by R. W. Peake
“He is an intelligent man, but I believe that, ultimately, his father was correct about him, that all that Valash really lacks is an ambition to expand his satrapy.”
“Does he have any brothers? Anyone else who might prove to be a problem for us?” Caesar asked, but Bodroges answered with a shake of his head.
“He had two brothers, but they died as well. From what I have learned, Lord Fariel died in the battle you fought with Pacorus, but the two sons escaped as part of Kambyses’ spad.” Bodroges was surprised by the sudden rush of emotion he felt, which he ruthlessly suppressed, knowing how observant Caesar was as he continued, “They were killed when Kambyses tried to relieve Susa.”
Despite his attempt to hide his feelings, Caesar had seen the flicker of what he was certain was a combination of sorrow and anger cross the Parthian’s face, but he chose not to make an overt issue of it, asking instead, “So, is it your assessment that this Valash can be bought?”
While Bodroges wasn’t in Caesar’s class in terms of his intellect or ability to quickly grasp subtle undercurrents in a conversation, he had managed to survive in the court of Phraates, and was literally the last man standing of the dead king’s courtiers, so he did recognize that, by putting it so baldly, Caesar was testing him.
“Absolutely,” was his answer, his face betraying not a flicker of emotion. “Provided,” he cautioned, “you make it worth his while. In fact,” Bodroges smiled at Caesar, “I think that he might prove more easily persuaded than you might think, Caesar.”
“How so?” Caesar asked, genuinely curious.
“Because,” Bodroges replied with a shrug, “if you double his income, it will prove to the people in his satrapy that Lord Fariel’s judgment of his son was wrong.”
“As long as they knew about it,” Caesar pointed out.
Which was exactly the response Bodroges had hoped for, seizing this as an opportunity to prove his value to his new master and the Roman cause.
Giving Caesar his most winning smile, Bodroges assured him, “I can make sure the people do, Caesar. If you wish it, I can make arrangements that the people of Ecbatana will know of their good fortune by the time the cock crows the day after Valash agrees to the terms.”
Caesar returned the Parthian’s smile, and despite knowing why Bodroges was making this offer, ultimately, it didn’t matter why; as long as he delivered, it would help Caesar’s cause, making Bodroges’ reason for doing it immaterial.
“If you can make this happen,” Caesar answered, “I will be in your debt, Bodroges.”
Bodroges was dismissed after that, and when he walked out of the throne room in Susa that had become Caesar’s office, both men were supremely satisfied.
Because of the distances involved, further delay was inevitable, but in early Februarius, the satrap of Ecbatana had agreed to Caesar’s terms and had made the journey to Susa as the new ruler of Parthia required; the offer had been made in the early months of December. Part of the delay was because, in order to fulfill his part of the bargain, Valash was forced to take the longer route since his party consisted of several wagons, two of which were lushly appointed vehicles. Contained within was the surety for Valash’s good conduct, in the form of his senior wife and the smallest of the five children Valash had fathered, including a seven-year-old boy who, at least in theory, would inherit all of Valash’s holdings and fortune. However, while Valash had responded positively to Caesar’s offer, he did so knowing fully well that it was anything but an offer, that it was a demand that, had he refused, would see the city of Ecbatana and the land surrounding it despoiled, a satrapy that had been in his family for more than three centuries. And, he also was certain, the people living within its boundaries would lose what little they had, all because Valash did what his father would have done, refuse to submit and be destroyed in the process, in the name of honor. Bodroges, who he had once spent a summer with in Ctesiphon when their fathers had been called to repel the Roman invader Crassus, had been superficially correct in his assessment of Valash, at least as far as his lack of martial ardor, but that wasn’t the primary driver in his decision. Above all, Valash was a pragmatist, and while he hadn’t seen the might of Rome and what their Legions were capable of personally, in the intervening months, starting with his brothers sending word that their father had been slain with Pacorus, Valash had arrived at the same conclusion as his boyhood friend Bodroges. The news that both of his brothers had perished with Lord Kambyses at Susa simply strengthened his belief that Rome simply couldn’t be beaten. And it was that reality that saw him arrive at Susa, leading a small wagon train, where he was met a few miles outside the city by a party consisting of Romans and Parthians, led by a man who had identified himself as Asinius Pollio, one of Caesar’s Legates. Valash had no idea what a Legate was, but fortunately, Bodroges was present, and seeing a familiar face helped facilitate what could otherwise have been a bad, and potentially bloody business.
