The Poison King

by Adrienne Mayor

  Shared experiences at Comana strengthened the bond between Mithradates and his friend Dorylaus. At some point, Mithradates promised Dorylaus that as soon as he regained control of his kingdom, he would appoint him high priest of the Temple of Love.

  RUSTIC LESSONS

  Living close to nature, observing plants, animals, insects, birds, and reptiles, appealed to Mithradates. Like Alexander, he was keenly interested in natural history and possessed an experimental turn of mind. A discovery, while gathering firewood, of a salamander under a rotting tree, for example, might end badly for the amphibian. What boy could resist testing the folk beliefs surrounding salamanders? Were they really impervious to fire? Dried “salamander” skins were used in antiquity to store precious royal possessions. Traders in Sinope displayed sheets of the gray, fibrous “wool” shed by giant salamanders in remote India (in fact, natural asbestos from Tajikistan). The salamander’s reputed invulnerability to burning would fascinate a young man preoccupied with acquiring personal immunity to poisons and making himself invincible. Mithradates recalled the assertion by Alexander’s tutor, Aristotle, that salamanders could not only walk through fire but could actually extinguish flames. If Mithradates experimented with a salamander in the fire, he probably proved Aristotle mistaken. The boys may have tested other folklore about salamanders—they were toxic, yet their flesh mixed with honey was supposed to be an aphrodisiac.25

  Conversation around the campfire often turned to military history and tactics. What substances, for instance, would best protect wooden siege machines, stone walls, and palisades from flaming arrows or burning naphtha? Some military experts recommended dousing walls and siege engines in sour wine (vinegar) as a defense against fire. Vinegar is a real fire retardant. But Mithradates, recalling Hannibal’s campaigns against the Romans, would have pointed out that vinegar-drenched stones had a tendency to crack and crumble if they overheated in a fire attack. Everyone agreed that alum, if one could import enough of this rare mineral from Egypt or Syria, was the superior fire retardant for military defense.

  During the years away from Sinope, Mithradates and his friends could continue their interrupted education by reciting epic poetry, discussing history, debating philosophy, and reading books. The new technique of binding vellum (sheepskin) parchment into a book form had been invented in Pergamon about fifty years earlier, to replace Egyptian papyrus scrolls. This technology allowed the young aristocrats to carry durable, compact editions of their favorite works. Vellum books also enabled Mithradates to keep written records of his scientific investigations through all his travels and campaigns.26

  Mithradates knew that Alexander had cherished his copy of Homer’s Iliad, annotated by his teacher Aristotle. Even on war campaigns, Alexander kept this scroll beside his dagger under his bed. After he defeated Darius III, Alexander stored his Iliad in a richly wrought casket, one of the Persian monarch’s most precious treasures. It’s not unthinkable that the prince of Pontus copied Alexander and kept his own book of Homer in a similar bejeweled casket, perhaps discovered among the heirlooms of Darius I.27

  In Homer’s epic about the first “world war” between Europe and Asia, Mithradates found engrossing descriptions of the Trojans, who defended Anatolia against the Greek aggressors. From Mithradates’ perspective, to resist the invaders from the West, who came to Asia to plunder and loot under the pretext of retrieving a king’s stolen wife, seemed just and righteous. Imagine Mithradates’ scorn when he learned from his tutors in Sinope that the uncouth Romans actually believed that they were descended from the magnificent Trojans of Anatolia.

  Like his Persian ancestors, who had their own translations of the Iliad, Mithradates appreciated the epic from the point of view of the Trojan king Priam. He knew that Xerxes made a special trip to Troy (480 BC). Xerxes had climbed the stone stairway of the highest tower of Priam’s citadel, and his Magi had sacrificed one thousand cattle to the spirits of the Trojan heroes. Alexander had visted Troy, too, and poured a libation to the Greek champion Achilles. Mithradates hoped to see Troy one day, to marvel at the oversized bronze weapons of the Trojan hero Hector and the harp plucked by Paris. A royal visitor might try on Ajax’s huge bronze helmet, even touch the enormous bones of the ancient warriors.

