Wraiths

by Peter Darman

  ‘To Augustus Caesar.’

  Akmon and Castus glared at the Egyptian but Gaius was delighted. Kewab glanced at the two brothers as he put the rhyton to his lips.

  ‘To Augustus Caesar,’ they both said without enthusiasm.

  Gaius sipped at the wine, and held up his rhyton.

  ‘To King of Kings Phraates and the kingdoms of Gordyene and Media. May he and they enjoy peace and prosperity in the years to come.’

  This toast delighted the brothers who beamed and repeated the words spoken by Gaius. Kewab invited him and Tullus to sit. Both did so, accepting the offered refreshments.

  ‘General Tullus is here to be my adviser on military matters,’ said Gaius.

  ‘We have met the general before,’ growled Castus.

  ‘When he invaded my kingdom,’ added Akmon.

  Tullus, even such a hard-bitten veteran that he was, took a pastry, and bit into it.

  ‘I am a soldier who obeys orders, majesty,’ he said to Akmon, ‘nothing more, and nothing less.’

  ‘How may we assist you, ambassador?’ said Kewab, eager to move the conversation away from past grievances.

  Gaius looked at the Egyptian, whom he estimated to be in his mid-thirties, his handsome face clean-shaven like the two brothers, which he found most odd knowing the Parthian liking for beards. But everything about this satrap was neat and tidy, from his black curly hair to his immaculate white tunic and stunning cuirass. The brothers were both younger, Akmon by a few years and Castus by considerably more. The King of Gordyene was unusual in having blue eyes and dark blonde hair.

  ‘I wish to resolve this present unfortunate situation to the satisfaction of all parties,’ replied Gaius, ‘for I know personally that Augustus does not want war between Rome and Parthia.’

  ‘And neither does High King Phraates,’ Kewab was quick to add.

  Gaius nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Then we are agreed we all share a common purpose.’

  ‘Only because your army has been destroyed and all Cappadocia lays at my mercy,’ gloated Castus.

  Gaius appeared hurt. ‘I think your majesty has been labouring under false assumptions. The army that you defeated was not mine, that is to say Rome’s. It was an alliance of foreign kings that I tried, in vain, to dissuade from launching an assault on Gordyene, knowing the formidable reputation the army of that kingdom has.’

  He threw up his arms. ‘Alas, Tiridates and Atrax had too much influence on said kings.’

  He put down his rhyton and leaned closer to Castus.

  ‘It may please your majesty to know that King Tiridates is dead, killed in yesterday’s battle.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Tullus, ‘he was cut down while trying to save his banner.’

  Castus beamed with delight. ‘That is good news.’

  ‘High King Phraates will be delighted,’ agreed Kewab.

  Castus indicated to the servants that they should top up everyone’s drinking vessel.

  ‘I too have news, ambassador,’ he said. ‘The traitor Atrax is also dead.’

  Gaius remained impassive as he tasted a pastry.

  ‘Now that the claimants for the high crown of Parthia and the crown of Media have been removed, majesty, perhaps we might use the opportunity to lay the foundation for a more amicable relationship between Gordyene and Media and the kings I represent. As a gesture of goodwill, might I suggest King Polemon and his son are allowed to travel to Melitene.’

  Castus was unimpressed. ‘Why should I make such a gesture?’

  ‘For twenty thousand talents of gold, majesty,’ Gaius shot back.

  Castus’ eyes lit up.

  ‘I believe that was the sum King Archelaus agreed to pay you last year?’ said Gaius innocently.

  ‘Before I was robbed by your legions,’ seethed Castus.

  Gaius finished his pastry.

  ‘I was not party to those negotiations, majesty. But if you return King Polemon and his son, and pledge to not attack Cappadocia, Galatia or Pontus again …’

  ‘Subject to those kingdoms respecting the territorial integrity of Gordyene and Media,’ interrupted Kewab.

  Gaius showed his palms to the Egyptian.

  ‘That is a given, satrap. But I can guarantee that fifteen thousand talents of gold can be transported to your camp tomorrow, majesty, with the balance being paid as soon as Pontus, Cappadocia and Galatia can collect it.’

  ‘And Armenia,’ said Castus. ‘We all saw the banner of King Artaxias on the battlefield yesterday. I kept my father’s promise not to send my Sarmatian allies north across the Araxes River, and this is how I am repaid.’

