Castus, who by all accounts holds avarice in high esteem.’

  ‘The gold?’

  Gaius nodded. ‘Fifteen thousand talents of it.’

  Tullus cocked his head. ‘I know I am just a common soldier, ambassador, but there is a fatal flaw in your plan.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘If I were Castus and I learned there was a great amount of gold in this town, I would storm it, kill everyone inside, take the gold and carry on into Cappadocia, looting at will, just for fun.’

  ‘I have no doubt a young king having just won a great victory will be thirsting for more glory,’ reflected Gaius, ‘but consider this. Will he be tempted to sack this town knowing that if he does, he will incur the wrath of the Roman world? I am the ambassador and voice of Augustus and whosever violates me declares war on Rome. I will remind him of that.’

  ‘Remind him?’

  ‘When we meet with King Castus tomorrow.’

  Gaius rose from his chair.

  ‘Do not work too late, general, we don’t want you looking slovenly when we meet the young king. After all, you and I will be representing Rome.’

  ‘I thought I was in the employ of Pontus.’

  Gaius smiled. ‘It amounts to the same thing, general. Pontus belongs to Rome, as does Cappadocia and Galatia. And with Tiridates and Atrax out of the way, a possible impediment to reaching an agreement with King Castus has been removed.’

  Tullus leaned back in his chair. ‘Atrax might reappear, ambassador.’

  ‘That would be most inconvenient, general. Most inconvenient.’

  *****

  Talib and his companions rode into the marching camp of the victorious Parthian army when the sun was setting, escorted by a detachment of horse archers that had been patrolling the area beyond the camp’s ditch and ramparts, having first been disarmed. Talib’s declaration that he was the chief scout of Dura’s army and his wife the commander of the famed Amazons was met with scorn by the officer in charge of the patrol. But after reporting to his superior, who recognised the black tattoos on Talib’s face, and who sent a message to the commander of horse archers that they appeared to be who they said they were, the seven were escorted into the presence of Castus himself.

  The king was not alone, being flanked by his two brothers. Akmon’s face was freshly bandaged after his wound had been stitched. The wound, which fortunately was not deep, had been sutured with catgut, a fine thread woven from sheep intestines. And it was the King of Media who instantly recognised those he had fought beside during the defence of his capital two years before.

  ‘Centurion Bullus,’ he beamed, ‘what strange fate brings you here?’

  ‘Orders, majesty,’ answered the gruff centurion.

  ‘And Minu,’ continued Akmon, ‘I trust you are well?’

  ‘Well, majesty,’ smiled the Amazon. ‘Congratulations on the birth of your son. I pray Queen Lusin is well.’

  ‘Very well,’ smiled Akmon, wincing as the gesture caused him pain.

  ‘This is all very cheery,’ said Castus, his blue eyes resting on Klietas, ‘but why is Dura’s chief scout and the commander of the Amazons in Cappadocia?’

  His eyes went from Klietas to the shapely Haya, who had turned into a rare beauty, her heart-shaped face framed by long, dark hair.

  ‘We are on Queen Gallia’s business, majesty,’ said Talib.

>   Castus leaned forward. ‘And what business is that?’

  ‘Dura’s business, majesty.’

  Castus was not amused, his lips clenching in anger, but before he could speak Kewab entered the tent, along with Hovik and Otanes.

  ‘By the gods,’ said the Egyptian. ‘Talib. And Minu. Is King Pacorus close?’

  ‘No, lord,’ answered Talib, ‘we are alone. But bring important news.’

  ‘What news?’ snapped Castus.

  ‘Prince Atrax is dead,’ answered Talib, prompting the three brothers to smile at each other.

  ‘We killed him,’ said Yasmina.

  ‘And chopped off his head afterwards,’ added Azar.

  Castus laughed at the two girls, who returned withering stares.

  ‘I too have news,’ said the King of Gordyene. ‘Today we won a great victory over Rome’s allies. We captured the King of Pontus and his son, and tomorrow will advance on the town of Melitene.’

  ‘We go to treat with the Roman ambassador,’ said Kewab, ‘unless he has already fled the town.’

  ‘Gaius Arrianus,’ interrupted Talib.

