Parthian Dawn
Page 64
Dobbai cackled. ‘Now you will face the wrath of two empires.’
‘Two empires?’ I said.
An evil grin spread over her old face. ‘You did not think that Rome had forgotten about you, did you?’
‘Careful old woman,’ I replied, ‘one day you will talk your head off your shoulders.’
‘But not before two mighty armies will march against you, son of Hatra, one from the east and one from the west. Not before then.’
My father left for Hatra the next morning. He told us that we would always have refuge in Hatra. Gallia embraced him in the courtyard as his bodyguard waited for their king.
‘We will not leave our home,’ she said.
He picked up Claudia and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Don’t leave it too long before you visit us. Your mother misses you all.’
He put Claudia down and offered me his hand. I took it.
‘Take care of Orodes, he has suffered a heavy blow.’
‘I shall, father.’
He suddenly looked old and careworn. ‘And take care of yourself. You have, unfortunately, made powerful enemies who have no understanding of the virtue of forgiveness.’
‘Dura’s walls and its army are strong, father.’
He mounted his horse and managed a smile for Gallia and Claudia.
‘You cannot fight everyone, Pacorus. May Shamash protect you.’
He rode from the Citadel with his bodyguard following him. Gallia and Dobbai took Claudia back inside and I stood alone in the courtyard. Guards stood on the walls and at the gates and squires busied themselves tending to their masters’ horses. A party of cataphracts in full war gear, a kontus resting on every right shoulder, trotted from the stables, across the courtyard and through the gates, raising their left hands in salute as they rode past me. The routine of military life went on, oblivious to the machinations of kings.
That afternoon I wrote a letter to Mithridates at Ctesiphon. I am no scribe, but I think it summed up my feelings succinctly. I sat alone on my bedroom balcony, Najya perched on a stand beside me.
To King Mithridates
Word has recently reached me that your father, King Phraates, has died of a broken heart. It indeed breaks my heart to think that such a good man has departed this world, and sickens me greatly that the one who was the cause of his death has stolen his crown and now dares to call himself the King of Kings.
I have also heard that you hold me responsible for your father’s death, and have used this lie to deceive numerous other kings of the empire into electing you to your present high office. And now you seek to make yourself master of all the Parthian Empire, but I have to tell you that while I still live you will never know peace. For you are a poison at the very heart of the empire, and every day that you sit upon the throne Parthia dies a little. The only cure for the empire is to remove this ulcer, this rottenness, and that includes your lackey Narses, another traitor who fouls the empire by his mere existence. I will not rest until you and he have suffered the same fate as those other traitors Porus and Chosroes. This I swear by all that is sacred.
I remain, your most implacable enemy.
Pacorus, King of Dura.
Thus was the die cast. The falcon suddenly stirred and spread her wings, and made at harsh kak, kak, kak noise while looking to the east, obviously sensing an ill wind. I stroked her head.
‘Easy, little one.’
I gave her a morsel of meat and she stopped fretting. I walked to the balustrade and gazed across the blue waters of the Euphrates to the east. So Mithridates was King of Kings with Narses as his right-hand man. They would soon be gathering an army to march against Dura, for they realised that neither of them would know peace while I was still in the world. And that would mean they would have to fight me. It would come down to one great battle, one final clash to decide the fate of the empire. I smiled. Good. Let them come; I would be ready.
Epilogue
The view was certainly impressive; Crassus conceded that. As the most powerful and wealthy man in Rome he normally never left the centre of the Roman Empire, but this spring had been different for Gnaeus Pompey Magnus was returning to Rome. He had been away from the city for five years, during which time he had destroyed the Cilician pirates and defeated Mithridates of Pontus and Tigranes of Armenia. These triumphs had made him extremely popular in Rome, much to the annoyance of Crassus. Pompey was already a hero to the common people of the city and these victories would only serve to increase his prestige and therefore influence. Pompey had a talent amounting to genius for getting under Crassus’ skin, and the past few years had provided a perfect example. Not only had Pompey used his political influence to gain extraordinary powers to deal with the pirate threat in the eastern Mediterranean, he had also used his influence to gain command of the entire Roman war effort in the East. And to cap it all Pompey had sent one of his toadies, a legate by the name of Quintus Caecilius Metellus, to Rome to persuade Crassus to meet him in Asia Minor. He knew why he had made the request, of course. Pompey would receive a hostile reception from a Senate packed with Crassus’ allies, which would make honouring his word to his soldiers about granting them land upon their demobilisation extremely difficult.