  ‘It is an insult to my father’s memory,’ added Akmon.

  ‘If I could convince King Artaxias to pay Gordyene an additional five thousand talents,’ smiled Gaius, ‘would that compensate your majesty for the slight against your father’s memory?’

  ‘It would,’ replied Castus without hesitation, though he glanced at his brother. ‘However, I do not wish people to think I am greedy, so the Armenian gold will be paid to Media.’

  ‘You are most generous, brother,’ said Akmon.

  ‘This solves the problem in the short term,’ said Kewab, ‘but High King Phraates, and indeed King Castus and King Akmon, insist on guarantees that neither Pontus nor Cappadocia will be the launch sites for future invasions of northern Parthia.’

  ‘It was the Parthian invasion last year that was responsible for the gathering of the kings at Melitene,’ complained Tullus, who had been constantly sipping at his rhyton. ‘You cannot cut a swathe of destruction through three kingdoms and expect the rulers of those lands not to retaliate.’

  ‘What about the swathe of destruction you and Atrax inflicted on my kingdom?’ spat Akmon.

  ‘General Tullus spoke out of turn,’ said Gaius sternly. ‘To greatly reduce the possibility of any future aggression against Gordyene, I propose installing a Roman garrison in Melitene under the command of an officer directly answerable to either myself or the governor of Syria.’

  Castus pointed at Tullus. ‘Not him.’

  ‘General Tullus is in the employ of Pontus, not Rome,’ said Gaius. ‘The officer at Melitene would be in the employ of Augustus Caesar.’

  ‘How does that assist Parthia?’ asked Kewab.

  ‘Because the Roman governor of the town would liaise closely with the Parthian ambassador resident in Melitene to ensure all borders were respected.’

  ‘What ambassador?’ asked Castus.

  ‘One you would choose to be your representative in Melitene, majesty,’ answered Gaius.

  The suggestion pleased Castus and surprised Kewab. For years Gordyene and its king, the son of a Thracian slave general, had been regarded as little more than an abode of barbarians ruled over by a barbarian, far removed from other Parthian kingdoms, such as Media, Hatra, Susiana and Babylon, where education, culture and religion flourished. The people of Gordyene were uncultured, brutish, prone to violence and had no respect for the gods. All these failings had been encapsulated in King Spartacus, who raged against the world and everything in it. Those who had never been there spread stories of Vanadzor being a hellhole where people lived in hovels and worked night and day in armouries producing the weapons and armour for Gordyene’s army. The smoke from the countless furnaces produced black smoke that hung over the city to create a constant night. Castus was very aware that he too was regarded as an outsider, a brute without learning or manners. But now a Roman ambassador, a friend of Augustus himself, was offering to treat Gordyene as an equal. It was a gesture he could not refuse, if only to spite vicious tongues at Ctesiphon.

  ‘I accept your proposal, ambassador,’ he told Gaius.

  ‘You will withdraw your army from Cappadocia, majesty?’

  ‘As soon as the fifteen thousand talents of gold are delivered to my camp, yes,’ confirmed Castus. ‘And I have written guarantees from Archelaus, Polemon, Amyntas and Artaxias that they will deliver the balance before the summer
is out.’

  Gaius nodded. ‘It will be as your majesty requests.’

  *****

  King Polemon and Prince Zenon were freed the next day, along with the survivors of their bodyguard that according to the common custom should have been taken back to Gordyene and sold as slaves. Castus also returned the banner of Pontus that had been taken in the battle, the young king himself, flushed with victory and delighted to have won a large quantity of gold, escorting Polemon and his son to Melitene. He did not mention the gold to his captives – Gaius Arrianus would have that privilege. His brother Akmon did not accompany Polemon, his kingdom having been invaded by Pontic soldiers and his own life and that of his wife, endangered by Polemon’s soldiers.

  The Roman ambassador was waiting for Polemon and his son at the open gates to the town, striding forth to greet them and Castus, the latter pulling up his horse before he strayed within range of the archers on the walls. The King’s Guard accompanying him did likewise.

  ‘This is where we say farewell, lord,’ he said to Polemon. ‘I hope you do not think it impolite of me to state that I hope we do not meet again, at least not across a battlefield.’