  Castus was confused, as was Kewab.

  ‘How do you know this?’ asked Castus, glancing at Haya out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘We have been in these parts some time, majesty,’ smiled Talib. ‘We learned of the gathering of the enemy kings at Melitene and their intention to attack Gordyene, which information you thankfully acted upon. But those kings were, I believe, mere puppets manipulated by the puppet master, Gaius Arrianus, Roman ambassador to Pontus and the voice of Augustus Caesar himself.’

  ‘How do we know they are not spies?’ chimed in Haytham, his cheeks rosy from having drunk too much. ‘They seem to know a lot about the enemy.’

  Kewab and Hovik winced with embarrassment. Talib and Minu were two long-serving members of Dura’s army, trusted implicitly by King Pacorus and Queen Gallia. To suggest otherwise was to reveal oneself as a witless fool.

  ‘It is late,’ declared Castus. ‘You will all be our guests tonight.’

  ‘If I might ask a favour, majesty?’ requested Talib.

  Castus nodded.

  ‘In your negotiations, if you could ascertain the whereabouts of Tiridates, Titus Tullus and King Amyntas. Queen Gallia would be in your debt.’

  Castus may have been young but he was no fool. He realised Talib and his companions were on some sort of secret mission, and the fact he and they came with news that Atrax was dead indicated that mission had lethal intent. But if Queen Gallia had sent assassins to hunt down and kill her enemies, which were also his enemies, he would not stand in their way. And he did like the look of the young woman standing next to the slave who had spilt wine on him last year. She was very pleasing to the eye.

  ‘I shall consider it my mission to find out, Talib,’ smiled Castus.

  Chapter 11

  Gaius Arrianus took charge of events the following day, meeting with the defeated kings in Melitene and proposing he should be the one to organise a parley with King Castus, assuring them his letter to the governor of Syria would bring reinforcements to Cappadocia. But to buy time and delay the inevitable Parthian assault on Melitene, a parley with the enemy was the only logical course of action. Archelaus, his mood no brighter than it had been the day before, gave his consent before retiring to the Temple of Ares in the town to implore the Greek God of War to protect his town and kingdom. Artaxias, eager to return to Armenia as quickly as possible, readily agreed to the Roman’s suggestion, while Amyntas, the worse for wear after being plied with alcohol by Titus Tullus the night before, merely grunted he was not finished with the Parthians yet.

  A courier was sent to the camp of King Castus with a request from the Roman ambassador to the court of King Polemon requesting a meeting with King Castus and to enquire as to the health and wellbeing of King Polemon and Prince Zenon. The ambassador was surprised to receive a missive back from Castus after less than two hours with a demand for a meeting that very day, at a place five miles south of Melitene, ‘on account of the area to the east of the town being contaminated with a great number of the recently fallen of Cappadocia, Galatia and Pontus’. Gaius had no need to request the precise details about the location for the meeting, as the letter from Castus was delivered by a company of Vipers, commanded by Narin, who waited to escort the ambassador and whoever accompanied him to the venue, ‘your safety being my utmost concern, as the area around Melitene is infested with Parthian soldiers’.

  Titus Tullus threw the letter on the table.

  ‘It is an insult. Arrogant little bastard, sending a bunch of women to be your escort.’

  Gaius, dressed in a white leather cuirass adorned with gold eagles, smiled at his compatriot.

  ‘Our escort, general. Surely you would not send me out alone among our enemies?’

  Tullus’ forehead creased. ‘You are not proposing we ignore the insult?’

  ‘Did you take a walk on the town walls this morning, general?’

  Tullus nodded. ‘I did.’

  ‘And did you see the Parthian army arrayed before those walls?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Gaius. ‘I will tolerate the odd insult if it buys us time, general, time to persuade King Castus to return home, and time to ensure events turn to Rome’s advantage.’

  ‘And time to allow the legions from Syria to reach us.’

  Gaius gave him a quizzical look. ‘What legions?’

  ‘The legions that are hopefully already on the march as we speak,’ said Tullus, his voice laced with concern.

  Gaius waved a hand at him. ‘The legion based in Syria is for the defence of that province, and the evocati legions raised last year proved a ruinous expense. I do not need legions to convince King Castus to leave Cappadocia, general. A Roman ambassador uses persuasion and language to achieve what an army cannot.’