While Valash would never learn of it, there actually had been an incident a few weeks before, when one of the satraps who had responded to Caesar’s offer, suspecting a trap, had unexpectedly ordered his small force of mounted cataphractoi and archers to attack the party that, as with Valash, had been sent out to greet them. Not surprisingly, the Parthians had been slaughtered to a man, but on this day, it had fallen to Aulus Hirtius to be the Roman representative, accompanied by Artaxerxes, the former commander of The Thousand who, like Bodroges, had correctly interpreted and accepted the situation and joined the Roman cause. Two men of the Roman party had been killed and several wounded, but almost before their bodies were cold, all trace of the satrap and his party had been removed from the road outside Susa, and Artaxerxes had been instrumental in letting it be known that what occurred was the result of Parthian treachery, not Roman. As for Valash, he spent two days at Susa, which included an audience with the Roman who had been responsible for the circumstances in which the Parthians found themselves, and by the time Valash left Caesar’s presence, any doubt that he had not only made the right choice, but the only one, had been dispelled. Not because Caesar explicitly or even implicitly threatened him; indeed, what surprised Valash somewhat was how courteously he, and his family, were treated. Not once did Caesar, who naturally used Bodroges as his translator, even mention the circumstances that found Valash traveling the almost two hundred miles from Ecbatana, nor the conditions under which Valash would be allowed to return to his satrapy. Nevertheless, when Valash kissed his family before mounting his horse to lead wagons that were more heavily laden leaving than they had been entering the city, he was under no illusions whatsoever that, should he break faith with Caesar and the Romans, there would be a terrible reckoning. He had already reached this conclusion before Bodroges ever showed up the night before his departure at the house where he had been informed his family would live, in what he had been told was the home of one of the senior courtiers to the King of Kings. The fact that it was across the street from the palace, which Valash learned was now something called a praetorium, certainly confirmed that the previous owner had been important; in fact, he was somewhat ashamed to admit to himself, these accommodations were superior to his home in Ecbatana. When Bodroges knocked, ostensibly to ensure that Valash’s family were comfortable and whether they were in need of anything, he wasn’t fooled, something that actually seemed to relieve Bodroges. It was a short conversation, as Valash assured Bodroges that he understood perfectly what his future, and that of his family, held should he break faith with Caesar, and as he had surmised, this did set Bodroges’ mind at ease, since unlike Valash, he was aware of what had taken place earlier with Hirtius and Artaxerxes. When Valash departed through the northern gates, carrying back more silver and gold than he had ever seen in his life, unknown to him, Caesar watched from the northern rampart, Bodroges next to him.
“Did you talk to him last night?” Caesar’s eyes never left Valash, riding at the head of the small column of armored cataphractoi, who were followed by the three
wagons that, while a massive amount of money, represented a drop from a huge bucket.
“Yes, Caesar,” Bodroges replied. “And he understands perfectly what is expected of him.”
“And,” now Caesar did look at the Parthian, and while his tone was mild, Bodroges didn’t miss the threat, “do you think you convinced him to keep his part of our agreement?”
“I did not have to, Caesar,” Bodroges assured him, making sure to look the Roman in the eyes. “He knows what is at stake for him. And his family.”
Satisfied, Caesar turned back, watched the Parthians gradually receding in the distance, then after a moment, he said, “Well, I’m happy that’s been taken care of. Now,” he looked over at Bodroges again, asking a question he already knew the answer to, “what news from Istakhr?”
