The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithradates, Rome's Deadliest Enemy

by Adrienne Mayor

  After the fall of Sinope, Mithradates’ son Machares, viceroy of Bosporus and Scythia, sent Lucullus a golden crown worth one thousand gold pieces—a crystal-clear message that he wanted to be an official “Friend of Rome.” According to Plutarch, this was the moment that convinced Lucullus that he had decisively completed the war with Mithradates.6

  Yet Lucullus remained awkwardly at loose ends until his man Appius returned with Mithradates in tow. Lucullus set about reorganizing Pontus as a new Roman province of Asia. As we saw, Sulla’s war penalty of 20,000 talents had resulted in “unspeakable and incredible misfortunes” perpetrated by tax collectors, who tortured and enslaved debtors. Even though the Anatolians had already paid more than 40,000 talents to the moneylenders, because of sky-high interest rates the outstanding public debt now totaled 120,000 talents, a staggering amount of silver. All the Roman sources praise Lucullus for his honest efforts to alleviate the tax burden and establish order in Anatolia.7

  In 69 BC, still no word from Appius. Nevertheless, Lucullus celebrated his defeat of Mithradates with festivals, gladiator contests, and sacrifices. The only thing lacking was a humbled Mithradates in chains, the perpetrator of so many crimes against Rome and its allies. More than a year and a half had passed since Mithradates—and Appius’s search party—had vanished into Armenia. Where could they be?

  TIGRANES THE GREAT

  Tigranes’ devious guides had promised to conduct Appius to Antioch, Syria. For many months they led the Romans on a circuitous route. Finally, a former Syrian slave in Appius’s party pointed out the direct route to Antioch. There Appius was commanded to await the pleasure of the King of Kings, busy subduing Phoenicia. While he waited—for a whole year!—Appius met many vassals of Tigranes. They regaled him with tales of the breathtaking riches and haughty omnipotence of the monarch who conquered great nations and moved diverse peoples around the chessboard of the Middle East.

  At last, Shahanshah Tigranes appeared in all his glory, clad in a red-and-white tunic, a purple mantle with gilt stars, and his comet-studded tiara, riding a white horse, with four vassals running alongside. As his bodyguards took their places on the dais, arms folded across their chests, the monarch arranged himself on his magnificent throne. Appius was summoned to the great hall. It was Tigranes’ first audience with a Roman legate. Unimpressed by the grandeur and the majestic personage, Appius brusquely handed over the letter from Lucullus and stated his mission in plain—and tactless—language (probably Greek). “Hail Tigranes. Lucullus, Imperator of the Roman Army and Governor of the Province of Asia, has sent me to take charge of Mithradates, who is to be brought to Rome as our prisoner and as an ornament in our Triumph. Surrender Mithradates now. If you do not, Rome will declare war on you.”

  Plutarch’s description is amusing: “It must have been five and twenty years since His Majesty had heard such rude speech in his court. Tigranes made every effort to listen to Appius with a pleasant expression and forced smile.” But all in attendance winced at the arrogant Roman who did not even address Tigranes as “King of Kings.” Everyone could sense Tigranes’ rage. But Tigranes replied evenly: “I will not surrender Mithradates. If the Romans begin a war, the King of Kings will defend himself. You are dismissed.”

  Appius prepared to depart. He was interrupted by Tigranes’ servants bearing heaps of splendid farewell gifts. Appius refused them. More arrived. Appius selected one simple silver bowl and “marched off with all speed to join the Imperator Lucullus.”

  Upon Appius’s return with nothing but an empty silver bowl, Lucullus felt compelled to follow up on his own rash ultimatum. The war on Mithradates of Pontus that had begun back in 88 BC—the war Lucullus had twice declared over and won—suddenly expanded into a “reckless attack on a boundless region,” in Plutarch’s words. Driven by pride and seeking glory, Lucullus was now committing to an unlimited war over an unknown land, stretching from the Caucasus to the Red Sea, from Antioch to Seleucia, a wilderness of deep rivers and nameless deserts and impassable mountains covered in perpetual snow, defended by “untold thousands of nomad-warriors from countless warlike tribes.” Lucullus’s soldiers, unruly in the best of times, were near rebellion when they heard the orders to advance into Tigranes’ empire. Earlier, Lucullus had played on his men’s terror of Tigranes’ barbarian armies. Moreover—as Tigranes and Mithradates knew—Lucullus had no authority to expand his campaign beyond the Euphrates. Back in Rome, there was a great outcry in the Senate, with the Populars accusing Lucullus of deliberately perpetuating a needless war in order to accrue personal power and profit. Lucullus was clearly the aggressor in this new campaign.