So Crassus found himself in the luxurious splendour of a villa overlooking the town of Ephesus on the Aegean coastline. Pompey had invited him to dine with him as soon as he had arrived at the port, the villa nestling in the hills above the bustling town. Crassus was a frugal man — he had only one house in Rome — whereas Pompey was the exact opposite, flaunting his wealth and power at every opportunity. Tonight was no different, with the food being served from plates of gold and wine poured into jewel-encrusted silver cups. There were mosaics on the floor depicting images of Greek gods and hunting frescoes on the walls. Crassus reclined on a large couch that was set against the back wall of the dining area, facing the open side of the room that gave a panoramic view of the port and sea below.
Pompey reclined on his couch propped up on his left elbow, Crassus next to him. Servants first served them mulsum, a delicious chilled white wine with honey, and then served the first course of eggs, salad with asparagus and salted fish.
The formalities out of the way, Pompey got down to business.
‘I assume that the Senate is still hostile towards me.’
‘You are right in that assumption,’ gloated Crassus.
‘The Senate is ungrateful to its faithful sons.’
Slaves began serving the second course of meat, game and poultry.
Crassus saw no point in playing word games with his host. ‘What do you wish of me, Pompey?’
Pompey laughed and clapped his hands together. ‘Blunt and to the point, as ever. Is it not obvious? I wish to return to Rome without having to endure the tedium of censure by the Senate.’
Crassus picked at some cooked peacock brains. ‘You also want land for your returning soldiers?’
‘Of course, those who have shed blood for Rome should be rewarded.’
Crassus was prompted to ask where the gold and silver that Pompey had looted in Cilicia, Armenia and Pontus had ended up. Such wealth would be more than enough to purchase land for his veterans, but he thought better of it. He knew Pompey was very familiar with the phrase, ‘to the victor, the spoils’, and interpreted it very literally.
‘I have friends in the Senate who can calm troubled waters,’ said Crassus, ‘though such services are difficult to arrange.’
‘And very expensive, no doubt,’ added Pompey.
Crassus said nothing but smiled at his younger rival. Pompey continued.
‘I have been away from Rome for too long, but Rome still has unfinished business in the East. The man who leads the Roman invasion of Parthia will become very rich and very powerful, perhaps the most powerful man in the whole world.’
Crassus was now very interested. He knew the Parthian Empire was rich from its control of the silk route from China and its vast stockpile of gold that had once belonged to the anci
ent Persian Empire. But Crassus was slightly wary of his host. He was, after all, probably more ambitious than himself.
‘But do you not covet Parthia yourself?’
Now it was Pompey’s turn to smile. ‘My friend, there are other lands in the world to conquer. Besides, as I said, I have been away from Rome for too long.’
Crassus then brought up a subject designed to wipe the smile off his face.
‘Tell me, why did you retreat in the face of the Parthian rabble at the Euphrates?’
Pompey may have covered himself in glory in the East, but his withdrawal from the Euphrates without a fight had puzzled many in Rome and had cast a shadow over his military reputation.
Pompey seemed unconcerned by the question. ‘Why? I will tell you why. Prior to facing “the rabble” as you call them, we had been battered for five days by a sandstorm the like of which I had never seen before. We lost half our supplies and the men had no sleep for at least four nights.’
‘A sandstorm?’ Crassus was most sceptical.
Pompey’s smile had now disappeared. ‘Unless you have been in the midst of one you will not know their power. When we arrived at the river we did not find a rabble but a well-disciplined army of horse and foot led by a king called Pacorus.’
‘Pacorus?’ Crassus was startled by the name. Pompey’s smile returned.
‘That is correct, the same Pacorus that led the cavalry of Spartacus during the slave rebellion in Italy. Well, he is a king now and has raised two legions of his own. Can you imagine that, a Parthian king with Roman legions? But you know this, of course, because he destroyed your man, what was his name, Lucius Furius, at Dura.’
‘But you had eight legions, did you not?’ snapped Crassus.