Bodroges’ expression turned almost glum as he replied unhappily, “None, I’m afraid, Caesar.”
“Then,” Caesar’s tone didn’t change very much, but it was perceptible, and to Bodroges, it sounded grimly angry, “I suppose we’re going to have to march there first.”
It was the first week of March when Caesar marched from Susa, leaving the 22nd Legion, under the command of Sextus Crispus, and an ala of cavalry behind, along with a resentful nephew in Octavian. Despite his understanding that Caesar was emplacing an enormous amount of trust in him, despite his youth, Octavian had spent the days leading up to the army’s departure arguing, with increasing vigor, Caesar’s decision to leave no more than five hundred cavalrymen behind.
“The Legion is fine for keeping the city safe,” he had said to Caesar on what would turn out to be the final time his uncle allowed the subject to be broached, “but with only five hundred men, I’ll essentially be blind!” To emphasize his point, he walked over to the large map that, as was Caesar’s habit, had been hung on the wall behind his desk, replacing the tapestry that had once been the backdrop for the throne of the King of Kings. With a sweeping gesture, Octavian encompassed what in reality was an area of almost ten thousand square miles, which was only the hundred miles of the immediate area around Susa itself, and the despair in his voice was genuine as he asked, “How am I supposed to know what might be happening out there, Uncle? How am I supposed to keep our supply line safe?”
Despite having heard his nephew make the same argument several times, Caesar still listened patiently, and in fact, he was not only not upset at his nephew’s refusal to accept his orders, he took it as a good sign that Octavian had persisted, because it indicated that he truly understood the scale of the problems that would confront him. Besides, as was usually the case, Caesar possessed a piece of information that Octavian didn’t, and for reasons he would never divulge to the younger man, he had decided to withhold it until the last possible moment.
Now, after allowing Octavian to renew his complaint, he said mildly, “Yes, I agree. It’s quite a challenge. But,” at this, he rose from his desk, which Octavian knew was the signal that Caesar had devoted as much time to this topic as he was willing to spend, “that’s why I put you in command here, because I have faith that you will find a way.”
It wasn’t until the morning of the army’s departure, which, as might be expected, was a spectacle that roused the inhabitants of Susa, that Caesar, just before he mounted Toes, let Octavian know the piece of information he had been withholding.
“Did I mention that Artavasdes has finally agreed to send five thousand cataphractoi and five thousand mounted archers to wherever I deem them necessary?” Octavian stood, open-mouthed and staring at his uncle, who laughed at the reaction, then added teasingly, “It must have slipped my mind.”
Octavian finally recovered himself enough to retort, “I suppose that’s what happens when you get old.” Caesar roared with laughter, which did more to dampen Octavian’s ire at what he viewed as his uncle’s unnecessary tormenting of him, and he asked ruefully, “How long have you known this?”
“Not long,” Caesar answered, then turned and, without help, swung himself up onto Toes. Then, he winked at his nephew and finished, “Only about two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Octavian gasped, and now he experienced a twinge of anger as he said accusingly, “So you let me rant and rave like a fool for two weeks!”
“I wanted to see whether you understood just what a perilous situation you might have been in if the Armenians weren’t coming,” Caesar said, and this time, he wasn’t smiling, looking down at Octavian with an expression that the young Roman knew very well, that the time for humor was over.
“When are they going to arrive?” he asked.
“They should be in Ctesiphon now,” Caesar assured him. “So I think you can expect to see them in the next few days. That’s why we’ve left the camp intact.”
The truth was that Octavian had wondered about that, but assumed that it was for when Caesar returned with the army. Mollified, he straightened to intente and offered a salute, which Caesar returned, but he wasn’t quite through with the surprises, saying, “Also, there’s a scroll on my desk that you’ll need to read.”