  Leaving his two least reliable legions (the defiant Fimbrians) to occupy Pontus, Lucullus marched into Armenia with twelve thousand infantrymen and about three thousand cavalry, to confront Tigranes and arrest Mithradates—whereabouts unknown.8

  FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE

  We left Mithradates riding into Armenia with two thousand horsemen. Tigranes had arranged for Mithradates to stay on one of his hunting estates, ordering retainers to provide necessities and entertainments, cooks, thespians, musicians, fine Armenian wine, and dancing girls. With Mithradates’ well-known love of history and literature, it is likely that a library of Greek classics was at hand. This long interlude—a year and eight months to be exact—in Armenia was an important respite.9

  Here in safety, Mithradates could mourn his devastating losses. But, from what we know of his character, it would not take him long to regain equilibrium. Hiding out in the mountain fastness might have evoked bittersweet memories of roaming Pontus with his friends, in the anxious years after his father’s assassination. As in the tales of his Greek and Persian ancestors and myths in which heroes overcome incredible odds, adversity seemed to invigorate Mithradates. Lucullus appeared to be crashing and burning, but the danger remained—sooner or later, the Romans would renew the war. How should he prepare? After the flight from Kabeira in 70 BC, Mithradates returned to basic survival, essentially following a mature version of his youthful exile, taking on a nomadic life, striking obliquely, eluding direct conflict. Come defeat or victory, Mithradates would remain on the move for the rest of his days, a decision that was both personal and militarily strategic.

  During nearly two years in Armenia, Mithradates and his advisers devised new tactics that would define the rest of his epic struggle with Rome. The new approach appears to have been partly inspired by classical history—Herodotus’s and Xenophon’s accounts of the conflicts between the Persian Empire and Scythia and later accounts of Alexander’s cavalry innovations in Afghanistan. Jugurtha and Aristonicus had also practiced “asymmetrical” warfare against Romans. In the past, Mithradates had depended on set battles, sending his numerically superior, formally arrayed hoplite armies marching out onto a plain for pitched combat. In battles to come, light, flexible cavalry attacks would be the key. From now on, his military strategy would mirror his diplomatic strategies: he would probe for weakness, feint, jab, and withdraw, keeping the Romans confused, exhausted, impotent to strike back.

  Besides studying past mistakes and planning strategies, how did the fugitives from Pontus spend their days? We would expect Mithradates and his men to maintain top physical condition, with military exercises and athletic contests. Another pastime may have been visits to Armenia’s temples of love, similar to those in Pontus and Cappadocia. Scattered throughout Armenia, these idyllic sanctuaries were temporary dormitories for maidens consecrated to the goddess Anaitis/Anahit for a year before marriage. Many of the young women came from wealthy families. According to Strabo, they selected sexual partners of equal rank and enjoyed giving the men valuable gifts. The dashing King Mithradates would have been warmly welcomed. Beavers abound in Armenia’s lakes and streams—perhaps their testicles contributed to Mithradates’ celebrated vigor.

  Armenia’s pastures provided grazing for horses, and Mithradates and his men could hunt stags, boars, lions, lynxes, bears, snow leopards, and fowl. The high plat
eaus held a profusion of herbs and wild flowers. In the short summers, the mountain air was perfumed by sage, juniper, and honeysuckle-scented thistles called “flowers of the sun,” sacred to Zoroastrians. Brilliant yellow irises dotted the mountain slopes, along with poisonous blue monkshood, the mysterious narcotic silphium, and a strange wormwood parasite, a lilylike blossom of velvet crimson. Another curious, highly toxic plant bore drooping bunches of dark-red berries on a tall stalk. About 10 percent of Armenia’s thousands of plant species are now recognized by modern science as medicinal. Mithradates and his doctors would have been familiar with all these and more. Rich veins of gold ore and purple sandyx (Armenian arsenic) lay in the mountains. As the seasons turned, we can imagine Mithradates and his Agari gathering and testing novel ingredients for theriac.10