  Like Xerxes, Mithradates would imagine King Priam in his tower, surveying the polyglot legions of Persia’s allies from around the Black Sea and beyond. Priam’s armies massed on the plain below Mount Ida, at the grave mound of the Amazon queen Myriné. The homelands of Priam’s allies were at the edge of the world for the ancient Greeks, who called them barbarians. But their names, recited by Homer, would have rung wonderfully familiar to Mithradates. There were Paphlagonians from wild-horse country and Scythian nomad-archers, quivers bristling with poison arrows, riding sturdy steppe ponies. Expert bowmen came from Pontus, joined by Bithynian and Lydian knights resplendent in golden armor. Mystic seers from the eastern hinterlands mingled with bronzeclad warriors of Caria where bird augurs told the future. Battalions from cave-riddled Cappadocia and silver-rich Mysia, even far Armenia sent warriors to help defend Troy. Finally, a contingent of Amazons rode in, led by their beautiful warrior queen, Penthesilea. She would fight the mighty Achilles himself. As the Amazons joined the masses of far-flung tribes gathering on the Trojan plain, amid swirling dust and clanging spears and dancing horses, “there arose the tremendous din of myriad tongues.” Yet the Trojans united all these scattered tribes in one cause, to defend Anatolia.28

  Mithradates’ own lands were replete with romantic Amazon lore. Amazon grave mounds marked the countryside; Amazons were believed to have founded many Anatolian cities, including Sinope, Amasia, Amastris, and Themiscrya in Pontus, and Ephesus, Mytilene on Lesbos, Smyrna, Priene, Cyme, Pitane, Magnesia, Thyatira, Amazonion, and Myrina. The greatest Greek heroes of myth had fought and loved warrior women from the East. Even Cyrus and Alexander had encountered strong-willed Amazon queens. Mithradates would have known all these tales by heart. Such independent women were foreign to the ancient Greeks, but in Mithradates’ world, queens were powerful rulers, like his mother and sister. Fierce women warriors were not imaginary, but real. Among the war-loving Sarmatians, Alans, Scythians, Sirginni, Massagetae, and other nomads around the Black Sea, men and women dueled before marrying, and the women rode into battle with the men. As they traveled deeper into Eastern lands, Mithradates and his friends teased each other with the possibility of meeting a party of young, independent horsewomen. Perhaps they would agree to go on together as a tribe of equals, like the romantic story of the young Scythian hunters and the Amazon warriors who joined forces and became the Sarmatians, recounted by Herodotus and Justin.29

  Priam’s legendary army was surpassed by that of Xerxes. Herodotus, born in Caria under Persian rule, conjured up colorful panoramas of Xerxes’ millions of troops mustered from the corners of the Persian Empire. In the exotic pageantry of Xerxes’ multitudes massed on the plain, each contingent displayed the distinctive armor and weapons of their homelands. Brandishing scimitars, lances, swords, poison darts, quivers fashioned from the tanned skins of human foes, they rode scythed chariots, cavalry horses, and war camels.30 King Darius had commanded equally diverse and vast hosts of Persians and allies to fight Alexander. And like King Priam in the Iliad and the great Persian rulers, Alexander also recruited multiethnic warriors from remote, mysterious places, as far away as Afghanistan and India. Reading about these diverse armies in myth and history, the youthful Mithradates could glimpse his own polyglot armies of the future, recruited from the same marvelous lands described by Homer, Herodotus, and Xenophon.

  HOMEWARD BOUND

  Occasional news of the Romans reached the hinterlands, and Mithradates was creating his own information network. He knew that Roman slave traders and tax collectors were preying on western Anatolia, and heard reports of his mother’s collusion with the Romans. As they increased the distance between themselves and Sinope, Mithradates and his band could reveal their true identities. Rum
ors of Mithradates sightings probably filtered back to his mother and her faction, even to the Romans in Pergamon. Mithradates probably intended for some news to get back to supporters in Sinope, to counter any attempt by his mother to spread rumors that he was dead. Popular tales of his exploits enhanced his reputation, while his band remained elusive, always on the move.

  People in the East remembered the two spectacular comets and the Magi’s ancient prophecies. Men and women handled the small-denomination coins stamped with Mithradates’ name and his comet whenever they went to market. They were thrilled to meet the exiled king in person or to hear exciting rumors that he and his band of young knights were traveling around the Kingdom of Pontus, gathering strength. Stories probably circulated about the handsome young king’s adventures, with romantic details about his feats and sayings. Pontus awaited the day when Mithradates VI Eupator, the savior-king, would emerge from hiding and begin his reign, like the divine hero Mithra emerging from the dark cave in a burst of brilliant light.

