by R. W. Peake
One by one, the remaining cataphractoi dropped their weapons, and some of them were not far behind in collapsing to the ground. Seeing his answer, Darius turned and walked the hundred paces to where Caesar was waiting, and when he reached the general, he dropped to his knees, and offered up the sword, still dripping with the blood of Dotarzes.
“Where do you want my men to stack their weapons, Caesar?”
Suppressing a smile, Caesar turned to Pollio, who in turn summoned a Tribune, and within a few moments, the Parthians were being led by the Tribune to join with the cavalry, who had never left their original spot. That they were carrying their weapons was only part of the surprise; medici from the 3rd had been summoned and were helping the cataphractoi out of their armor before tending to their wounds.
“Did you know this was going to happen?” Pollio asked Caesar; by this time, the Legate had begun to see Caesar’s hand in anything unusual and surprising, but this time, the general shook his head.
“I had no idea,” he admitted, but as he was talking, his eyes were on Darius, taking in how he was making sure that the men who moments before he had been trying to kill with arrows were being cared for; it was, Caesar thought, a very Roman thing to do. “But I suspect that Darius knew that this Dotarzes was going to behave as he did and decided to turn it to his advantage.”
“That,” Pollio’s tone was only partially admiring, “means he needs to be watched carefully.”
Caesar glanced over at Bodroges, and he indicated the Parthian with a nod of his head, saying, “I don’t think we need to worry about that. I believe there’s something between Darius and Bodroges.”
Realizing there was nothing more to be said on this subject, Pollio glanced up at the sky, commenting, “It’s almost noon. Are we going to return to camp for the day?”
He had been expecting Caesar to say that, no, they would break camp and put in a watch of marching, but he was surprised when Caesar glanced thoughtfully up at the sun, then said, “Yes, I believe we will. Then,” he looked at Pollio, and there was no mistaking the mischievous glint in Caesar’s eyes as he finished, “we begin marching to the coast. We have ships to board.”
As he knew it would, the reminder of what lay ahead caused Pollio’s face to fall; like any good Roman, he hated the idea of sea voyages of any length. Taking ship to India, which neither he nor any Roman knew much about, made it even worse.
Kamnaskires was in a quandary, torn between the relief he felt at the knowledge his brother had been killed by the upstart Darius, and the competing feeling that he should avenge the death of his kin. However, those competing emotions were temporarily overwhelmed by the sense of gratitude he felt that they were back on dry land. The truth was that he had seriously considered refusing to board, offering the excuse that he couldn’t afford to be away from Elymais, not when his brother Oronastes posed a threat to his claim to the throne, but he was completely unprepared for Caesar’s reaction.
He had requested an audience with Caesar in the praetorium the night before the loading was to begin, determined to avoid getting on one of the ships, but when he offered his reason why, Caesar merely smiled and said, “Then I have some good news for you.”
“Oh?” Kamnaskires’ inner voice cautioned him that this was something he might not like, “And what news is this, Caesar?”
“Your concerns about your brother are unnecessary,” Caesar replied genially.
“And why is that?” Kamnaskires tried to imagine what could cause Caesar to say this but was about to realize he was nowhere near the right answer.
“Because he’s dead.” Caesar’s tone suggested that the answer was obvious. “He was killed by our newest ally.”
Kamnaskires certainly knew of the addition of Darius’ men, but the moment he saw the Parthian who was roughly his age, he saw that he was a member of the lower class, and in his world, princes didn’t approach peasants, nor did they acknowledge their presence. If this Darius wanted to meet him, he would make the proper obeisance. Now, hearing this stated so plainly, Kamnaskires’ first reaction was one of disbelief.
“What? You’re saying this…Darius killed Oronastes? How is this possible?” Kamnaskires shook his head, but his skepticism wasn’t just based on his views on class, which he explained to Caesar by reminding the Roman, “Why would he do this? Oronastes was coming to join him in exchange for helping usurp my claim to the throne!”
Caesar did look slightly, if not embarrassed, but awkward, which Kamnaskires understood when Caesar acknowledged, “Yes, about that. Apparently, Darius didn’t know that.”
“How could he not know that?” Kamnaskires was truly bewildered now, but it was Caesar’s answer that had ignited the anger in him.
“Because,” Caesar suddenly seemed more interested in the tablet open before him on his desk, “apparently, Kamnaskires didn’t give him the chance to explain himself.”
“You mean he was murdered?” Kamnaskires gasped, his agitation such that he rose slightly from his chair, something that clearly didn’t please Caesar, whose tone was, if not sharp, then at least had hardened as the Roman reminded him, “As I recall, Kamnaskires, you wanted him dead because he was trying to take your place.”
This Kamnaskires couldn’t argue, so he didn’t try, but that didn’t quell the flaring of outrage and offense that was roiling his gut, and he replied stiffly, “That may be true, but it wasn’t that…” he bit off the word he was about to use, unsure of Caesar’s feelings on such matters, “…man’s right to do it. Especially without any warning.”
“Would you rather he let your brother know that he was going to kill him?” Caesar asked mildly, and when put that way, Kamnaskires understood the absurdity of the statement.