‘I did, but other kings brought their armies to support Pacorus until the horizon was filled with Parthian horsemen, and then the Agraci hordes came to add their numbers against us.’ Pompey waved a hand in the air. ‘Besides, I have secured Rome’s eastern frontier on the Euphrates, as I vowed I would do. I had not planned for an invasion of Parthia. But I tell you this, the Parthians are not to be underestimated, especially Pacorus at Dura.’
‘He needs to be dealt with.’
‘It will take more than eight legions to destroy King Pacorus,’ remarked Pompey. ‘Remind me, how many men did you lose at Dura?’
All conversation stopped as Crassus toyed with his food and mulled over what Pompey had said. During the latter’s absence Crassus had strengthened his spider’s web of political and business allies, though if he left Rome then Pompey would no doubt set about trying to unravel them. He would have to give the Parthian question careful thought.
The rest of the evening was pleasant enough, with dancing girls and poetry readings saving the two men having to make polite conversation. Pompey never mentioned Parthia again and Crassus did not press the matter, but as Pompey was bidding his rival goodbye he reiterated that in return for his assistance in the matter of land for his veterans he would throw his weight behind securing Crassus a command in the East.
The next morning, while sitting in the study of his rented villa three miles south of Ephesus, Crassus pondered his next move. Ajax, his faithful slave, brought him water and fruit as he sat at his desk. He usually took breakfast in his study to allow him to get through the bulk of his work before the afternoon. Ajax was about to leave when Crassus stopped him.
‘Do you remember that Parthian whom you brought to my house in Rome some nine years ago, I think it was?’
Ajax stood still searching his mind for a few seconds. ‘Ah, yes, sir. I rode to the camp of the slave leader with your letter addressed to him, then escorted him back to Rome. He rode a white horse if my memory serves me right.’
Crassus sat back in his chair. ‘That is correct. Well, it appears that young man escaped from Italy after I crushed the slave rebellion and returned to his homeland. He is now a king who halted Pompey’s advance in the East.’
‘He did appear to be a most resourceful young man,’ offered Ajax. ‘Not to be underestimated.’
Crassus looked at Ajax, who wore a blank expression. Perhaps he had also heard of the defeat of Lucius Furius at Dura. Did he know that his master was thinking of a campaign in the East, was he warning him against such a venture? He dismissed such thoughts. Of course he could not know. Still, Ajax was an old companion, a trusted servant who had much responsibility in the house of his master. He was still a slave, of course, but one that Crassus was immensely fond of.
‘Thank you, Ajax, you may go.’
Ajax bowed his head and made to depart but then stopped and turned around. ‘Some letters have just been delivered; do you wish to see them now, sir? One of them is from Gaius by the look of the seal.’
‘Yes, bring them to me.’
Crassus had always taken an interest in sponsoring promising young men, in both politics and martial affairs. Grateful protégés made useful future allies. It was a gamble, though, and often ended in failure. Crassus shook his head as he remembered Lucius Furius, a man who had cost him a great deal of money and had ended up as a corpse in Mesopotamia. Too hot-headed by far, and losing three legions and expensively assembled siege engines and engineers to work them was unforgivable. At least Furius had saved his eagles. The shame would have been unbearable had those precious objects fallen into the hands of barbarians. Well, at least Furius had had the good manners to die a hero’s death. Crassus hoped his latest protégé, a certain Gaius Julius Caesar, would do better. And so far Gaius had proved himself to be most able, though only time would tell.
Crassus fingered the letter knife on the table in front of him. There were many reasons to mount a campaign against Parthia, not least the attraction of succeeding where Pompey had failed. Sandstorm indeed! He would not have turned back just because of a strong wind. No, Pompey had obviously lost his nerve. A war against Parthia would be an opportunity to put Pompey in the shade. What’s more, the wealth that would be captured would more than pay for the expense of raising an army and maintaining it during the campaign. He had heard that Ctesiphon, the Parthian capital, was filled with gold. But he would leave nothing to chance. He would raise his army and prepare it thoroughly for a campaign in the East. And afterwards the eastern frontier of the Roman Empire would no longer be the River Euphrates, it would be the Tigris. Though what would prevent a capable commander marching his army as far as the Indus? What was certain is that the whole of the western half of the Parthian Empire would become Roman territory, its inhabitants conquered and sold into slavery, and that included the citizens of Dura Europos and its troublesome king.
Copyright 2011 Peter Darman
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Copyright
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