  Reflecting on all he has learned in the years away from Sinope, Mithradates—perhaps eighteen or twenty now—feels pride mixed with restlessness. Alexander, he knows, took over the Macedonian throne at age twenty. The future of Mithradates’ kingdom obsesses him; he is weary of brooding on his father’s assassination and the queen’s treachery. Is his young brother still a passive creature controlled by his calculating mother? Have his sisters fallen under her spell too? His outrage at the Roman depredations in Anatolia inflames his idealistic commitment to what is true and bright. Mithradates feels strong, invincible, impatient for action. His friends agree: it is time to seize power, time to punish the wicked, time to fulfill the oracles sent by the gods.

  5

  Return of the King

  AS Mithradates and his friends ride toward Sinope, they reap the rewards of their years in the countryside. A self-assured young man now, Mithradates has cultivated the trust of the commanders of forts, local leaders, and the people of Pontus, as well as warlike groups in the hinterlands.

  The ancient sources say only that Mithradates returned to Sinope and took back his throne, leaving us to imagine how these events actually came to pass. As Mithradates headed home, in about 115/114 BC, garrison soldiers and armed bands probably joined his original company, fired by the young king’s mission to avenge his father’s murder. Made up of people from all ranks of society and from all corners of Pontus, this modest militia foreshadowed the large armies that the king would summon in the coming wars with Rome. This was the first demonstration of Mithradates’ remarkable appeal to elites and ordinary folk of diverse backgrounds.

  Rumors (or secret messages) may have prepared some for the return of the beloved prince. Then, one morning, Mithradates’ noble companions ride into Sinope, led by Dorylaus. The young men radiate confidance. Excitement surges through the crowd as the citizens recognize the long-lost boys of prominent families. Anticipation mounts as lookouts on the ramparts sight an army approaching. Mithradates, mounted on a fine horse, finally appears inside the gates of his city.

  The citizens behold their prince, tall and muscular, his handsome face framed by dark hair like a lion’s mane in the style of the great Alexander. Mithradates’ imposing height, powerful physique, and self-assurance were impressive. His complexion may have been noticeably pale, from minute doses of arsenic.1 A luminous, translucent quality would set him apart from his companions, suntanned from years living outdoors. For those who recalled the oracles, the divine lightning, and the bright comets, the sudden reappearance of Mithradates would evoke the idea of the long-awaited savior-king emerging in an aura of light.

  FIG. 5.1. Mithradates VI Eupator, large marble head (95 cm, ca. 3 feet high), found in Inopus spring near the Mithradates Monument, Delos. Louvre, Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY.

  It was a bloodless coup, with little resistance from his mother and her coterie. Queen Laodice died mysteriously while confined in prison; Mithradates the Good did not survive her. Some sources state that Mithradates killed his mother and his brother. Modern historians struggle to sort out the “impossibly compressed” and tangled chronology of Mithradates’ early career.2 Exactly how did he assume power, neutralize his adversaries, and select a wife? Here is a plausible scenario of Mithradates’ revenge and first marriage, taking into account what is known from ancient sources and filling in missing details with reasonable conjecture.

  FIG. 5.2. (Left) Hellenistic bust of Alexander. Many similar copies were made from Alexander’s death in 323 BC through the time of Mithradates, as well as coin portraits. (Right) leonine portrait of Alexander on silver tetradrachm, Macedonia, 90–75 BC, issued during Mithradates’ reign. Note strong resemblance to bronze statue said to be Mithradates from the same era, fig 4.6. Bust, Alexandria, Egypt, British Museum, GR 1872.5–15.1, photo by Andrew Dunn, www.andrewdunnphoto.com, wikicommons cc-by-sa-2.0. Coin courtesy of Joseph Sermarini, Forum Ancient Coins, www.forumancientcoins.com.

  Mithradates, we can assume, had already begun to organize the web of informants that we know he relied on as king. These sources kept him apprised of the whereabouts of his mother and her retinue, and any roving Roman officials. His goal was to orchestrate a seamless assumption of power. The logical approach would have been to time his surprise return to Sinope to coincide with Queen Laodice’s absence.

  The queen often stayed in her new capital, Laodicea—entertaining guests at her palatial villa at Lake Stephane and luxuriating in the hot baths. Let us guess that the pampered princeling Mithradates the Good would be at his mother’s side, while Mithradates’ little sisters, Nyssa, Roxana, and Statira, remained in the nursery at Sinope, guarded by eunuchs. While Laodice idled at her retreat, no Romans would visit Sinope. Courtiers loyal to his mother would be left in charge there, with his teenage sister, Princess Laodice the Younger. Was she still as clever and pretty as Mithradates remembered?

