by Peter Darman
Cappadocia was a land of beauty and barrenness, a mixture of arid sandstone mountains and hills where people fashioned homes in the rock, and the great plain around Kayseri that was green and fertile. It was the home of the Hittites and Cimmerians before becoming a province of the mighty Persian Empire; indeed, the word ‘Cappadocia’ was derived from the Persian word Katpatuka, which described the satrapy beyond the Taurus Mountains and River Euphrates.
Talib and his group rode along the road west, which snaked through a strange landscape dotted with curious rock formations resembling conical-shaped towers topped with what appeared to be hats.
‘What kind of people live in caves?’ scoffed Yasmina.
‘Sensible ones,’ Talib told her. ‘The rock is relatively easy to carve and cave dwellings offer safety and protection from both the elements and bandits. And there is an abundance of streams and springs to provide water, unlike Dura, which relies almost exclusively on the Euphrates for its water.’
‘How do they make a living?’ asked Klietas. ‘There are no irrigation canals and no fields.’
‘Not here, no,’ said Talib, ‘but Cappadocia is known for its horse breeds, which are sold outside the kingdom, and shepherds make a living rearing and tending to their flocks.’
‘It must be a hard life,’ said Bullus, looking around at the rocky hills and mountains in the distance.
‘For some, yes,’ agreed Talib, ‘but theses hills and mountains are also rich in minerals, which command a high price. There are many mines producing onyx, alabaster and iaspis. Mirrors, too.’
‘Mirrors?’ queried Bullus. ‘You mean bronze or silver, surely?’
‘Actually, no,’ replied Talib. ‘It is a white stone called catoptritus, which means “reflector”, and is just that. There are also salt mines throughout the kingdom.’
‘How do you know such things, lord?’ asked an impressed Yasmina.
‘Lord Byrd has business interests in these parts,’ Talib told her, ‘and he speaks to me often of the goods his camels, boats and mules transport.’
‘Lord Byrd is from Cappadocia, is he not?’ asked Azar.
Talib nodded. ‘He is, though he has never returned since he was captured along with King Pacorus by the Romans over forty years ago.’
‘I have heard he was a seller of pots,’ said Yasmina.
‘You heard right,’ Talib told her.
‘And now he is the richest man in all Parthia,’ said Bullus. ‘Not bad for a former pot seller and Roman slave.’
‘Does Lord Byrd have an office in Kayseri?’ asked Bullus.
‘Yes,’ answered Talib.
‘If we had stormed Kayseri last year, that could have been awkward,’ mused Bullus.
‘King Pacorus had no intention of storming the city,’ said Talib, ‘notwithstanding the building of two siege ramps to give the impression he and King Castus and King Gafarn were intent on assaulting the city. They were started to encourage the defenders to enter into negotiations.’
‘It worked,’ smiled Bullus.
‘But at the same time,’ interrupted Minu, ‘that bitch Glaphyra was deceiving King Pacorus with her false tongue, which is why we are all here.’
‘Listen, all of you,’ said Talib. ‘There will be no contact with Lord Byrd’s office while we are in Kayseri. I will hire a house for our accommodation while we devise a plan. And when we have found a place to stay, there will be no leaving the premises without a good reason. We must draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. Remember, this is hostile territory.’
*****
Titus Tullus had led a charmed life. He had faced death many times on the battlefield and had managed to avoid it. He had even saved himself and his closest comrades from the vengeance of King Spartacus when the ruler of Gordyene ambushed his column in the process of fleeing Armenia. He had fought against the Parthians under Mark Antony, fought beside them when a strange, rich businessman had hired him and five thousand other Roman legionaries to support a war to put their high king back on the throne, and fought against them once again when he had been a part of a campaign to restore a loathsome individual named Atrax on the throne of Media. That campaign had failed, but Tullus had made it back to Pontus where he lived a privileged life as the commander of King Polemon’s Romanised foot soldiers, a formation that acted as a palace guard and a unit that could be used to crush any rebellion or dissent in Pontus.
