by R. W. Peake
Darius didn’t hesitate.
“Because,” he answered simply, “I saw what your Legions can do at Susa, and I know that we could not possibly defeat you. And,” he added, “I do not believe there is an army that can.”
“How many men do you command?” Caesar asked, then before Darius could answer, he added, “And how many cataphractoi do you have?”
Darius hesitated, clearly not liking being asked before any kind of agreement had been made, which was precisely why Caesar had pressed the issue.
It was to Darius’ credit that, very quickly, he realized he had no choice, and he answered, “I command one thousand spears and more than two thousand mounted archers. And,” he finished with a shrug, “I only have a hundred twenty cataphractoi.”
“Where are they now?” Caesar demanded. “I don’t see them on the hill.”
Darius was feeling increasingly trapped, yet he replied by turning in his saddle to point in the direction of the western ridge that loomed above them, replying, “They are there on the southern slope of the ridge, along with half of my mounted archers.”
Caesar’s eyes narrowed, and the coldness returned as he said, “For someone who intends to surrender, that seems to be an odd place to position half of your force. It almost seems as if you were expecting to try to spring an ambush.”
Understanding that he was in the most danger of his life, Darius answered honestly, “That is how I wanted it to appear. Not,” he added hastily, “to you, but to my own men.”
This clearly puzzled Caesar, and he was far from alone, asking, “Why would you want your men to think you were going to fight?” Even as he finished, a look of understanding crossed his face, and he said, almost to himself, “Because they don’t know what you have in mind.”
“No,” Darius admitted, “they do not. Or,” he amended, “they did not know before the sun came up. Before,” once more he turned, but this was to indicate the Legions, “they saw what I saw in Susa.”
Caesar didn’t respond, not immediately, trying to think through any possible reasons why this youngster would be lying about his situation, yet after a span of heartbeats, he couldn’t fathom what Darius stood to gain. Unless, the thought came to him suddenly, he’s part of a larger game.
“In order for you to prove to me that you are being sincere in your words, I have a question for you, and I expect you to answer it honestly, because I already know the answer,” Caesar said, then waited for Bodroges to translate.
A look of caution crossed Darius’ face, but he answered readily enough, “I will give you a truthful answer, Caesar.”
“Tell me about the forces at Ecbatana.” Caesar didn’t hesitate. “Specifically,” he lifted a finger to enumerate his demands, “the size and composition,” another finger lifted, “who commands them,” a third joined the first two, but Caesar’s tone sharpened considerably, “and what communication you have had with them.”
While he didn’t intend to, Darius partially answered the question by the manner in which he suddenly relaxed, as if this wasn’t nearly as bad as he had expected.
“As you know, Caesar,” Darius began, speaking even slower now for Bodroges, knowing that this was a crucial, probably decisive moment, “the distance between Istakhr and Ecbatana is only part of the problem. The country between those two cities is very, very rough, and there is very little water to be had.” Seeing Caesar shifting in his saddle impatiently, Darius hurried on, “I bring this up only because it means that our communications have been minimal. In fact, only two couriers came from Ecbatana since I returned to Istakhr.” Suddenly remembering Caesar’s claim, he added, “Although I was told that there had been a courier come a few days before my comrades and I returned. That message,” he admitted, “I do not know much about. But I can tell you that, while the man who commands them can field more men than I can, it is not by much. I know that his name is Valash, but I do not know anything about him.”
When Darius paused, Caesar pressed, “And? What was the nature of this Valash’s messages?”
“The first one he was trying to determine if there was anyone left in Istakhr who was of a higher rank in our command order,” Darius explained. “That one I did not answer.”
“Why?” Caesar demanded bluntly.
Now Darius hesitated, as if trying to decide on something, and Caesar was about to reiterate the question when he confessed, “Because at the time the message came, I was not the commander of the spad. It was being commanded by a son of one of Lord Gobryas’ subordinate satraps who had remained behind when the Lord led the Eastern spad to Susa.”