Not that this mattered, especially with what was about to come next, because even with this excuse removed, Kamnaskires still had no intention of leaving land, so he tried to sound as if it was a foregone matter when he said, “Be that as it may, Caesar, I am afraid that I will not be going with you and your army to…wherever you are going.”
Truly, this was another reason for Kamnaskires’ irritation; despite his best attempts, neither he nor Vologases had been able to learn exactly where this voyage would take Caesar and his army, something that he, rightly, took as a sign that Caesar didn’t trust him.
Caesar didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised, only raising an eyebrow slightly as he asked in an offhand manner, “Oh? And may I ask why?”
“Well,” Kamnaskires tried to sound as if he wasn’t making this up as he went along, “just because the threat to my crown is gone, there is still much to deal with.” He hesitated, another contrivance on his part as he tried to sound regretful. “It is just that my father did not…manage our affairs well in his last years. That is the only reason I cannot go with you, Caesar. Otherwise, I would be leading my men onto these ships to follow you wherever you desire.”
“That is very heartwarming to hear,” Caesar answered, but while he sounded sincere, Kamnaskires felt certain there was mockery behind those words. Then, once more, Caesar changed his tone, and despite being the recipient of it, when Kamnaskires thought back on the moment, he had to admit that it was not only impressive, it was frightening how quickly and how thoroughly Caesar could sound menacing without raising his voice. “But I am afraid that your kingdom will have to wait for you, because I require the services of you and your men.”
“For how long?” Kamnaskires had to fight to keep the rising panic from his voice, but even he heard it.
“For the foreseeable future,” Caesar answered immediately. “You have mentioned more than once that your men have a unique set of skills, over and above those of other Parthians, and we may need them where we’re going.”
“But they are trained for the mountains!” Kamnaskires resisted, then in a last desperate bid, tried to sound offhand as he said, “But if you need them, you may take half of them. I will need the rest, of course.”
“Why would you need them?”
Caesar asked, as if he was truly interested, but the truth was that he was rapidly becoming bored.
“Why, for defense, of course!” Kamnaskires countered. “Surely you don’t expect me to leave Elymais defenseless from attack!”
Even as the words left his mouth, Kamnaskires knew that he had erred, and in the process had been outmaneuvered.
“Attack?” Caesar raised an eyebrow again. “Attack from whom? Kamnaskires,” Caesar’s lips thinned down, and his eyes took on the icy glint that shook even men like Pullus, “Parthia Inferior is now a Roman province. There is no threat from Rome, and now that Darius has joined our ranks, there is no Parthian force in your region. That leaves me to conclude that your demand for more than two thousand men to remain behind with you is for your own purposes, purposes that I would not endorse. So,” suddenly, his demeanor shifted once again, as he lifted his hands in a helpless gesture that was deliberately artificial, “as you can see, there is no possibility whatsoever that I would ever let you return to Elymais as long as the army is with me.”
Kamnaskires knew he was defeated, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying bitterly, “So, because of my spad, I’m nothing more than a hostage.”
“That,” Caesar answered coolly, “is one way to look at it. Another is that this is what you must do in order to have my support when you return to take your throne and rule as a client king, with the status of Friend and Ally of Rome.”
“And when will that be?” Kamnaskires demanded, now resigned to the terrors of the sea but unwilling to completely capitulate. “When will we be returning?”
In answer, Caesar only gave a shrug, but he was coming to his feet as he did so, the sign that the audience was over, his reply as offhand and evasive as his manner. “That is in the hands of the gods, Kamnaskires.”
As the prince returned to his tent, Kamnaskires couldn’t fight the feeling that Caesar had no real intention of returning to Parthia. Or Rome, for that matter. And, he reflected bitterly, there was nothing he could do about it; for the first time, Kamnaskires fully comprehended that his attempt to manipulate Caesar had been a woeful failure. Instead, he had been maneuvered into a situation of his own making, no understanding that he was a hostage, while his men would serve Caesar in whatever he had planned.
Chapter Three
This was the fourth voyage Pullus had embarked on with Caesar, yet despite this, he loathed the idea of being aboard a ship just as much as the first time as a young Gregarius, crossing the channel to Britannia. That, he reflected as he stuffed the last item into his personal pack that he would carry with him, seemed like a long, long time ago. He was at least thankful that Caesar had not required the men to do anything more than perform their guard duties and the normal tasks necessary to maintain this camp for the previous week, because the march from the sunken city had been brutally hard, and that was even with Caesar’s foresight with the thousand camels whose only cargo was skins of water. It had been an article of faith among the men, both in the ranks and with the officers, that they had experienced the worst Parthia had to offer in terms of its barrenness and lack of water, but they were quickly proven wrong. It had been more than two hundred miles of the worst terrain that the Roman army had ever seen, and even with Caesar’s foresight, it had pushed the men to their limits. Perhaps the only positive note was that the land was so barren and inhospitable that there was no chance of encountering an armed force of any kind that could challenge the vast army plodding across it. This didn’t mean that it was completely uninhabited; on numerous occasions, the cavalry either came across signs that they were being observed or, every so often, the men in the main column spotted them. Pullus had asked Caesar what the general knew of the region, but rather than give a direct answer, that night Diocles returned from the praetorium from his nightly trip to turn in the Legion report carrying a handful of scrolls.
