But he had not been fooled into feeling safe and that was why he had entrusted Gaius with a letter to Caenis. If something should go wrong with what he planned to do and he was exposed and killed, she would be able to make sure that his reasons for acting as he did would not remain secret as Tryphaena would wish. Gaius would wait out the year with Sabinus in his provinces before returning to Rome next spring with Vespasian, all being well, and if not, then with just the letter.
As the ship began to run fast with the gathering wind, carrying him swiftly towards his destination, Vespasian felt a strange relief; the gale was hastening what he must do. If his mission went well, Tryphaena would reward him and Corbulo would have the military command that he desired.
Because Vespasian was hastening towards Armenia to provoke Parthia into war.
CHAPTER VII
‘DO YOU HAVE the Emperor’s authority for this outrageous request?’ Julius Paelignus, the procurator of Cappadocia, drew himself up to his full height, which was limited to five feet owing to a severe curvature of the spine. ‘Because, I would remind you, I am a very good personal friend of Claudius and it would not do to cross me.’
‘I am well aware of your relationship with the Emperor.’ Vespasian looked down at the deformed little man and tried not to let the contempt that he felt for the procurator’s self-importance play on his face. ‘It is not a request; it’s a suggestion. I have an imperial mandate to act in whichever way I see best in relation to the current crisis in Armenia and I suggest that your auxiliary cohorts secure its border with Parthia.’
‘All of them?’
‘All of them!’ Vespasian’s voice echoed around the marble columns and walls of the procurator’s palace located in the eastern city of Melitene in the mountainous province on the edge of the Empire.
‘I can’t spare them all.’
‘Are they doing anything else important at the moment?’
‘They’re guarding our border with Armenia.’
‘That border is guarded by the Euphrates River; Armenia’s border with Parthia is a vague line just to the south of Tigranocerta.’
Paelignus spluttered, looking up at Vespasian with protruding, bloodshot eyes; his thick, moist lips dominated the lower part of his gaunt face. ‘But they are my troops.’
‘And you shall command them, Paelignus, as is only right as, although I’ve made the suggestion, this will be your idea.’
Paelignus’ thin nose twitched and he rubbed it with his thumb and forefinger; his fingernails were chewed almost to the cuticles. ‘And I shall take the credit for any victory?’
‘Procurator, I am not here. You have seen my imperial mandate and that should be enough for you. My presence should not be mentioned in any official papers or letters and should not be reported to your direct superior, Ummidius Quadratus, the Governor of Syria; so therefore the obvious conclusion is yes, you will not only be able to claim all the plunder but also take all the credit for any victory, worthy feat of arms or successful negotiation through force that you may achieve in your securing of the southern Armenian border during this period of instability in that client kingdom.’ As well as any fiasco, dishonourable retreat or double-dealing agreement, Vespasian added in his head as he smiled ingratiatingly at this puffed-up little joke of a procurator whose eyes had narrowed as he contemplated riches and honour easily come by. He had only met Paelignus once previously, on the last day of the Secular games three years before when the man had been present in the imperial box almost begging Claudius to be given the post of procurator of Cappadocia to restore his finances; his friendship with the Emperor involved many games of dice and wagering on just about anything and his purse had been severely depleted by Claudius’ passion for gambling. Why Claudius would associate himself with such a buffoon he could only … but then he realised that, as a hunchback, Paelignus was exactly the sort of person that Claudius would enjoy having around him: he would make the drooling fool seem less of an oddity. Now that Paelignus had his wished-for position, Tryphaena had judged that his greed and venality would serve her purposes well. Vespasian was unsurprised as the procurator acquiesced.
‘Very well, proconsul,’ Paelignus affirmed, summoning as much dignity as he could in order to seem in command. ‘I will leave in ten days.’
‘Wrong, Paelignus; speed is of the essence and the Emperor will commend you for it. You will leave in three. In ten days you will be in Tigranocerta. Meanwhile, King Polemon of Pontus will bring an army in from the north and secure Artaxata.’ Leaving the procurator speechless and gaping, Vespasian turned on his heel and marched quickly from the room. He was in no mood for more delay; now that he was close to his objective he wanted to achieve Tryphaena’s dubious aims and then get back to Italia and watch the results from the relative safety of one of his estates. It had already taken over half a month to make the two-hundred-mile journey from the port of Sinope, the seat of King Polemon, Tryphaena’s brother. Vespasian had not been surprised to find himself expected and treated with the utmost courtesy by the ageing King; he had been furnished with a unit of Polemon’s personal guard cavalry for his protection overland. They were armed with lances in the image of Alexander the Great’s companion cavalry; shieldless but with stout leather cuirasses and bronze helmets they looked like troops from days gone by, but Polemon had assured him that they had no equal when it came to horsemanship. Their mere presence deterred any banditry along the route and it had been with some regret that Vespasian had released them, upon their arrival in Cappadocia, having not seen them fight.
As he went in search of Magnus who was settling into the sparse comforts of the guest quarters of the draughty and seldom-used palace, Vespasian allowed himself a satisfied smile; he felt as if events had finally started to move. He had commandeered his army: five auxiliary cohorts of eight hundred heavy infantry each, all trained to fight in dispersed order; ideal for mountainous terrain. But fighting was not going to be their primary function and he was looking forward to seeing the expression on the ugly, drawn face of Paelignus when he found out just what really was required of them.