Tullus liked Polemon and indeed his son. They both recognised the limitations of Pontic power and Polemon was content to be a good king. It was unfortunate for the king that Pontus had been sucked into the power game between Rome and Parthia, which had resulted in the loss of many thousands of Pontic lives, not least those butchered on the plain of Melitene, a battle that had shaken Polemon to the core. He had returned to Sinope with his son, determined to never again lead his soldiers beyond Pontus’ borders. He had rid himself of Tiridates and Atrax but his kingdom had paid a high price and had been weakened. This made him more reliant on Tullus and his soldiers, which in turn increased Rome’s influence within the kingdom.
If the Battle of Melitene had shaken Polemon, it had broken Archelaus, the handsome King of Cappadocia who had seen his capital ravaged by plague, his army defeated outside the same city, and another army slaughtered on the Plain of Melitene. It appeared the gods had not only abandoned his kingdom but were consciously punishing Cappadocia. It was a sign of the depth of his despair that he had willingly surrendered Melitene to Roman control, thus in effect giving away the eastern half of his kingdom. Tullus, appointed temporary governor of the town, had been magnanimous towards Archelaus, sending him regular reports concerning Melitene and the surrounding area, being careful not to allude to the battle where the Parthians had butchered thousands of Cappadocians. In truth, Tullus believed he owed Archelaus a debt of gratitude, for if the king had not acquiesced to the request that he stay in Melitene, he too would surely have perished on the Melitene Plain.
It was for this reason that he had resisted the requests of Gaius Arrianus for the apricot banners and motifs decorating the palace to be removed and replaced with Roman eagles. Tullus argued, convincingly, that Cappadocia was still a client kingdom rather than a province, and that to install visible symbols of Rome’s power and control would only heap humiliation on Cappadocian despair. When Gaius’ chosen governor assumed his position in Melitene, the new man could do as he saw fit. But Tullus, perhaps in a sign he was no longer the uncivilised brute who had once done Mark Antony’s bidding, was determined not to add to locals’ grievances.
That said, he and his colleagues, the close-knit band of former legionaries who had shared in and benefited from Tullus’ rise in the world, ensured the town was under tight control. The Pontic legionaries stood guard in the palace, manned the walls and town gates, and patrolled the streets. They were greatly helped by the Cappadocian garrison they had replaced dying to a man in the battle against the Parthians. For which Titus Tullus gave thanks to Mars.
He should also have made offerings to Mercury, the half-brother of Mars and the Roman god of diplomacy, for patience and negotiating skills were sorely needed when Tullus dealt with the grievances and requests of the most influential citizens of Melitene. This included listening to the town’s commercial guild and its complaints about being taxed too heavily; being the arbiter in disputes; administering justice, which he rather enjoyed; and using the troops available to him to maintain law and order. Aside from handing out death sentences, it was tedious, time-consuming work, and he began to long for the arrival of the new governor and his return to Pontus.
It was at the end of such a mind-numbingly dull afternoon spent listening to an argument between a landlord and a rich architect who wanted to demolish the former’s squalid tenement block and replace it with a new building, that fate intervened to banish his tedium. Tullus referred the matter back to the town council, saying he would ratify its decision, a verdict that pleased neither party. After the bickering pair had left th
e chamber, he sat on the king’s throne with his eyes closed. He opened them when he heard footsteps on the stone floor.
Marcellus, his friend and deputy, helmet with transverse yellow crest in the crook of his arm, smiled. Before he could speak, Tullus held up a hand to him.
‘If there are any more petitioners waiting outside, draw your sword and send me to the Elysian Fields. I hereby appoint you as my successor.’
The slim Marcellus grinned. ‘Do you think so little of me to condemn me to a life of listening to fat, idle men complaining about everything under the sun? But there is someone eager to see you.’
‘Who?’
Marcellus laughed. ‘A middle-aged fat man.’
Tullus groaned. ‘Send him away.’
‘I think you will want to see this one. He has an interesting story about the demise of Governor Cenk and a group of Parthian assassins.’
Tullus’ interest was indeed aroused. ‘Is he drunk?’
