‘That’ll do you, sir,’ a voice said, intruding on his bliss. ‘If he ain’t dead yet then I doubt that he can be killed and it’d be pointless to keep on trying, if you take my meaning?’
Vespasian felt a hand, firm, on his shoulder, pulling him up and prising him away from the tattered corpse beneath him. He loosened his jaw and released his teeth from the gaping throat; blood gushed from his mouth, slopping onto the eyeless face of the guard. He turned and looked to see who was talking to him; after a few moments he managed to focus and Magnus came into view. He tried to greet him and thank him but it came out as a series of grunts.
Magnus lifted him gently to his feet. ‘We’d best get you dressed, sir; we can’t have you walking around like that, you’ll frighten the horses.’
Vespasian looked down at himself; he was smeared in muck and blood. He tried to apologise for the stink but again it came out as inarticulate drivel.
‘Don’t you worry, it’ll come back,’ Magnus reassured him as Hormus stripped the guard nearest to Vespasian’s size.
Within a few moments Vespasian was slipping on the tunic, trousers and boots that Hormus had acquired and then they set off down the corridor. Being clothed again, even though it was in the eastern style, gave Vespasian a feeling of security and he no longer needed to hold Hormus’ hand as all three of them broke into a jog as they veered to the left into a wider passage. Halfway down they made a right turn, Hormus somehow navigating his way through the labyrinthine building, took another right turn, then a left and then mounted a further set of steps. All the while the air was becoming fresher and warmer and for the first time for a very long time Vespasian allowed himself to imagine the sun in a blue sky because he knew that soon he would see it.
And suddenly, as another door opened, there it was and he had to close his eyes because of the brightness of it but he did not mind for he could feel it on his face and that alone was the most beautiful sensation he had ever experienced. Keeping his eyes shaded, he followed Hormus and Magnus out into a street and then, sticking close together, they blended into the crowd and Vespasian finally felt like a free man.
The city was far more crowded than he remembered but then, after so long alone, he assumed that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. They threaded their way through streets both wide and narrow and still filled with rubble from the earthquake, always heading south, moving at a good pace, fast enough to get away quickly but not so fast as to draw attention to themselves. Vespasian managed to frame a question in his head asking how they had found him but then was unable to transfer that into coherent sound.
Magnus, however, seemed to understand what he wanted to know. ‘It was simple, really: when you didn’t come back from Radamistus’ camp as his army started crossing the bridge I assumed that he’d kidnapped you. So me and Hormus followed, attaching ourselves to the baggage train. Anyway, after a few days I managed to get Paelignus by himself for a nice quiet chat.’
Vespasian raised his eyebrows at the sound of the procurator’s name.
‘He’d gone with Radamistus because he felt safer there than with his prefects after they had relieved him of command,’ Magnus explained. ‘Also he seemed to enjoy playing the kingmaker. Anyway, I happened to catch him on his own one night and after not too much persuasion he told me that Radamistus had given you to Babak as surety against him keeping his word. Well, as it was obvious that Radamistus had as much intention of keeping his word as a Vestal has of not opening her legs as soon as her thirty-year vow is up, I asked Paelignus why he, as the Roman procurator of Cappadocia, had allowed such a thing to happen.’ Magnus paused for a grin. ‘Even after his second finger had slopped to the floor he couldn’t come up with a decent explanation and continued to insist that he had tried to prevent it. I let him go eventually. I thought that if he had betrayed you then you would enjoy killing him and I wouldn’t want to intrude on your pleasure; and if he hadn’t, well, two fingers was a fair price for doing nothing to stop Radamistus.’
Vespasian nodded, grateful that Magnus had left the cowardly runt alive for him; it would be a sweet day when they met again.
They stopped outside a three-storey house that showed little signs of damage, right next to the south wall; Hormus knocked thrice and then repeated the signal. After a few moments the door was opened by a youth of considerable beauty. Hormus embraced him and then spoke to him in a language that Vespasian did not understand. He shot Magnus a questioning look.
‘That’s Mindos’ replacement, as it were; we disposed of Mindos when he tried to warn Paelignus that we were travelling with Radamistus’ army. Hormus met this one soon after we arrived here a couple of months ago.’
Vespasian shook his head and pointed to his mouth as the youth stepped back and opened the door for them.
‘Oh, I see; the language? It’s Aramaic.’ Magnus informed him, stepping into the house; Vespasian followed. ‘It turns out that it was Hormus’ mother tongue that he had forgotten after his mother’s death. Remember he said he came from somewhere around Armenia? Well, it must have been here or close by. Anyway, it’s very useful because we can get around without anyone noticing us. That’s how we managed to rent this house and that’s how we managed to sell Hormus to the gaoler after his previous slave met with rather an unfortunate end on his way to the market.’
Vespasian looked around the entrance hall; it was well appointed and light. At the far end was a rickety staircase. Magnus headed upstairs. ‘Come on, sir, we need to get you cleaned up; there’s a cistern of rainwater up on the roof. Once you’ve washed all the shit off and tidied up a bit, we’ll think about getting out of this city, if we still can.’