‘This will be a glorious march of conquest!’ Paelignus all but screeched as he raised his voice for the small army of over four thousand foot and horse to hear. ‘The Emperor and the Senate look to us to restore Rome’s rightful influence over Armenia. We will invade from the west and capture Tigranocerta whilst our Pontic allies come in from the north and take Artaxata. For us the hour has come when we can write Cappadocia into the annals of history as the province that saved Roman honour in the East.’
As Paelignus continued to harangue his troops with notions of grandeur far in excess of what was really being asked of them, the infantry stood beneath their banners, rigid, eyes front; weak sunlight glinted on their chain mail, javelin heads and unadorned helms, and the red of their tunics and breeches matched painted shields emblazoned with crossed burnished-iron lightning bolts, giving the impression of rank upon rank of blood and silver. Beside them the baggage train was formed up in surprisingly neatly dressed lines, their appearance less uniform as their clothing was not standard issue. However, they shared one common factor with their infantry comrades: a look of complete non-comprehension.
‘I don’t know why he bothers to waste his breath like that,’ Magnus said, pulling back on the reins of his skittish horse. ‘I don’t suppose more than a dozen of them can speak Latin better than the average five year old.’
Vespasian chuckled as he too was forced to control his mount, which had been spooked by its neighbour. ‘I don’t suppose it’s even occurred to him that he’d have a better chance of being understood in Greek; all he can think of is being seen as the equal of Caesar, Lucullus, Pompey and all the other generals who’ve campaigned in this region. There’s no one so blind as a small man with no military experience who thinks that he’s been given the chance to be a hero without actually doing anything.’
Vespasian steadied his horse, pulling it closer to the mule-drawn cart carry
ing their tent and personal effects, driven by Hormus, and caught his slave looking with admiration at one of the many young muleteers of the army’s baggage train in which he would travel. The lad smiled back with the promise in his dusky eyes of all received coinage being delightfully rewarded.
‘And so, soldiers of Rome,’ Paelignus falsettoed, his normally pale cheeks almost matching the tunics of his audience, ‘follow me to Armenia, follow me to Tigranocerta, follow me to victory and glory in the name of Rome.’ He punched his sword into the air to little reaction and was forced to repeat the gesture another couple of times before his audience realised that the end of a rousing speech had come and began to react accordingly. Paelignus addressed the five auxiliary prefects standing behind him on the dais before descending the wooden steps to the ragged cheering of his troops. After the bare minimum time that could politely be allowed for an army hailing its commanding officer the prefects signalled to their primus pilus centurions; raucous bellows of command easily cut through the noise followed by the blare of horns. Centuries snapped to attention in unison and turned left, with thuds of massed hobnailed sandals, converting them into eight-man-wide columns. With another series of martial bellows and repeated bucinae fanfares the whole formation began to move, century by century, cohort by cohort, off the parade ground in front of the city’s main gate to head, in one long serpentine column, east towards the Euphrates beyond which lay the snow-capped peaks of Armenia.
Vespasian was impressed by the speed at which the column was able to travel along the Persian Royal Road, built by Darius the Great to connect the heartland of his empire with the sea to the west. Wide and well maintained, it was the equal of any road of Roman construction and its even surface enabled the auxiliaries to march at a good pace.
In fact, the speed with which the whole expedition had been brought together reflected well on the command structure of the province’s military. It was with something approaching a guilty conscience that, later that day, Vespasian watched the auxiliaries traversing the seventy-pace-long bridge over the Euphrates. In order for Tryphaena’s plan to work, it was not to victory that they were heading.
The bridge was narrower than the road, causing a bottleneck, and it took the rest of the day and the best part of the following one to get the whole force and its baggage across; it was as the final carts trundled over that the first tiny silhouettes of horsemen were spotted on the crest of a distant hill.
‘It didn’t take long for news of our march to spread,’ Magnus commented, climbing into the saddle.
Vespasian swung himself up onto his mount. ‘I’m sure that King Polemon has taken the precaution of warning both Radamistus and the Parthians of our arrival by now.’
‘Naturally,’ Magnus agreed. ‘You can’t trust anyone in the East; they’d betray their own mothers for a goat if they thought that they could get more practical usage out of it. But you don’t seem to be too concerned by it. I thought that the whole point of quick strikes like this was to keep the element of surprise.’
‘That would be helpful if this were meant to be a quick strike.’
Magnus shaded his eyes as he took another look southwest at the scouts. ‘What do you mean?’
Vespasian turned his horse. ‘Has it occurred to you that we don’t really have anyone to strike at? Radamistus is meant to be loyal to Rome and the Parthians have not, as yet, as far as we’re aware, invaded.’
‘But I thought that you told Paelignus that the whole point of this mission was to secure Tigranocerta whilst King Polemon invaded from the north and took Artaxata on the basis that whoever controls the two royal capitals controls Armenia?’