  Wealth, privilege and an expensive education had given Gaius Arrianus the arrogance that Tullus had seen in many Roman patricians, but his position as the representative of Augustus had also given him an unshakeable belief in his own abilities, even in the face of daunting odds. When he and Tullus rode out of Melitene they did so with no guards, so sure was the ambassador the young Parthian king would not harm a hair on the head of a friend of Augustus Caesar himself. Tullus doubted Castus would even be aware that the gold ring on Gaius’ finger indicated he was Rome’s ambassador. And as Melitene faded into the distance, he wondered if this would be his last day on earth.

  They had ridden perhaps four miles, Narin engaging Gaius in polite conversation and the ambassador in turn asking about the Vipers, and how they came to be called thus. Narin, charmed by the Greek’s wit and enquiring mind, waxed lyrical about the wife of King Surena, now dead, about Dura’s Amazons and how they had been the inspiration for the Vipers. Tullus was bored to distraction but as Narin and Gaius chatted and laughed, his initial worries about any danger they might be in began to fade.

  They flared up again when they reached the site of the meeting place: an abandoned farm with whitewashed walls and a red tile roof surrounded by stables and barns. It was on the edge of an apricot orchard, which as far as Tullus could ascertain had not been wrecked. On the open ground in front of the farmhouse had been pitched a tent, a large albeit rather austere square structure, the flaps of which were tied back to allow light to enter. Ringing the tent and forming two centuries in front of it were foot soldiers. Tullus recognised them instantly: red tunics, black leggings and weapons and equipment identical to Roman legionaries.

  The Immortals snapped to attention as soon as Narin and her guests appeared, musicians playing a fanfare. From the trees appeared horsemen magnificently attired in shimmering cuirasses of alternating steel and bronze scales, with red cloaks and riding black horses with shining coats. They looked magnificent, the spectacle slightly offset by their rather ugly commander who escorted the Greek and Roman to the tent after they had dismounted. Tullus noted the three standards
flying from flagpoles erected to one side of the tent, the breeze ruffling the banners just enough for him to recognise them. He pointed at them.

  ‘Phraates is here?’

  Gaius’ diplomatic mask slipped momentarily.

  ‘King of Kings Phraates?’

  Narin, who unlike Shamshir spoke Greek, provided an explanation.

  ‘The banner depicting an eagle clutching a snake in its talons is indeed one of the standards used by the high king, but in this instance it signifies his representative, Satrap Kewab.’

  ‘Kewab is here?’ said Tullus. ‘That explains why the Parthians won the battle.’

  Gaius looked at him in expectation.

  ‘A protégé of King Pacorus, sir, who is the best general in the whole of Parthia. He kept the Kushans at bay in the east before returning and winning the battle at Kayseri last year.’

  ‘A modern-day Achilles,’ smiled Gaius.

  The reference to a demi-god was most appropriate because when they were shown into the tent, they found Kewab attired in his stunning cuirass, which shimmered even when out of the sun. He stood and smiled at the two guests, prompting Castus and Akmon, his face still bandaged, to do likewise, but the two brothers were far from smiling at the appearance of Titus Tullus, the man who had been at Irbil when that city had been besieged by Atrax, and on the Diyana Plain when their mother had been killed. It was Kewab who broke the tension.

  ‘Welcome Ambassador Arrianus, I am Satrap Kewab and the personal representative of King of Kings Phraates.’

  He extended an arm to the two brothers.

  ‘This is King Castus of Gordyene and his brother King Akmon of Media.’

  Tullus whispered into the ambassador’s ear to clarify the identities of the two brothers, the Roman nodding.

  ‘On behalf of Augustus Caesar,’ said Gaius, ‘I thank you all for agreeing to meet with me, and I sincerely hope we can extricate ourselves from the current predicament we find ourselves in.’

  Servants brought chairs for the guests so they could take their ease, though all remained standing for the moment, and more brought pastries, bread, cheese and fruit that they laid on the low tables positioned between the five dignitaries. Wine was poured and Kewab raised his rhyton to the Roman.