Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “You, sly dog,” Adalwolf exclaimed in surprise as he passed his cannabis to Fergus, who took a few quick draws and exhaled as he waited for the headman to reply. “You had a reserve of coin hidden away all this time.”

  “Have you found out where the hell we are yet?” Fergus said as he took another draw of Cannabis, exhaled and handed it back to Adalwolf.

  “More or less,” the diplomat growled, as he turned to stare at the dancing, yelling tribesmen and women. “I think we came ashore on the north-western coast of the Hyrcanian. Skula says that the tribesmen tell him that the nearest Roman positions, at the Caucasian Gates, lie some two hundred miles or so to the south-west.”

  At Fergus’s side the headman looked satisfied, as he pocketed the coins and stretched out his hand in agreement. Quickly Fergus shook his hand and picked up his cup of Koumiss and clinked cups with the headman, before taking a sip.

  “We have a deal,” Fergus said, turning to Adalwolf as the diplomat puffed away on his cannabis. “Once we are sufficiently rested, we shall set out for home.”

  “If you say so,” Adalwolf said in a vacant, contented voice.

  It was deep into the night when the noise and feasting at last seemed to die down. Around the camp fire the flames were burning themselves out and most of the Alani had stumbled away into the darkness or had fallen asleep, or were smoking themselves into happy oblivion. Stiffly Fergus got to his feet. His belly was stuffed with roasted sheep’s meat and Koumiss and the cannabis was making him feel slightly dizzy. Beside the dying embers of the campfire, his companions seemed to be asleep, overcome by the food, heat and feasting. And as he turned to find his way back to the tented wagon where he’d slept the first night, he caught sight of the girl sitting patiently on the ground. Despite all around having fallen asleep the girl had waited for him, although she didn’t seem too pleased by the prospect. With a sigh Fergus turned towards her and as he did, she quickly rose to her feet.

  “Go,” Fergus said gesturing for the girl to leave. “Go,” he repeated and as she finally seemed to understand, she turned and hastily vanished off into the night.

  ***

  It was evening on the following day and Fergus and his companions were standing about, admiring the herd of small shaggy horses which the headman had given them. The wild looking beasts had no saddles or stirrups, but they seemed tough. Nearby, close to the stream a boy was guarding a flock of sheep and two Alani women were sitting in the grass making arrows. Amongst the tent-covered wagons most of the clan still seemed to be recovering from the feast the night before, but there was no sign of the Alani headman. He had ridden off into the steppes with some of his men that morning and had not yet returned. Idly Fergus stroked the back of one of the horses. Then he paused, as from the corner of his eye he noticed the Albanian youth hastening towards them. The Albanian looked troubled.

  “Skula,” Fergus called out softly in warning, but the bald Alani tribesman had already spotted the youth and was coming towards Fergus.

  The youth hesitated as he came up to Fergus and as he did, Fergus felt a sudden pang of alarm. Turning to Skula the young man said something and as Skula frowned, the youth repeated himself.

  “What is he saying?” Fergus snapped as he turned to look at Skula.

  “I think he is trying to tell us that we must leave, right now,” Skula said frowning. “He has come to warn us. He says that we are in danger. That we must leave now. He is very insistent.”

  “What?” Fergus blurted out, as he turned to look at the youth in alarm. “Who? Why are we in danger?”

  The Albanian spoke again, repeating himself carefully and slowly, as he gazed at Skula, trying to see if he had understood.

  “I think he is saying,” Skula began. “That his father, the captain, saw you give those gold coins to the Alani headman last night at the feast. His father told him that you should have given those gold coins to him, in compensation for the loss of his fishing boat.”

  Across from him, the Albanian youth spoke again, choosing his words carefully.

  “His father is furious,” Skula added, as he quickly glanced at Fergus. “He blames you for the loss of his boat. His father told him that he is going to tell the Alani headman everything when he returns. He is going to tell the headman that we are not Greek merchants. That we are Romans and that we only came here to rescue Adalwolf. That we lied to the headman.”

  Once again, the youth spoke as Skula fell silent.

  Skula’s face suddenly seemed to grow pale. “He says his father is going to tell the Alani headman that he could get much more gold if he hands us all over to prince Sanatruces and the Parthians at Derbent.”