Vespasian wondered why Magnus seemed to think that leaving was so difficult as he followed him up two flights of stairs and then up a ladder to the flat roof. As he eased himself out of the hole and stood up, he looked to the south; the roof was higher than the wall, just five paces away, and Vespasian had a clear view over it. Out on the plain he could see the reason for Magnus’ misgivings: an army was camped before the gates of Arbela.
The city was under siege.
‘Shit!’ Vespasian exclaimed, surprising both himself and Magnus.
‘They arrived a couple of days ago,’ Magnus explained as Hormus scrubbed Vespasian’s skin with a wet cloth. ‘It’s Vologases’ army.’
‘The Great King of Parthia?’ Vespasian’s voice felt raw and it sounded strange to him having not heard it in a long while.
‘The very same.’
‘What’s he doing besieging one of his vassals?’
‘Well, two years ago, after Radamistus went back on his oath to Babak and declared for Rome …’
Vespasian put his hand up to stop him. ‘Say that again.’
‘Which bit? Two years?’
‘Yes, that bit.’
‘It’s been two years, sir. That’s how long you’ve been here; didn’t you know?’
Vespasian stared at his friend, incredulous. ‘Two?’
Magnus nodded.
Vespasian tried to think; he could certainly remember it starting to feel colder and then warm up again, but those were the only changes he could remember. Anything up to a year would not have surprised him; but two? ‘They’re going to think that I’m dead back home.’
‘No, Hormus wrote to your brother when we found out where you were. After we got the information out of Paelignus, we had to go back to Cappadocia because Babak had blocked the pass into Adiabene; and then Vologases arrived with the main Parthian force. He defeated Radamistus, took Artaxata and put his brother Tiridates on the throne. There was no way through so we waited and then winter came and we were stuck in Cappadocia. When spring arrived, Paelignus turned up again so we decided to make ourselves scarce. The passes were still blocked so I reckoned that the best way into Adiabene was through our province of Syria. And that’s what we did, but once we got there we had to wait for winter before we could safely cross the desert to the Euphrates and then get across that
to the Tigris and then over that to get here, only to arrive in the chaos of the aftermath of an earthquake. So here we are, two years later.’
‘Two years?’ Vespasian was having difficulty letting the information sink in. He took the wet cloth from Hormus, dipped it in the water and began to rub at his groin. He looked out at the army before the city. ‘So Vologases has put his brother on the Armenian throne?’
‘It would seem that way; but last winter was very harsh and he was forced to withdraw his army from Armenia, so how long Tiridates will stay on is anyone’s guess.’
Vespasian allowed himself a small smile; his first for a long time – two years. ‘That’s excellent news; either Radamistus or a Roman army will have to come in to remove him; the war will rumble on. So what’s Vologases doing camped out there?’
Magnus shrugged. ‘Fucked if I know or care; perhaps King Izates has been a naughty boy. The point is that he is there and isn’t allowing anyone in or out except emissaries.’
Vespasian looked over the Parthian lines. ‘He doesn’t seem to be doing much.’
‘They’re negotiating and I think it would be best for us to slip away before they fall out with each other. There’s a river about ten miles to the south; it’s a tributary of the Tigris. Once we’re on that river we can head south.’
‘South?’
‘Yes, sir, south. There’s no way that we can cross the desert in summer by ourselves so I thought we’d head south and get some help.’
‘Help?’
‘Yes, sir, help.’
‘From whom? We’re in the Parthian Empire; who’s going to help us?’
‘That’s what I wondered and then I remembered that business in Alexandria fifteen years ago and realised that actually there is a Parthian family that could be in your debt.’
Vespasian puzzled for a few moments before that door in his memory reopened. ‘Ataphanes’ family?’
‘Exactly. You sent all his gold back to his family in Ctesiphon.’
Vespasian remembered the effort he had gone to to send his father’s freedman’s life savings back to his family. He had Alexander, the Alabarch of the Alexandrian Jews, send the gold in one of his cousin’s caravans. ‘I don’t even know if it got there.’
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out.’
‘His family might not be that well disposed towards me; after all, my family did own their son as a slave for fifteen years before giving him his freedom.’
‘Should make for an interesting meeting then.’
Vespasian was doubtful.
Magnus sighed and then pointed to the huge army. ‘If they attack, this city will fall and each one of those bastards is going to want to kill us. If they don’t attack, Izates is going to be combing the city for you so that he can tuck you up all nice and comfy back in your cell. So we’ve got to get out of here and, unless we all fancy a parched death under the desert sun to the west, then the one sensible thing to do is ask the only people we know in this whole fucking empire to help us. I don’t know if they got the gold and I don’t know if they would like to see you enslaved in revenge for what happened to their son; I don’t know any of that. What I do know is that the only way back to Rome is across the desert and this family are traders and, therefore, they have caravans; I would reckon that it’s worth asking them very nicely if they would mind us hitching a ride on one of them.’