‘No, but he is a wine merchant,’ said Marcellus, ‘a poor one judging by his appearance. You should hear what he wants to say, though.’
Tullus sighed. ‘Very well. But fetch some wine. My throat is as dry as dust.’
Agis shuffled into the throne room, giving the impression of a man the world had treated badly. He looked like he possessed only one set of clothes and one pair of boots. His robes were tatty and stained and his boots terribly scuffed. He was wearing a straw hat that he removed deferentially when he approached the dais that Titus Tullus occupied, to reveal receding hair and a flaky scalp. He was really a sorry sight and the governor might have been moved to pity, had it not been for his portly frame and flushed cheeks, indicating Agis did not scrimp when it came to filling his belly.
‘Thank you for seeing me, governor.’
‘You have information I might be interested in, I have been told.’
Agis nodded. Marcellus re-entered the chamber, followed by slaves with rhytons of wine, which they served to Tullus and his deputy. Agis looked around for his silver cup but saw only two and the hard visages of the two Romans. Tullus took the rhyton presented to him and took a sip.
‘I am waiting,’ said the governor sternly.
‘Before I divulge this news, governor, I have to state that I am but an impoverished businessman, whose fortunes took a turn for the worse when the Parthians invaded Cappadocia last year and this year. This being the case…’
Tullus held up a hand. ‘You wish to trade the information for personal gain. I will decide if what you know is worth more than a flogging. Now speak, or get out.’
Agis was momentarily shocked, his mouth opening and shutting without any words coming out. But he had not become one of Melitene’s most successful and astute businessmen by being intimidated by a simple-minded thug.
‘Several weeks ago,’ began Agis, ‘I was ambushed by bandits while transporting casks of wine to this town. I am a wine importer by trade.’
‘I know that already,’ said Tullus, sipping at his wine.
‘To cut a long story short,’ continued Agis, ‘I was rescued by a strange group of individuals that included two young girls. Their expert use of the bows they carried led me to believe they were Parthians. The young girls could also use a bow well, I might add. But their leader was an Agraci.’
Tullus’ interest was pricked. ‘Agraci?’
‘His name was Talib and he told me he and his wife, a woman devoid of pity by the name of Minu, were exploring business interests in Cappadocia. Believe me when I say that this Talib was no businessman.’
‘Are you certain the Agraci was called Talib?’ asked Tullus, now very interested.
Agis nodded. ‘During the journey to Melitene, I divulged that Governor Cenk had a liking for young girls.’
‘Was that true?’ grinned Marcellus.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ answered Agis.
Tullus frowned at his grinning deputy. ‘Carry on.’
‘Well, governor, you can imagine my horror when I discovered that your predecessor had been poisoned by a slave girl. It cannot have been a coincidence. And if I were you, sir, I would be wondering why the same group is now heading for Kayseri.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Tullus.
Agis smiled, knowing he had the governor.
‘The roads of the kingdom are used by armies and caravans, governor, but they also transport information. A fellow merchant happened to pass them on the road to Kayseri, an Agraci with a group that included two teenage girls. As I said, it cannot be a coincidence.’
Tullus drank some more wine, stared into his rhyton and then looked at Agis.
‘What do you want?’
‘The contract to supply wine to the palace,’ answered Agis without hesitation.
Tullus waved forward the palace steward standing by the open doors to the chamber.
‘Agreed. The steward will show you to the legal department where a contract will be drawn up. I will sign it later. You have my word.’
Agis bowed his head. ‘You are most generous, governor.’
Tullus spoke quietly to the steward for a short time and pointed at Agis.
‘You are clear concerning the nature of the contract to be drawn up?’
‘Yes, governor,’ he answered.
‘See to it immediately.’
The steward bowed and walked beside a beaming Agis from the throne room.
‘You are in a generous mood,’ said Marcellus.
Tullus initially said nothing in response, sipping more wine as he looked around the empty chamber. The daises were gone, as were the banners that had hung behind them when the kings and the exiled Parthians had gathered at Melitene prior to their campaign of vengeance against Gordyene. Or at least would have done had not the King of Gordyene saved them the time and effort of marching into his kingdom. He looked at Marcellus.