Before Caesar could say anything in response, it was Bodroges who interjected, staring hard at Darius, “Who was this subordinate satrap?”
For the first time since this crucial exchange began, Darius looked directly at the former courtier, and answered coolly, “That seems to be something you should know, Lord Bodroges.” Before the other man could respond, Darius said, “But his name was Khortdad.”
Caesar sensed that there was an undercurrent between these two men, but he put it down to Bodroges’ feelings about a man of the lower classes being in command of Parthian troops, and besides, he didn’t like not being in control of the conversation.
“What happened to this other man, Darius?” Caesar spoke up.
Once Bodroges was done, Darius answered, “He is dead, Caesar. And,” he shrugged as if it was of no moment, “that is when I assumed command.”
Before Caesar could respond, it was Bodroges who interjected, demanding, “How did he die?”
Darius’ hesitation was barely noticeable; in fact, Bodroges didn’t notice it, but Caesar did, although in the moments afterward, he supposed that it was understandable, given Bodroges’ reaction when Darius replied calmly, “I killed him.”
This elicited a response, not just from Bodroges, although his was the most vehement, but from all of the others there who heard Bodroges’ translation.
“You what?” Bodroges behaved as if he had been physically slapped across the face. “You? You dared to assault one of your betters?”
“He wasn’t my better!” Darius snapped, and for a moment, both Parthians completely forgot where they were, and most importantly, who was there listening. “He was a weak mongrel dog who thought he was worthy to lead simply because of who he was!” Suddenly, Darius extended a hand, and in one sweeping gesture, encompassed the watching Legions, then ended by pointing an accusing finger directly into Bodroges’ face. “The whole reason we are here is because weak and foolish men like Phraates thought they knew best how to defend our homeland from these men, simply because they were fortunate enough to be born on the right side of the sheets! I cut him down because he was just as weak, and just as foolish as our so-called King of Kings! He wasn’t fit to lead a room of concubines, let alone a spad!”
Bodroges, face contorted with fury, actually made a movement as if he was going to spur his horse directly at Darius, who appeared every bit as eager for him to do so, but seemingly out of nowhere, Gundomir materialized, reaching out and grabbing the bridle of Bodroges’ horse just as it began to lurch forward.
“Bodroges,” Caesar didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t need to, “if you cannot control your emotions, I have no use for you, do you understand?”
To his credit, Bodroges’ self-possession returned almost immediately, and he made a bow of his head, saying contritely, “Yes, Lord Caesar, I understand, and I beg your forgiveness.”
Caesar had already returned to the more important, and interesting manner, and he asked Darius, “When you say you slew this man who was your…” he searched for a word that wouldn’t be as offensive to the young Parthian, “…rival, what were the circumstances?”
Once Bodroges translated, it was clear Darius didn’t immediately understand, asking quizzically, “Circumstances? I do not know what this means, Caesar.”
Realizing that he had no choice, Caesar asked bluntly, “Did you murder him?”
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nbsp; Darius’ expression cleared, and he shook his head vigorously. “Ah! Now I understand. No, Caesar, I did not murder him. I challenged him to single combat.”
This surprised Caesar and the others, but it shocked Bodroges, who once more forgot himself, saying incredulously, “You defeated him in single combat? How is that possible?” Suddenly thinking of something, he said, “Ah, I understand. You must have been wearing armor as well.”
Darius didn’t bother to hide his contempt, but his tone was matter-of-fact as he replied, “No, I was wearing no armor.” He looked down at his attire, and when he looked back up at Bodroges, it was with a mocking grin as he added, “In fact, I think this was what I was wearing when I slew him.”
There was a silence then, and while Caesar was now intrigued by this young Parthian, he also felt the pressing of time, so he returned to the topic, reminding Darius, “So you were not in command when the first of the two messages of which you are aware came, but I assume you know what it said?”
“Yes, Caesar,” Darius nodded. “The commander in Ecbatana wanted to know our intentions, and if we had either made plans or had begun whatever we had planned.”
“And, did he receive an answer?”