  For a long moment Fergus said nothing as he stared at the youth. “Shit,” Fergus muttered at last as he looked down at the grass.

  “Where is that piece of shit,” Flavius hissed as he stepped forwards, his angry eyes blazing. “I am going to slice open his treacherous throat. Where is that prick? He is not going to be talking to anyone after I am finished with him.”

  “No,” Fergus said sharply, as he held up his hand. “The captain has a valid reason to feel aggrieved but at the same time we needed that gold for those horses. I made my choice. Skula, ask him why he has come to warn us? Why is he doing this? Why is he going against his own father?”

  Quickly Skula spoke and as the youth seemed to finally understand, he replied and as he did, he turned to look at Fergus.

  Skula raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think he says that the captain is not his father,” Skula exclaimed. “We just assumed he was. His real father was killed by the Parthians. That’s why he hates them so much. That’s why he is helping us. He says he is a friend of Rome.”

  As Skula fell silent, the youth quickly spoke again.

  “He says we should not hurt the captain. But he says he hopes we kill many Parthians. That we slaughter them without mercy,” Skula added.

  Fergus gazed at the youth in silence. Then hastily he groped for something in his pocket and produced a solitary gold coin.

  “My last coin,” Fergus said, as he pressed it into the youth’s hand. “I was keeping it for an emergency, but I guess this is one. Tell him Skula, that we are grateful for his help.”

  The youth looked down at the single gold coin and then quickly his fingers closed over it and he turned to give Fergus a wide grin before hastening away.

  “What are we going to do Fergus?” Adalwolf asked as he watched the youth walk away.

  “Gather your gear,” Fergus said quickly, as he too watched the youth head back into the Alani camp. “I think the boy spoke the truth. We are leaving. We will head south-west towards the Caucasian Gates. With a bit of luck, we should be able to put enough distance between us before the Alani have a change of mind about us. Come on, move, move.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven – Three Decisions

  It was dawn, and to the south the majestic and massive Caucasus rose from the earth, their jagged, fifteen thousand feet high, rocky and snow-covered peaks clawing at the blue clear skies. Along their barren, but impressive, ridges, glaciers ran down into steep, narrow valleys. The lower slopes of the gigantic mountains were covered in dense, green forests and lush alpine meadows. It was a beautiful sight Fergus thought as he gazed southwards - this barrier between the continents of Europa and Asia. Hadrian’s Greek advisers had told him that the two mountains chains, that formed the Caucasus, ran for nearly eight hundred miles from the Black Sea coast to the Hyrcanian Ocean on a north-west to south-east axis. For the moment Fergus was alone. The others were still asleep next to their horses, curled up in the grass beside the river and wrapped up in their warm Alani blankets. He stood at the edge of the wide, placid Terek river which, swollen with spring melt-water, was flowing eastwards from its source in the high mountains to the south. It was a fresh morning and despite it being May, the night had been surprisingly cold. Beyond the river to the south, the flat grasslands and open rolling country seemed to be coming to an end - repla
ced by forests and the Caucasian foothills. Hearing the lonely cry of a hunting bird high in the clear skies, Fergus turned to look north and back across the steppes. But he could not spot the early morning predator. It had taken them three days and one night to cross the seemingly endless plain of grass from the Alani encampment to the banks of the Terek. Skula had led them. He had claimed to know the way to the Caucasian Gates and they had made good and swift progress on their small and tough horses. There had been no sign of pursuit but despite this, Fergus could not shake the sense of alarm and nervousness he’d felt when abruptly leaving the Alani camp. The scenery might be beautiful, but something was not right. Their journey southwards had been far too easy.

  Carefully Fergus knelt beside the river and splashed some of the clear mountain water onto his face. The water was ice-cold, but it tasted good. Straightening up, he turned and strode back to his companions and the horses.

  “Come on, wake up, wake up,” Fergus called out, as he kicked his companions awake. “We must go. Come on. There is no time to waste.”

  As his companions silently staggered to their feet and started to gather their belongings, Fergus moved across to the small, blackened camp fire and stamped out the few remaining embers. Then he turned to his horse and carefully reached out to gently run his hand down the horses’ nose. The beautiful Alani horses were battle-trained and had been castrated to make them more obedient.