  In the season of ripening apples, Mithradates gives the order to march to Sinope. At Amasia, he dispatches an armed contingent to Laodicea. Security at Laodice’s villa was lax; Mithradates already knew that the place was not easily defended. In the carefully planned velvet coup, his men overcome the queen’s guards and occupy Castle Icizari and her villa. Laodice and her young son are locked inside. After all, upon his return to the throne, it is perfectly proper for King Mithradates to ensure the “security” of his mother, younger brother, and their friends. Now Queen Laodice and her circle are prisoners in their gilded palace, while Mithradates makes his triumphal reentry into Sinope.

  Confining the queen at her villa was more subtle than publicly throwing her into the dungeon at Sinope. But it would be dangerous to let his treacherous mother, his feckless coheir, and other enemies live on while Mithradates established his new government. After he dismissed his mother’s cooks and royal tasters, the way was clear for Mithradates to plan a last lavish banquet at her villa. We can imagine him overseeing the preparation of extravagant dishes, the most luscious fruits, the most expensive wines—and for dessert, her favorite honey cakes.

  Arsenic—poison of kings and king of poisons—was almost certainly the secret ingredient. Colorless, odorless, flavorless, arsenic could be added to any drink or dish. Mithradates knew that just sixty parts per million (ppm), or less than a tenth of an ounce, would be deadly in a goblet of rose-perfumed water or red wine. But why not allow his mother’s guests to enjoy their sumptuous last supper without interruption? Mithradates, recalling the paradox of poisonous honey, savors the irony of creating a bittersweet treat. He stirs the arsenic powder into a pot of honey and drizzles it over the syrupy-sweet cakes.

  After dessert, the guests withdraw to admire the sunset. Within half an hour, the queen and her son sense a faint, metallic taste on their tongues. Beads of sweat glisten on their clammy brows as they become aware of impending nausea and stomach cramps. Saliva fills their mouths, but it is impossible to swallow. Their eyes take on an uncanny reddish sparkle. Suddenly the royal pair begin clawing at their thro
ats, drooling and moaning. After an hour or so of vomiting and diarrhea, Mithradates’ mother and his only rival are writhing in convulsions. Shock follows. By midnight, both are dead.

  THE KING TAKES A WIFE

  At the royal funeral for the queen and his brother, Mithradates observes the beauty and composure of his sister, Laodice the Younger. They are practically strangers; she was a spoiled little girl in the nursery when he last saw her: now she is sixteen or seventeen. To continue our plausible scenario, let us imagine Laodice fawning over her older brother Mithradates, so handsome and strong and bold. Life was so insipid and her mother’s rule so vexing while he was away. How she missed him all these years!

  Laodice teases: Who will her brother take as a bride? King Mithradates VI Dionysus Eupator must have a proper queen, not just a harem of frivolous beauties. Mithradates agrees. The new sovereign of Pontus must select a worthy wife. She will be the mother of his legitimate sons, ensuring his succession. The royal spouse must be perfect, and her bloodline should complement Mithradates’ illustrious Greco-Persian heritage. Who could possibly fulfill that role? At last, Mithradates announces his decision. The king of Pontus will marry his own sister, Princess Laodice the Younger.

  It was an unexpected choice, but probably no one was shocked. Egyptian pharaohs and the Macedonian rulers of Egypt routinely practiced incestuous marriage; two kings of Egypt married their sisters during Mithradates’ reign. Mithradates was aware of many such pairings in other Hellenistic courts; for example, Mithradates’ great-uncle, Mithradates IV (160–150 BC), had married his sister, also named Laodice, and Antiochus I of Syria had married his stepmother (280 BC). In Armenia, Tigranes IV married his half sister Erato (6 BC). Marriage between royal half siblings was common in ancient Greece, too, and full-sibling royal marriage (hvaetvodatha) was an ancient Zoroastrian practice. Marrying relatives was accepted as a way to preserve the purity of the royal blood. Mithradates’ choice may also have reflected his knowledge of the “mythic hero” script. After defeating a powerful enemy, a traditional hero marries a princess, often the daughter of his enemy or his predecessor. Princess Laodice was all three.3