Darius shook his head, “No, Caesar.”
“How do you know that your…predecessor didn’t send one?” Caesar asked skeptically, but he was unprepared for Darius’ answer, although he didn’t hesitate, saying, “Oh, he did, Caesar. I mean,” he amended slightly, “he wrote a reply. But it was never sent.”
“Why?” Caesar asked, though he was certain he knew the answer, which was confirmed when Darius said simply, “Because he was no longer the commander. I was. And I did not wish to answer those questions.”
“What about the second message?” Caesar continued.
“That one,” Darius admitted, “was to inform us that the leader had decided to begin riding towards Susa. He named a spot where he said he would wait for a month for us to join, then he would continue on and try to do whatever he could to cause you trouble.” The Parthian hesitated, then added thoughtfully, “Honestly, Lord Caesar, I did not get the idea that this man had much hope. Or,” he finished, “enthusiasm for what he was supposed to do.”
This, Caesar knew, made sense, although depending on the man, sometimes what made sense had very little to do with his actions. However, now that he had met Valash, he mentally saluted the young Parthian before him for his insight, because that was an accurate summation of Valash’s attitude. Clearly, this Darius, for example, was someone who tried to do the sensible thing instead of the courageous one, although he supposed, by surrendering to us without telling his army about it, that took a certain kind of courage. Realizing that he had plumbed the depths of this subject, Caesar said, “Your answers align with the information I have, Darius.”
Then, he turned his attention to the most pressing matter, which he began to address by speaking in ringing tones that he knew would carry to at least some of the men of the Legions, all of whom had been watching so silently that in the brief pause, they could all hear that the wind, as it normally did, had come up with the rising sun.
“Darius of Istakhr, I accept the surrender of your spad to Rome. However,” he paused just long enough to allow Bodroges to translate this conditional word, because he was still judging Darius and wanted to see how he responded to this, “until I can be sure of your loyalty, you and your men will naturally surrender all of your weapons, and,” he hesitated for a fraction, “you will be treated as prisoners. Is this understood?”
Before Caesar had finished, Darius’ body had stiffened, his face suddenly becoming a mask, although it was obvious that he was struggling to remain composed.
Once Bodroges was finished with his translation, making no attempt to hide his satisfaction, all traces of his previous good humor had vanished from the young Parthian commander, but his tone was composed as he replied flatly, “Yes, Lord Caesar, this is understood.” For a moment, the silence returned, and Caesar could see that Darius was struggling to remain self-possessed, but finally, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “How am I supposed to tell this to my men, Caesar? They did not know what I was intending.” Suddenly, his defenses came down, and he was simply a young man who felt the overwhelming burden of leading other men, which prompted him to ask Caesar plaintively, “What should I do, Lord? What would you do?”
Caesar had prepared himself for this meeting; at least, he thought he had, but he was caught completely by surprise by this, and despite himself, he felt a twinge of sympathy for the young Parthian, and he answered honestly, “I would tell them the truth, Darius. That as their commander, you are doing what is best for them and their families so that their women won’t lose their men, and their children won’t lose their fathers. After that?” Caesar finished, not unkindly, “It is in the hands of your gods.”
This, he could see, wasn’t what Darius had been hoping for, but he did give a curt nod and retained enough of his wits to ask, “May I have leave to address my men, Caesar?”
“Yes,” Caesar answered through Bodroges, but once again, his voice hardened as he said, “I will give you one-third of a Roman watch.” Understanding that the Parthians didn’t use the same system, he pointed to a spot just above the eastern horizon, saying, “You have until the sun is the width of two fingers above that ridge.” His eyes had never left Darius’ face, and he finished by asking, “I do not believe I need to tell you what will happen if you are unable to convince your men, do I, Darius?”
“No, Lord Caesar,” Darius answered readily enough, but Caesar didn’t begrudge the note of bitterness, “you do not need to tell me.”