  “Excellent cavalry horses aren’t they Sir,” a voice said behind him and as Fergus turned, he saw Skula standing watching him.

  “They are,” Fergus replied, turning his attention back to his horse.

  Skula hesitated. “I need to speak to you, alone Sir.”

  And there was something in Skula’s voice that made Fergus turn sharply. Gesturing for the Alani tribesman to follow him, he moved a little distance away from the others.

  “What?” Fergus growled with a sudden sense of foreboding.

  Skula hesitated again. Across his back he had strapped an Alani composite bow and a quiver of arrows. A small, round mirror with fine images of the sun and fire engraved into its edges, hung from his belt on a leather strap. The small mirror was a religious symbol used to honour the Alani sun god, Skula had explained. Suddenly Fergus groaned as he guessed what Skula was going to say. Ever since they had encountered the Alani, Fergus had noticed that Skula had become more and more absorbed by the culture of his own people. It was as if the enforced stay with the steppes people had rekindled something in him.

  Skula sighed and he seemed to be genuinely struggling to speak.

  “Sir,” he said at last, looking up at Fergus, his face grave. “The time has come for me to say farewell to you Sir. I am not coming back with you.”

  Fergus stared at Skula in silence. Then he looked down at the grass with sudden sadness.

  “You are not a slave,” Fergus said quietly. “You are a freedman and you are paid for your work. So ofcourse you are free to leave us and choose your own path. But I shall be sorry to see you go Skula. We have been through much together; you, I and the others. What will you do now? Where will you go?”

  Hastily Skula nodded. “It is a hard decision Sir,” he said in a serious voice. “But I am set on it. I want to go in search of my family. I was fourteen when I last saw them. It is time that I returned home Sir. They may still be alive.”

  Fergus sighed and turned to look northwards across the grass lands. For a moment he did not move. Then at last his shoulder sagged and he nodded as he accepted Skula’s choice.

  “It is not far from here to the Caucasian Gates,” Skula said quickly, as he turned to gesture at the river. “You do not need me to guide you anymore. All you need to do is follow the Terek upstream and the river will take you home. The Gates are maybe sixty or seventy miles away. Once you reach them, you will enter a very narrow gorge. The cliffs are sheer, some six-thousand feet high, compressing the river gorge to a narrow strip of stony land. The pass is the only way in which to cross the mountains. The Terek’s white-water flows straight through it, heading south, from its source. The first and last time I rode through that gorge there was a small fortress, perched high on a cliff, overlooking the narrowest part of the gorge. It was manned by Iberian soldiers but there may be Romans there too. Your people call the fort Cumania. It controls all access through the gorge. Keep following the Terek Sir and it will lead you home.”

  Fergus nodded as he gazed at Skula. Then he turned to look at the others. They were all standing beside their horses, ready to go, watching the two of them in sombre silence as if they had guessed the purpose of the conversation.

  “There is a final thing that I need you to do for me,” Fergus said, as he carefully turned to look at Skula. “I need you to stay here until darkness. Find yourself a good observation spot from where you can see the river. If there is any sign of trouble, any sign that the Alani are coming after us, then I need you to warn us. Prepare a fire and make black smoke. In these clear skies the smoke will be seen from miles and miles away. Can I count on you Skula? Can I rely on you to do this old friend?”

  “Ofcourse Sir,” Skula said quickly. “I will do that.”

  Slowly a grin appeared on the bald Alani’s lips and he threw open his arms and gave Fergus a big farewell hug, gripping him tightly.

  “I shall always remember you Sir,” Skula said as he let go and stepped back. “I shall honour all of you wherever I go. And when you get back to Antioch Sir. Tell Hadrian, from me. That he is still a prick.”

  ***

  The Terek river was wide and deep and along its banks grew tall, river reeds. At a steady walk on horseback, Fergus led his companions in single file along the left bank as they followed the river westwards into the increasingly rough and wild country. To the south, the beautiful snow-covered peaks of the mountains were drawing closer and dark green forests covered their lower slopes like a coat. Closer by, the grass lands had given way to forest, great sturdy oaks and pines. It was mid-morning and the only sign of life they had come across had been a magnificent and solitary stag, standing watching them from the top of a rock. Stoically Fergus gazed ahead, as his horse picked its way along the river bank. Letting Skula go and saying farewell to him had lowered the morale of his companions and no one seemed to be in the mood to talk. Fergus sighed. But the Alani tribesman had made his decision. He could have argued with Skula, pointing out that he’d signed a contract of employment and sworn an oath of allegiance, but it was clear that Skula’s heart was in his native land. It would be cruel to insist on him coming with them when he clearly no longer wanted to. Twisting around on his horse, Fergus glanced back at Adalwolf who was following him.