  ‘I too share your desire,’ said Polemon. ‘I can assure your majesty that Pontus will never again play host to pretenders to Parthian thrones, or participate in futile campaigns resulting in fruitless bloodshed.’

  ‘I am not my father, lord,’ said Castus, turning his horse, ‘perhaps you might remind yourself and your allies of that the next time you are tempted to attack Gordyene.’

  He dug his knees into his horse’s flanks to canter away from the town, passing the ragged, disarmed members of Polemon’s bodyguard following their king on foot. The King’s Guard followed their lord as the tired and unshaven Pontic soldiers trudged towards the open gates of Melitene and the smiling Gaius Arrianus.

  The ambassador wore a grimmer visage when Polemon, in fresh clothes, bathed and fed, joined the other kings in Melitene’s palace that afternoon. He had explained Castus’ peace terms, a morose Archelaus, who resembled a man who had been robbed of his spirit by a demon, sitting hunched on his throne, his eyes black ringed, bloodshot and staring at the floor. He managed to raise a wry smile when the ambassador had finished speaking. But Amyntas roared like a wounded lion.

  ‘This is not peace, it is humiliation. I say we ignore the little whelp and wait until Rome’s legions arrive.’

  ‘That whelp destroyed our army two days ago,’ said Polemon. ‘Do you think he will remain sitting on his arse patiently waiting until relief arrives?’

  The temperature in the throne room was hot and stuffy, the atmosphere oppressive, the spectre of King Castus hanging over all of them. All the kings were seated on daises beneath banners showing the symbols of their kingdoms, but they were rulers without armies, without authority, without hope.

  ‘I would rather die than accept humiliation,’ shouted Amyntas, his few remaining lords nodding in agreement.

  ‘How fortunate for you that the Parthians are here to fulfil your desire,’ remarked Polemon sarcastically, provoking Archelaus to chuckle.

  The King of Cappadocia turned his weary eyes to the Gaul.

  ‘If we do not pay King Castus his gold, he will storm this town and take it anyway, after which I have no doubt he will retrace his dead father’s steps of last year and lay waste to our kingdoms. And who will stop him? You, my lord? If this town is reduced to rubble there will be no King of Galatia to defend his homeland.’

  ‘I will not relinquish my gold,’ squealed Amyntas.

  ‘Technically, my lord, it is Rome’s gold,’ said Gaius, ‘and as the representative of Augustus, I say here and now that I would rather it is given to King Castus than become part of his plunder when he takes this town, which he undoubtedly will. And may I add that the legions from Syria will not arrive in time to save us.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Polemon forcefully.

  ‘As do I,’ added Archelaus.

  ‘It would seem the sensible thing to do,’ agreed a shaken Artaxias, the Armenian very aware he was a long way from home, the great majority of his soldiers were either dead or missing, and among people he would hardly call allies.

  Amyntas, his eyes red and bulging, clutched his hair in frustration.

  ‘Do as you all wish. But I tell you this. Galatia will not be paying the whelp any gold, not an ounce.’

  Gaius nodded to Titus Tullus standing by the side of Polemon, the general repeating the gesture to the commander of the guards in the chamber, standing in front of the closed doors. Four of his men behind him and more around the walls stepped forward to ring the dais where Amyntas was standing.

  ‘I must insist you agree to pay your portion of gold to the Parthians, my lord,’ said Gaius. ‘Not to do so would lead to a war between Parthia and Rome, for Castus would surely invade your homeland in response to such an insult. This in turn would oblige Augustus to send military aid to punish Gordyene, which in turn would lead to High King Phraates sending soldiers to protect a kingdom within his empire.’

  Gaius shook his head. ‘This is too high a price to pay to save your pride, my lord.’

  ‘Pay the gold, you fool,’ said an alarmed Artaxias, thoughts of him being murdered in Melitene flashing through his mind.

  Amyntas was not cowed by the prospect of fighting his way out of the throne room, his wild-haired Gauls grouping behind him. But Gaius Arrianus had not finished with him.