  Plutarch claimed that Tigranes insulted Mithradates by shunting him off to a remote, inhospitable landscape. But the evidence indicates that the two kings enjoyed mutual esteem and rapport.11 They had been friends since their alliance in 94 BC. True, their political styles certainly differed: King Tigranes, about seventy, was an absolute autocrat with little understanding of the Roman threat, while King Mithradates, about sixty-five, accommodated democratic traditions and had dealt with Rome for decades. Both men enjoyed extraordinary physical stamina and intellectual vitality all their long lives (did Tigranes, as one of the king’s friends, benefit from a daily dose of Mithridatium?). Both rulers had been raised to carry out Persian fire rituals, and each believed that divine Mithraic comets had blessed their reigns. While Mithradates’ appreciation for Greek culture ran deeper than Tigranes’, they shared Persian culture, love of hunting, erudition, and grandiose ambitions. Moreover, their goals were compatible, and each man hated Rome as the dark force that opposed righteousness. Another strong link was Mithradates’ daughter, Cleopatra—she was Tigranes’ chosen queen and adviser, favored above all his concubines.

  A dependable military ally when called on, Tigranes was never enthusiastic about Mithradates’ Roman wars, preferring to carve out his own empire beyond Rome’s notice. Mithradates’ empire was a useful buffer. Instead of snubbing Mithradates, Tigranes arranged for Mithradates’ safety and comfort from afar, without arousing Roman ire. Then he simply went about his own pressing business—until Appius delivered Lucullus’s insolent demand.

  Lucullus’s ultimatum spurred Tigranes to meet personally with his father-in-law. Tigranes warmly welcomed Mithradates to his palace. The reunion with Queen Cleopatra carried special meaning given the fates of so many of Mithradates’ other children. The two monarchs spent three days together in private. No translators. No witnesses. Based on papers discovered after Mithradates’ death, Plutarch speculated that their conversation revolved around casting blame on others. He pointed to the case of Metrodorus (the Rome-Hater), long a favorite of Mithradates, who had been sent to request aid from Tigranes. Tigranes revealed that Metrodorus had urged him to honor the request, but then honestly acknowledged that it might not be in Armenia’s best interest. The philosopher died mysteriously. Plutarch implies that Metrodorus may have been killed by Mithradates, whose unerring instinct for detecting betrayal had kept him alive for more than half a century.12

  KILL THE MESSENGER

  The two monarchs surely did compare notes about who could be trusted, but they also conversed about practical, urgent matters. Tigranes generously gave his old friend ten thousand expert Armenian cavalrymen. With renewed hope, Mithradates prepared to set off from his hunting lodge base camp for Pontus with his new army. Case closed, thought Tigranes.

  But then a messenger arrived, shouting that the Romans were coming. Before the man could catch his breath, the King of Kings had him beheaded for disturbing the peace. As McGing pointed out, Tigranes reasonably thought such a report was false; he was confident that Lucullus was not authorized to invade Armenia. That was a logical assumption, but Lucullus was following his own irrational agenda, aggressively attacking Armenia because of Tigranes’ refusal to surrender Mithradates. After Tigranes’ execution of the messenger, no one else dared to inform him of Lucullus’s approach. It is safe to assume that no one spoke, either, of the great earthquake that had recently destroyed several cities in Syria. The quake killed 170,000 people; soothsayers were interpreting this as a sign that Tigranes would no longer rule Syria. Unlike Mithradates, who always sought out the freshest intelligence however dire, the King of Kings, commented Plutarch, sat in a cocoon of “ignorance while the fires of war blazed around him.”13

  While Tigranes was camped with his army in the Taurus Mountains, Lucullus coaxed his grumbling army of 15,000–20,000 men across the Euphrates into Armenia. His target was Tigranocerta, where Tigranes kept his concubines and other treasures. An attack there would compel Tigranes to fight, reckoned Lucullus, and after his defeat he would surrender Mithradates. And there would be plenty of booty for the soldiers. Although the city was still under construction, Tigranocerta’s walls rose seventy feet high. A contingent of Romans dug in for a siege, while Lucullus camped on the plain across the Tigris.