Then, before Octavian could respond, he sent Toes into a quick trot away towards the head of the column, where his command group was already waiting. Among the spectators, there was a small army composed of exclusively female citizens of Susa, of which a fair proportion stood with bellies that were visibly swollen, yet one more sign that the Roman occupation of Parthia was progressing. Just as their counterparts in Merv more than a decade earlier, ties between these two cultures and nations were becoming intertwined, something that Caesar had secretly encouraged, for that very reason. Not that there weren’t more cheers from the occupants of Susa than tears, with a fair number of the people eager to see the backs of the Legions, but this wasn’t because they were the foreign invaders. The truth was that, for the vast majority of Parthians, their concern about who ruled over their daily lives was based in a simple proposition; were they treated better or worse than their previous overlords. And, just as Caesar had done in Ctesiphon and Seleucia, he had imposed the same stringent rules of conduct for his Legionaries when it came to their interactions with the people of Susa in particular, and the Parthian peasantry in general. Fortunately for all concerned, the examples he had been forced to set with several Legionaries the previous year were fresh enough in the minds of his men that there was only a handful of punishments for some sort of offense against the citizenry. The fact that so many of the merchants and husbands of Susa were happy to see the collective backs of Caesar’s army was no different from any other town or city throughout the Republic, and the idea that there would only be one Legion left behind was much more palatable to them than eleven. Naturally, while Caesar had informed Octavian of the Armenians, he had been careful not to let word reach Parthian ears, which meant that Bodroges, Artaxerxes, and the other Parthians now in the Roman camp were unaware of this development, for the simple reason that the Parthians and Armenians, despite being closely related, had been allies of convenience. The truth was that, before the Armenian king Artavasdes had thrown his support behind Caesar, although until recently that support had been composed of flowery phrases in which the promise of support in the form of troops equipped and trained in the Parthian manner was offered but never provided, Artavasdes had been a vassal of the Parthian king. Despite the possible friction, Caesar wasn’t overly worried; the reason why was contained in the scroll he had left on the desk that would now become Octavian’s. Now he turned his attention away from Susa and all that entailed, looking ahead, literally and figuratively, to the next challenge, which may or may not be located in Istakhr.
The first days of the march were easy, as the army followed the Pasitigris for a distance, and they were on the plain that ultimately led to the Persicus Sinus, as it was called by the Greeks, or the Erythraeum Mare by the Romans. On the third day of the march, shortly before midday, two men of the scouting party came back to the column at a fast trot, finding Caesar in his normal spot immediately behind the vanguard Legion. As it happe
ned, the 10th was following behind the command group on this day, so Pullus was in a perfect spot to see them approach, although he was too far away to hear. However, judging from the manner in which Caesar reacted, he immediately knew that something important was happening, which was reinforced when Caesar’s Cornicen blew the command to halt. Once halted, it became difficult for Pullus to see much as the dust settled back to the ground, raising the usual round of curses as men hawked and spat globs of mud. Pullus stood, watching as Caesar gathered all of his officers in a knot surrounding him, but he still couldn’t hear what was being said. Then, one of the Tribunes was summoned, Caesar pointed to some spot behind Pullus, and the young officer immediately went to the gallop, flying past the Primus Pilus and spattering him with dirt in the process.
“Fucking idiot,” Pullus growled, more loudly than intended, as it elicited laughs from the men of his First Century.
“Is that any way to talk about one of the fine young men?” Balbus’ voice caused him to turn to see his second in command walking up from his spot immediately behind the First Century.
“When they’re idiots it is,” Pullus said sourly, using his vitus to flick the small clods of dirt that had stuck to his legs.
“Any idea what this is about?” Balbus asked, but Pullus could only shake his head.
“No, but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” he commented, and almost as if he commanded it, there was once more the sound of galloping hooves, and both men turned towards the rear to see that it was the Tribune, but he was now accompanied by two other men.
Whether it was because the Tribune had realized he had passed too closely to the Primus Pilus of the Equestrians the first time, or that Pullus was glaring at him, tapping his vitus into the palm of his other hand, there was no way to know, but this time, the Tribune veered around the pair of Centurions, while the two men followed suit.