  ‘Galatia, having lost its army, is in a weakened state, my lord. How many warriors did it lose last year? How many of your warriors fell in the recent battle? There comes a time, King Amyntas, when a ruler has to admit that expediency is sometimes more useful than valour. Yesterday I strained every sinew to preserve your kingdom, in addition to Pontus and Cappadocia, from a rapacious king with a victorious army at his back, at no small danger to my own person, I might add. And this is how I am rewarded, with defiance and scorn?’

  The ambassador let his arms fall to his side and his head drop. He looked at Titus Tullus.

  ‘Let the king leave, general. Supply him and his followers with fresh horses so that he may abandon his allies and ride back to Galatia, leaving those behind to treat with the Parthians. Even though Rome is paying the bulk of the gold demanded by King Castus and even though Rome ultimately guarantees Galatia’s freedom, allow King Amyntas to abandon his friends in their hour of need.’

  Tullus ordered the doors to be opened and the guards to resume their positions around the walls, giving the Gauls free reign to leave the throne room. The crestfallen Amyntas, his anger dissipating fast, slowly took his seat on the dais. He jabbed a finger at Artaxias.

  ‘He is neither my friend or ally.’

  Gaius returned to being the confident, imposing Roman he was.

  ‘You have displayed wisdom and generosity that future generations of your people will thank you for, my lord,’ he said to Amyntas. ‘Can I assume you will honour the conditions I agreed with King Castus yesterday?’

  Amyntas gave a grudging nod, Gaius looking at each of the kings in turn, Archelaus nodding, Polemon nodding and a thoroughly relieved Artaxias nodding like a dog having a seizure. Gaius’ masterclass in theatre and diplomacy was brought to a conclusion. And no one had even mentioned Tiridates or Atrax.

  *****

  Fifteen thousand talents of gold were delivered to the Parthian camp the day after the meeting in Melitene’s palace, the army of Castus, Kewab and Akmon restricting itself to horse patrols only according to the terms thrashed out between the King of Gordyene and Gaius Arrianus. Promissory notes were also sent to Castus from the kings of Cappadocia, Galatia, Pontus and Armenia pledging additional amounts of gold in accordance with the same terms. For his part, Castus signed letters to all the rulers promising he would not wage ‘aggressive war’ against Rome’s clients or Armenia, subject to all parties respecting territorial boundaries. Kewab hovered over Castus like a hawk as the king signed the letters, the satrap having dictated their wordi
ng beforehand. Just as Gaius had manipulated the client kings, so did Kewab influence the young king.

  But Castus was happy and readily accepted the Egyptian’s advice. He had come to the throne the second son of King Spartacus, who had died too young, and Queen Rasha, who had also left this world before her time. A coalition of foreign kings had sought to take advantage of his youth and inexperience, forming a powerful coalition intent on invading Gordyene and erasing all traces of his family. But fate had intervened to give him prior warning and accepting the advice of Satrap Kewab sent by High King Phraates, he had struck first, winning a great victory to shatter the enemy coalition, thereby proclaiming to the world that neither he nor Gordyene were to be trifled with, and, most satisfying of all, had won back the gold stolen from him the year before.

  Gold is heavy, and though he desired to immediately return to Gordyene, the border of which lay just a few miles to the east, logistics dashed his plans. For reasons that remained shrouded in mystery, there were fifteen thousand talents of gold in the town of Melitene, which were ferried to the Parthian camp on wagons provided by the governor of the town: Titus Tullus. It was also a mystery why a former Roman centurion, who as far as Castus knew was still in the pay of Pontus, should be the governor of a Cappadocian town. But he had neither the time nor inclination to discover the reason; all he wanted was his gold.

  The Romans had been most obliging in supplying him with ingots, each one weighing twenty-five pounds and measuring just over six inches in length and just over three inches in width, with a depth of two inches. On its own an ingot is small and easily transportable in a saddlebag. But Castus was to be paid fifteen thousand talents, which equated to four hundred and fifty tons of the precious metal – thirty-six thousand ingots. Getting them all to the Parthian camp required a constant relay of carts, each one loaded with a ton of gold ingots and guarded by a party of King’s Guard, Castus not trusting the governor to provide security. So, a steady procession of wagons travelling east and west laboured under a burning sun over the course of three days to empty Melitene of all its gold and transfer it to the Parthian camp, where it was stored in two large tents ringed by Immortals, clerks counting the bars as they were unloaded and recording the numbers in their ledgers.