“Did you happen to ask Caesar about where we are?” the Greek asked, and when Pullus nodded, he extended the scrolls to him, explaining, “Then that’s why Apollodorus handed me these. He said that they contain the information you’re asking about.” As Pullus took them, Diocles remembered to add the warning Caesar’s secretary had given him. “And these are from Caesar’s personal library. So,” he grinned up at Pullus, “and I am quoting Apollodorus, ‘Don’t let him get pork grease or wine on them.’”
“That only happened once,” Pullus protested, then growled, “I think when I do return them, I’ll shove them up his ass.”
Diocles laughed, knowing when his master was barking more for show than with any real intent, and very quickly, Pullus had unrolled what he had determined was the first volume.
“This is about Alexander,” he said in surprise, looking up from the scroll to where Diocles had returned to his desk. “Why would Caesar think this would be useful about where we are now?”
It was moments like this that reminded Diocles that this large man, who Diocles respected more than any other he had ever met, would be considered uneducated by Caesar’s standard, and in fact, by Diocles’ standard as well. But, as Diocles had learned, untutored didn’t mean unintelligent, and he realized that an explanation was in order.
“I didn’t read the titles,” he began. “Could you tell me about the one you’re reading now?”
Pullus glanced at it, then told him, “This is by someone named Androsthenes of Thasos.”
Diocles had actually suspected as much, so he was ready to explain to Pullus, “He was one of Alexander’s admirals. He was sent by Alexander to explore down the Persicus Sinus. Although,” he remembered, “from what I recall, he mainly hugged the coast of Arabia on the other side.”
Pullus regarded Diocles thoughtfully, then after a heartbeat, asked the Greek, “So, you’ve read this before?”
Diocles nodded, but he was aware that he was in dangerous territory; for all of his positive traits, Titus Pullus was extremely sensitive about his lack of formal education, and when combined with his formidable temper, it meant that he lashed out at times. He was always regretful afterward and was apologetic, but Diocles had learned that, whenever possible, it was best to keep the storm at bay.
Consequently, he adopted a casual tone when he answered, “Back when I was being trained to be a tutor, my master made me read parts of it.”
He saw Pullus sensed there was more to the story, but he seemed satisfied, because he nodded and returned his attention back to the scroll. The truth was that Diocles had read all of it and had done so recently, back when Apollodorus had informed him of Caesar’s intentions during the winter at Susa. And, Diocles also knew that this was just one of dozens of scrolls that Caesar had taken from the Great Library at Alexandria, almost all of them containing knowledge about the Far East, which to the Greek, was the strongest indicator of the true scope of Caesar’s ambitions. This wasn’t something he had shared with his master, judging it not to be the right time, and very quickly, Pullus was completely absorbed.
It was when Pullus was arranging the items in his pack when he realized that he hadn’t returned the scrolls, although it had become common practice for Pullus to work through Diocles, just as Caesar used Apollodorus, because this was far from the first time such an arrangement had occurred. Nothing had ever been said between the two, but Pullus strongly suspected that, despite his status as Dictator For Life and the removal of most of his enemies, first by battle, then by the execution of the conspirators by Marcus Antonius after Caesar had embarked for Parthia, Caesar was still cognizant about how dimly men of his class viewed the idea of helping a man of the Head Count to improve themselves. It was infuriating, but it was also a fact of life for a Roman and had been so for centuries, so it was just one of many things that men like Pullus endured. Frankly, he was thankful that Caesar was clearly different in this regard, although neither did Pullus ever lose sight of the fact that his general was his de facto patron and mentor because Pullus was useful to him. And, as devoted as Pullus was to Caesar, he also understood that the day he los
t his usefulness, this discreet form of aid would cease. Calling to Diocles, he handed the scrolls over, not bothering to give the Greek instructions.
“Were they useful?” Diocles asked.
Pullus chuckled. “They helped pass the time. And,” he allowed, “yes, I suppose they were. I learned that this was given to one of Alexander’s Hetairoi named Tlepolemus after he conquered Persia. And I know why Caesar knew about this place. Although,” he shook his head, staring out the flap of the tent, which was open to allow the cooler breeze from the sea to help make the temperature more bearable, taking in the crags to the north that were completely barren of any vegetation, “why anyone would want to rule this, I have no idea.”
“I think,” Diocles answered truthfully, “it’s the idea of ruling, instead of being ruled themselves that appeals to some men, no matter what the land itself is like.” He stopped, and he was about to broach the subject of Caesar and what Diocles believed he intended, but then Pullus shrugged and said, “As I said, it passed the time.”
Taking the scrolls, the Greek decided that it wasn’t the right time to tell his master that he had become convinced that outdoing Alexander wouldn’t be enough for Caesar. Part of the problem was that, knowing Pullus as he did, the next question would be a query about what Diocles thought Caesar intended, and the truth was that this was something Diocles couldn’t answer, because he honestly had no idea.