‘Remember that campaign when we fought beside the Parthians to depose Tiridates?’
Marcellus smiled. ‘Of course, it was a very lucrative contract.’
‘You did not meet the leaders of the various Parthian contingents,’ said Tullus, ‘but as the deputy of Quintus Dellius, I was obliged to play the part of diplomat on occasion.’
‘Poor you,’ grinned Marcellus.
‘I got to know quite a lot about the army of Dura and its king and queen. For example, did you know Dura’s army always employs Agraci for its scouts?’
Marcellus shook his head.
Tullus stared at stone floor. ‘And the army’s chief scout was, is, a man called Talib.’
He turned his gaze to his colleague.
‘An Agraci named Talib leading a band that includes women and teenage girls, all of whom know how to shoot a bow. They are Amazons, no question.’
‘The female warriors of Queen Gallia?’ said Marcellus.
‘No doubt about it.’
‘If that’s true, why would the Queen of Dura want the governor of this town dead?’
Tullus gave him an evil grin. ‘Queen Gallia has enough hate to want someone dead just for the sake of it, but she is also a calculating and cunning bitch and if she has sent her chief scout and some of her women to these parts, there must be a reason.’
Tullus stood and drained his rhyton, clicking his fingers to indicate it should be taken from him. A slave rushed forward and presented a tray, on which the governor placed his empty drinking vessel. Marcellus did likewise when Tullus stepped from the dais and strode towards the doors.
‘Another thing that has been bothering me, Marcellus. How did King Castus, inexperienced boy that he is, learn of the gathering of the kings here?’
Marcellus walked beside the governor as they exited the throne room and entered the corridor, guards at the doors snapping to attention.
‘Presumably he has his own scouts.’
Tullus shook his head. ‘No. Even if he learned the leaders of Cappadocia, Pontus and Galatia were meeting here, he had no reason to suppose their combined armies were about to march against h
im.’
‘So?’
‘So, he had prior knowledge, which means there was a spy in the palace.’
Tullus suddenly stopped.
‘After the last governor’s death, you said one of his personal slaves was bleating on about a teenage girl who Cenk was very taken with.’
Marcellus wracked his brains. ‘Slaves will say anything to save their lives, you know that.’
‘Perhaps, but there are too many unexplained questions, and I believe we will find the answers if we apprehend our Parthian friends. Take some men to Kayseri and track them down.’
‘You want them dead?’
‘No, alive, for the moment. Bring them back here. I want to know what their orders are and who else they have killed, and indeed want to kill. And be careful of those girls with them. They are trained killers.’
‘What is the world coming to?’ grumbled Marcellus.
Chapter 15
The Parthians had gone.
A year had passed since the barbarian King Castus had heaped rotting corpses, the bodies of Cappadocia’s dead soldiers and those of its allies, around the walls of the fair city of Kayseri. He had also destroyed the ancient orchards and vineyards surrounding that city in a wanton act of needless destruction. The corpses soon rotted in the summer heat, despite the efforts of the depleted garrison plus brave and foolhardy citizens to inter them in two great pits, ironically created by the Parthians when they began to construct their siege ramps. The result was pestilence, which spread death inside the city. The fatalities were largely confined to the poorer parts of Kayseri where homes were crowded together and sanitation was poor. But the death pits had been filled not only with those who had fought the Parthians and lost, but also the citizens of the city.
When an opportunity to strike back at Gordyene had presented itself, King Archelaus had seized it with relish. But the great coalition of Cappadocia, Galatia and Pontus had suffered a catastrophic defeat outside the walls of Melitene, where once again King Castus had butchered thousands of Cappadocia’s sons. King Archelaus, a shadow of his former self, had hurried back to his capital and locked himself in his palace, refusing to see anyone. He had sent his family away, to the town of Nyssa in the west of his kingdom, to allow him to be alone with his morose thoughts. And so, in the kingdom’s hour of need the people looked not to their king, but to his mother.