  “What do you know about the Caucasian Gates?” Fergus called out.

  “Only what Pliny tells us,” Adalwolf replied - “That the Gates divide the world between civilisation and barbarism.”

  Fergus was about to say something else when he froze, and his eyes widened in shock. There beyond Adalwolf, on the horizon, in the direction from which they’d come, a thin column of black smoke was rising into the clear skies.

  “Oh no,” he gasped.

  “What?” Adalwolf asked, as he quickly turned to see what Fergus was staring at. Then as he too caught sight of the black smoke, the colour drained from his face. “Ah shit,” the German diplomat cursed in his native language.

  “Seems that our hosts have had a change of heart,” Fergus snapped in a tight voice, as he stared at the distant column of smoke. “They are coming after us. That smoke is Skula’s warning.”

  “Are you sure it’s from him?” Adalwolf asked hopefully. “Could it not be from another source?”

  “No,” Fergus replied sharply. “We are not going to take that chance. We must assume that the Albanian captain talked. That the Alani are after us.” And without waiting for Adalwolf to reply, Fergus raised his fist into the air and cried out to his companions. “Trouble,” he yelled as he pointed at the smoke. “Let’s ride. Hurry. Move, move, move.”
>
  And as he urged his horse into a canter, Fergus wrenched his eyes back to the river as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He’d been right to feel nervous about the Alani. He’d been right to take precautions. The Albanian fisherman must have convinced the Alani headman that he would be able to get much more gold, if he delivered them to prince Sanatruces at Derbent. The journey to the Caucasian Gates was no longer a leisurely ride Fergus thought grimly. It had become a race between life and death.

  It was dusk, and Fergus was leading his men in single file along the banks of the Terek, when an arrow came zipping across the river and struck Numerius in his leg. A split second later a second arrow buried itself into Numerius’s horse, causing the beast to rear up and crash onto its side, throwing Numerius to the ground. Shrieking, Numerius went flying and tumbling into the long grass. Frantically, Fergus turned to stare at the opposite bank of the river, and in the twilight, he caught a glimpse of horsemen galloping and flitting through the light forest, parallel to him. And as he stared at them, another arrow went whining passed him.

  “There here. Get into cover,” Fergus screamed, as he swerved away from the river. But on the open hillside there was no cover. In the gloom the nearest forest was a hundred yards away. In the long grass Numerius was crying out in pain with his hands pressed to the arrow sticking out of his leg. As the others galloped away, Fergus brought his horse to a halt, slid to the ground and raced to Numerius’s aid. But Flavius beat him to it. Ignoring the whining arrows, the big German rushed towards Numerius, and together with Fergus, heaved Numerius up and over his horse’s back. Close by, another arrow struck the ground.

  “Go, go,” Fergus roared as Flavius hoisted himself onto his horse and, with one hand holding onto Numerius. started to gallop towards the forest as fast as the horse could go. Hastening back to his own horse, Fergus had nearly reached the animal, when it was struck in rapid succession by two arrows that sent the horse crashing and screaming to the ground. Wildly, Fergus swerved past the dying beast and started to run. Another arrow went whining past, so close he could feel it. Desperately, Fergus started to zigzag across the open meadow as he raced for the forest line. There was no time to look behind him to see whether the Alani had crossed the river. With a yell he burst into the cover of the trees and went stumbling over a tree trunk and rolling painfully onto the ground. Pulling his gladius from its sheath, he leapt to his feet. Ignoring the bruises and his panting, heaving chest, he turned to face the way he’d come. But in the twilight, out on the open grassy slope that bordered the river, he could see nothing. Pausing to catch his breath, he heard Numerius crying out in pain from deeper in the dark forest. Cursing to himself, Fergus pushed his sword back into its sheath and hurried away through the trees in direction from which he could hear Numerius crying out.