  Finally Tigranes’ brave general Mithrobarzanes dared to inform His Majesty about the Roman invasion and threat to Tigranocerta. Mithradates, at the hunting lodge, also received the startling news from his own spies. Mithradates immediately canceled plans to recover his kingdom and turned back with his cavalry to help Tigranes. This was a thrilling if daunting new development—here was a chance to crush the Romans using Tigranes’ great resources. Mithradates sent letters and messengers ahead to Tigranes, offering excellent advice, based on his own failures and his new ideas for resisting legions. “Do not fight the Romans head-on,” he warned. “Harass and surround them with your cavalry. Devastate the countryside to reduce them by exhaustion and famine.” Mithradates sent General Taxiles ahead with the same advice: “Stay defensive! Avoid clashing directly with the invincible Romans.”

  But Tigranes decided to attack head-on. It was not an insane decision, given his vastly superior numbers, but he would have done better to follow Mithradates’ wise counsel and knowledge of the Romans’ battle prowess even when they were outnumbered. According to Plutarch and Appian, Tigranes called up an army of about 250,000, including 20,000 nomadic archers and slingers and 55,000 cavalry (17,000 were cataphracts, knights in heavy chain mail wielding long lances, riding large armored Nisaean horses). Trailing behind came a horde of carpenters, road and bridge builders, baggage handlers, grooms, cooks, supply agents, and families, totaling 35,000. This immense barbarian force, some trained as traditional hoplites and others in tribal warfare (like the fierce headhunters from the Taurus range), each division in native armor, carrying traditional weapons and speaking hundreds of dialects, came from Armenia, Media, Syria, Commagene, Gordyene, Sophene, Mesopotamia, Atropatene, Mardia, Adiabene, Arabia, Parthia, and Bactria.14

  Inside the city-in-progress, Tigranocerta’s population was another great melting pot, made up of Cappadocians, Jews, Greeks, Arabs, Assyrians, Adiabeni, Gordyeni, and other nameless displaced peoples—including a large contingent of professional actors—all transplanted by Tigranes and now besieged by the Romans.

  Tigranes led his massive army down from the Taurus. Queen Cleopatra was safe in Artaxata, Armenia’s old fortified capital. But—as Lucullus expected—Tigranes worried about the Romans’ capturing his concubine Zosimé and the rest of his harem in Tigranocerta. Mithradates had been unable to defend his own harem during the defeat of Pontus. Perhaps he or Taxiles helped plan the daring rescue of Tigranes’ harem, which featured his new hit-and-run strategy. Suddenly six thousand nomad horsemen burst through the Roman besiegers surrounding the city. The riders dashed to the tower and roughly scooped up Tigranes’ concubines, children, and valuables, and galloped back behind the lines.

  From a hill high above the Tigris River, Tigranes and his eldest son (Tigranes, by Cleopatra) looked down on the antlike Roman army across the river. They seemed so insignificant. His men made witty jokes about the doomed Romans, while his
Armenian, Median, and Adiabeni generals lazily cast lots to divide up the anticipated spoils. Tigranes’ famous quip has come down in history as ironic last words: “If those Romans have come as ambassadors, there are far too many of them. If they have come as an invading army, there are far too few!”

  Only Taxiles, Mithradates’ experienced general, was worried as he watched the Romans don their gleaming helmets and armor, raise their polished shields and standards, and begin to form ranks. Where was Mithradates? He was on the way but saw no need to hurry, because he expected Lucullus to continue with the cautious approach he had followed in Bithynia and Pontus. No one imagined that Lucullus would provoke a battle.15

  But Lucullus’s strategy was the opposite of what Mithradates anticipated. Seriously outnumbered, the Roman used a lightning strike against Tigranes’ cumbersome masses. Riding out at the head of his army, in a red cloak with golden tassels, his steel breastplate flashing in the October sun, Lucullus had his finest hour. For once, his men were impressed. Dismounting, Lucullus raised his sword, shouting “This day is ours, my fellow soldiers!” He gave the signal for attack before Tigranes’ archers could let fly, and directed his Thracian and Galatian cavalry to slash the enemy’s mail-clad horses from behind, giving them no time to maneuver.