Taking a deep breath, Darius turned his horse and began the return to his waiting men, his fellow Parthian bearing the makeshift truce flag following behind. In many ways, this return journey seemed to take even longer, but it wasn’t just because of the news he bore and the task that awaited him. He was certain that something was going to happen, that the next few moments would dictate not only the future for his men, but for himself.
“Something’s wrong,” Dotarzes muttered to Sherh, for what the archer was certain was the tenth time, but just like all the other times, he stubbornly insisted that there was nothing taking place that Darius couldn’t handle.
What made it even more frustrating was that, because of their position on the southern slope, they were tucked out of sight of the proceedings, such as they were. All they had a clear view of was the hill, and the first couple hundred paces of the flat ground in front of it, before the shoulder of the ridge they were using to conceal themselves behind obscured everything else. They had seen the dust raised by the tramping of thousands of feet drifting in the air, before the breeze had picked up and blown it away. Otherwise, they were consigned to watching Cyrus, who was still sitting his horse on the hill in the same spot, but all they could tell was that his attention was naturally focused on what was taking place a few furlongs away. Sherh loathed Dotarzes, but he feared him as well, something that Darius hadn’t been unable to undo in his relatively short tenure as their leader. The idea of equality in any sense between the classes was completely foreign to the Parthian nature, and Darius had known that it was going to take more than a matter of weeks to change a lifetime of conditioning. Indeed, in this case, although Sherh didn’t know it, Darius was counting on Sherh being intimidated by Dotarzes, and on Dotarzes to behave in the manner of a Parthian noble. That Darius’ plan, such as it was, had arisen within the span of a third of a Roman watch, and was based on his insight into the characteristics of men of a certain class, along with the knowledge of the men themselves, was something Caesar would have appreciated.
“If that dog Darius surrenders without a fight, I will gut him.” Dotarzes said this directly to Sherh’s face, so there was no way the archer could mistake the challenge there.
For an instant, Darius’ belief that Sherh hadn’t adjusted to the new way of doing things appeared to be misplaced, because
the man’s anger overcame the ingrained inhibition against such displays as he shot back, “And you will have to go through me to do it.”
“That’s no challenge,” Dotarzes sneered, but he was unprepared for Sherh’s response, because rather than cringe and offer an apology for his effrontery, the archer replied coolly, “I have no doubt you would kill me, Dotarzes. But,” he turned and indicated the thousand archers who had been allowed to dismount and were standing ready, “could you kill all of them?”
Dotarzes didn’t respond verbally, his face twisting into a mask of frustrated rage, which informed Sherh that the nobleman had understood and grudgingly accepted this reminder of the new reality that faced men of his class. A sullen silence ensued, the time stretching out as they waited to learn their future, and in the mark of a commander who is, at the very least, unwise, Dotarzes had refused the request of his cataphractoi to dismount, as their archer comrades had done. Another thing that Darius had been unable to change was the natural segregation that took place; neither archers nor cataphractoi acknowledged each other, let alone exchanged any words, so the silence was eerily similar to that of the Roman Legions standing motionless in the rising heat. Not that they could see any of this, and despite his hostility towards Dotarzes, Sherh acknowledged to himself that it certainly was wearing not knowing what was going on. He got a warning by the manner in which the men standing on the hill above their entrenchments suddenly became animated, although they were much too far away to hear anything.
“Something’s happening,” he called to Dotarzes, the hostility between the two going into abeyance for the moment.
Sensing the presence of the cataphractoi, Sherh didn’t acknowledge that he had pulled alongside him again, but both men kept their gaze fixed on the hill, watching for some sort of sign in the behavior of those men. He saw Cyrus’ face turn in their direction, and Sherh raised an arm, tentatively, unsure whether the other man could pick him out of the mass of horsemen, but he thought he saw the man nod before turning his attention back to his front. Then, from around the shoulder of the ridge, Sherh saw Darius and his standard bearer emerge, and his immediate reaction was to sag in relief at the sight of their leader calmly walking his mount at the same pace as when he left. Surely, he thought, if he came at the trot or a gallop, that would mean something, so the fact that he’s moving at this pace is a good sign.