Vespasian laughed; a strange sound in his head but a welcome one. ‘You’re right, of course, Magnus; it’s the only sensible thing to do. I don’t suppose Ataphanes’ father is still alive but I remember him saying that he was the youngest of five brothers, so there’s a fair chance of one of them still living. The question is: will they help us?’
‘No, the question is: how do we find them?’
‘His family are spice merchants so I suppose we could see if there’s a guild or some such thing in Ctesiphon and then ask if any of them know of a family that does business with the Jews of Alexandria whose fifth son became a slave in the Roman Empire.’
‘That’s not the sort of thing you publicise.’
‘Well then, how about looking for a family whose youngest son died in the service of the Great King forty years ago?’
‘Hmm, it’s a start, I suppose; but we’ve got to get there first. Hormus, trim your master’s beard and cut his hair so that it’s just off his shoulders; we’re all going to look like eastern merchants so that we have no problems walking right through that army.’
The moon set shortly after the sixth hour of the night and Magnus led them back up onto the roof. They were dressed eastern style with long tunics over trousers, leather boots, headdresses, cloaks and a sword and dagger hanging from their belts; they were the image, Hormus’ young chum had assured him, of mercantile respectability. The fires and torches in the surrounding host burned brighter and in more profusion than the stars as if the heavens had fallen to earth to encircle Arbela.
‘Down,’ Magnus hissed.
They lay low as a patrol passed along the wall.
‘There’re five an hour during the night,’ Magnus whispered to Vespasian as the patrol disappeared towards the south gate. ‘We’ve got plenty of time to get out.’ Magnus and Hormus pulled up the ladder from below and then, having checked that there were no unscheduled patrols in sight, fed it out towards the wall, bridging the gap.
Vespasian and Magnus admired the beautiful sight surrounding them, pointedly not looking back to where Hormus was saying goodbye to his lover; the youth was in tears.
‘He’s not coming with us, I take it?’ Vespasian asked.
‘Hormus wanted to bring him but he felt, to quote him directly, that you wouldn’t want your slave’s bum-boy cluttering up the boat.’
‘He said that?’
‘Yes, he’s quite perceptive.’
‘I wouldn’t have minded.’
‘Well, it’s done now; mind you, I think Hormus had his more selfish reasons. As everyone knows, the best bum-boys come from Mesopotamia; they’re renowned for being very accommodating, in more ways than one, if you take my meaning?’
Vespasian did, only too well, especially having witnessed Caligula’s public usage of one such youth. ‘So you think he’s planning on testing the truth of that assertion?’
‘I’d have thought so; definitely. I’ve been with him almost all the time these last couple of years and I have to say that I really like the lad. However, he’s got one weakness: he does love a boy or two; mad for them he is. It’ll get him into trouble one day.’
Hormus disentangled himself from his latest passion and joined Vespasian and Magnus by the temporary bridge. The youth, with tears glinting in his eyes from the speckled light of the thousands of fires out on the plain, held the ladder firm as Hormus crossed first, with care, balancing a sack on his shoulders. Magnus followed and then Vespasian, trying his hardest not to look down into the dark void of the street below. Once they were all over, the youth withdrew the ladder and watched his lover disappear along the wall. Vespasian noticed that Hormus did not look back once.
They scuttled along, keeping low for about twenty paces before Hormus stopped next to an iron ring set in the wall and rummaged in the bag. Bringing out a long length of rope, he quickly knotted it around the ring and threw the end over the wall. Vespasian was finding it hard to believe that this was the same timid man who was rarely able to look anyone in the eye. With a testing pull on the knot he stepped back and indicated to Vespasian to go first.
As he heaved himself over the parapet, clinging onto the rope, voices came from further along the wall, near the south gate.
‘Fast as you like, sir,’ Magnus hissed, ‘that’s the next patrol on the way; they’re early.’
With a muttered profanity, Vespasian braced his feet against the outside of the wall and pushed, throwing his body out while letting the rope slip through his hands so that he descended the fifty feet in a series of jumps with his cloak flapping up and down behind him like a bird’s broken
wing. Hormus was already on the rope when Vespasian landed at the base of the wall, jolting his knees, but thankful that he had built his body up to reasonable fitness during the last stretch of his incarceration. He was standing on a narrow ridge looking down the exceedingly steep slope of the hill that the city sat upon, one hundred feet down to the plain.
Shouts from above rang out and, looking up, Vespasian saw Magnus fling himself over the wall while Hormus was still only halfway down. The rope swung alarmingly from the extra weight on it and Hormus was having difficulty clinging on as Magnus came tearing down; but suddenly clinging on was academic: the rope was no longer attached. Hormus fell the last ten feet, managing to land upright and then roll with the impact; but Magnus had further to fall, much further.
Vespasian positioned himself directly underneath him; as Magnus hurtled to the ground he stretched out his arms, not in an attempt to catch him but to break his fall. The impact sent him crunching down onto his buttocks as Magnus bounced off him, hitting the ground with a lung-emptying thump before disappearing over the edge. Down he rolled, sending up clouds of dust and obscenities. With a quick check to see if Hormus was in one piece, Vespasian leapt after him as the first javelin quivered in the ground, just to his right.
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