‘That is indeed what I told him; but it is far from the truth. Had I told him that, he would probably have tried to have me arrested for treason.’ Vespasian enjoyed the surprise and confusion on Magnus’ face as he kicked his horse forward in search of Paelignus.
‘Probably just local brigands,’ Paelignus announced as Vespasian drew up his mount. ‘It’s beneath the dignity of Rome to send scouts scurrying around the country investigating riff-raff.’
‘If you’re sure, Paelignus,’ Vespasian replied, scanning the hilltop. ‘Whoever they were, they’ve gone now.’
‘That’ll be the last we’ll see of them.’
‘What makes you so certain?’
‘The Armenians would never dare to attack a Roman column.’
‘Maybe, maybe not; but Parthians would.’
‘The Parthians? What would they be doing in the country?’
‘The same as us, procurator, staking their claim to it in a time of change. And, if they did come, I believe they would come from the southwest.’ He pointed to the hill on which the horsemen had appeared. ‘And judging by the sun, that is the southwest.’
The column followed the road east for three days until it turned and meandered south through the dun and dusty rough terrain of the uplands that preceded the Masius range. The horsemen were not seen again. By the time the auxiliaries approached Amida, on the banks of the young Tigris River, where the road struck east again towards Tigranocerta, across the hundred-mile passage in the gentle northern foothills of the Masius mountains, the horsemen had been forgotten by almost everyone. Paelignus led the march on at a hurried pace, imitating the Roman generals of old by disdaining to send out scouts on the spurious basis that looking out for ambushes set by barbarians was yet another thing that was beneath the dignity of Rome.
But what was not below Rome’s dignity was greed and it was soon after noon on the fifth day that the column halted to the blare of bucinae, above the peaceful-looking little town of Amida, set astride the road. The high-pitched calls of the bucinae, used for signals in camp and on the march, soon gave way to the deep rumbles of the G-shaped cornu favoured for battlefield signals, and the column started to deploy into line.
‘What is he doing?’ Magnus asked as auxiliaries filed left and right and farmers, ploughing the freshly thawed fields, abandoned their ploughs and sprinted for the relative safety of the town’s walls.
‘Exactly what Tryphaena predicted he would: rape and plunder. He’s never had this chance; being a cripple no one ever took him into their legion as a military tribune so he’s never been on campaign and he’s never felt the power of the sword.’
Magnus was confused. ‘But this is an Armenian town; how does he think he’ll forward our interests if he destroys everything he comes across?’
‘He doesn’t think, at least he doesn’t think beyond schemes of personal gain, and that’s his problem; that is why he’s so suitable.’
‘We want him to alienate the Armenians?’
‘This is right on the border between Armenia and the Parthian Empire. Tigranocerta is a frontier town that guards the Sapphe Bezabde pass through these mountains into Parthia; what better way to provoke the Parthians than firstly to burn Amida close to the border and then to occupy and rebuild a fortified city actually looking out over their lands.’
Magnus turned to the south. ‘You mean beyond those mountains is Parthia.’
Vespasian surveyed the peaks above them. ‘Yes, if you climbed to the top then as far as you could see and miles, miles further than that is all Parthia. Tryphaena showed me a map and there was hardly anything on it after these mountains, just the Tigris and Euphrates that flow all the way to the sea from where you can sail to India. Almost all the cities are on one of those two rivers but between them is desert.’ He pointed southwest. ‘A hundred miles in that direction is Carrhae where we lost seven Eagles in one battle, and then fifty miles west of that is the frontier of the province of Syria. Across those mountains is where Rome’s influence stops; if the Great King sees us on his border he’ll send an army to try to dislodge us and take Armenia back.’
‘And Paelignus will be responsible for starting a war and you might have some nasty questions to answer.’
‘No, I’m not here officially; if I’m ever asked, King Polemon is prepared to vouch that I was in Pontus all
summer using it as a base for my negotiations with Radamistus.’
‘But he’s invading Armenia from the north.’
‘No, he’s not; he’s staying where he is on his sister’s advice. I told Paelignus that to make him feel safe, to ensure that he would bring his forces in. Paelignus will get the blame for starting this war, but as he’s an old friend of Claudius’ he’ll probably survive.’
With the long, low rumble of cornu two of the auxiliary cohorts moved forward as, from either side, the forty cart-mounted carroballistae of the army began to hail down missiles onto the scantily defended walls. From within the town came a great wailing as thousands of people despaired for their lives. The braver, steadier inhabitants shot arrows and slingshot towards the oncoming troops to little effect: many of them fell back, headless, in sprays of blood, decapitated by well-aimed artillery.
With their oval shields raised, the auxiliary soldiers of Rome came on at a steady, silent march as the practically defenceless town lay helpless before them.
Vespasian could see from Magnus’ expression that he was totally confused by the reasoning behind this needless slaughter. ‘We have to fight Parthia sooner or later, we always do, every thirty years or so. But rather than doing so on the defensive, trying to stop them from taking Syria and gaining access to Our Sea, it would be better to have the war on neutral territory as it were. We’ll have less to lose and just as much to gain,’ he explained.
‘But it could take two years or so for Parthia to muster her armies.’
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