In reply Elsa nodded. “I must go now,” she said quietly. “Cassius wishes to spend some time with me too. But I shall be back tomorrow morning to check on my patient.”
“Of course,” Marcus replied. For a moment, he stared at her. As he did so, he was suddenly back in Britannia, ten years ago, standing in the snow with Cunomoltus outside Lucius’s filthy hut near the Charterhouse lead mines, handing Elsa a coin to place in her father’s mouth before they buried him. The little orphan girl, whose father he had killed that day, had grown up into a beautiful and talented young woman. And as he stared at Elsa, he was suddenly glad about the decision he had made that day. Some good had at least come out of that sordid mess with Lucius. He had done the right thing in honouring Lucius’s last request to look after his children.
“Are you all right, Marcus,” Elsa asked with a frown.
“I am just getting old,” Marcus replied, snapping out of his day dreaming. Then he smiled. “Go on, get out of here. I will see you later.”
After Elsa had gone Marcus was once more disturbed by a polite knock on the door of his small office. A moment later Kyna appeared.
“What is it?” Marcus asked.
“You have a visitor,” Kyna replied in that neutral, professional voice of hers, which she would take in the company of his upper-class friends. “It’s Paulinus Picardus Tagliare. He says it is urgent. It’s always urgent with him.”
Startled, Marcus quickly rose to his feet to welcome his friend, as Rome’s finance minister barged into the room. Paulinus was older than himself and the bookish-looking man was wearing his senator’s toga. He was followed into the office by a single slave carrying an official looking leather satchel. Briefly Marcus embraced his friend.
“Everything all right?” Marcus inquired, examining Paulinus carefully.
“Yes,” Paulinus said as he wiped the glistening sweat from his forehead with a little cloth before handing the soiled towel to the slave. “Gods, this heat is driving me mad,” he groaned, “but they said you were here and I had to come in person. I have a litter waiting outside. Nigrinus has summoned us both to the imperial palace on the Palatine. A meeting is taking place at which the whole council will be present. The emperor has called it. Says he has an important announcement to make. So, let’s go. I don’t want to be late, not when Trajan is present.”
“A meeting at the imperial palace?” Marcus frowned. “What could that be about?”
“It’s either a new war or Trajan is going to publicly announce who his successor is going to be,” Paulinus replied grimly. “Nigrinus is nervous. He wants us to tow the faction line if Trajan asks us for our opinions. That’s why he wants us at the palace. There is a possibility that Trajan will announce Hadrian as his son and heir. That would be catastrophic for us.”
Chapter Two – The Eastern Question
The emperor’s garden was not nearly as nice as his own, Marcus thought, as he, Paulinus and a dozen or so other toga-dressed senators and advisers slowly followed emperor Trajan through the halls, peristyles and around the large internal garden of the imperial palace on the Palatine hill. Marcus was tagging along at the back of the group of distinguished and finely dressed men. It was not his place to walk closest to the emperor. That was a privilege reserved for the most senior members of Trajan’s cabinet. Beyond the columned porches that provided a view onto the emperor’s internal garden, silent slaves were tending to the flowers, gurgling fountains and small statues. The fountains seemed to be depicting mythical scenes and to Marcus, it all seemed rather overdone. He had never been in the palace before and it was a huge maze. Corridors, halls, rooms, all richly and finely decorated, led off in every direction. Everywhere armed men of the Praetorian guard were on duty, standing stiffly and silently at their posts. The heavy smell of incense hung over the complex, banishing the stink of the city. Marcus Ulpius Traianus, emperor of Rome was laughing at one of Nigrinus’s jokes. Trajan was wearing his splendid ceremonial imperial toga, completely dyed with Tyrian purple and made from the rarest, finest and most expensive materials. He looked around sixty years old and he was clean-shaven and bareheaded, his short hair brushed forwards and neatly trimmed across his forehead.
Marcus took a deep breath as he turned his attention back to the emperor and the group of senators. Trajan was a popular emperor amongst the ordinary people and particularly with the army, in which he had served for many, many years. He was known to be a heavy drinker; a soldier’s emperor, who it was said, could drink anyone under the table. But now into the sixteenth year of his reign he was getting old and the issue of the succession was beginning to press.
There was an air of excited, nervous expectancy about the senators as they followed on behind Trajan like a gaggle of ducks. Marcus could sense it in the haste and keenness in which they kept up and focussed their attention on the emperor. Trajan had summoned them to the palace because he had come to a decision and was going to make an important announcement. A decision that could affect the fortunes of every man present including himself.
They were all here. Marcus could see all five of the most prominent members and leaders of the powerful War Party to which he himself belonged and to whom he had sworn a solemn oath of loyalty and support. Nigrinus, the faction leader who had persuaded Trajan to issue a decree raising Marcus to the senatorial class. Paulinus, one of Rome’s finance ministers and still in charge of the state treasury and his good friend. Lucius Pubilius Celsus, ex Consul and bitter enemy of Hadrian. Aulus Cornelius Palma, conqueror of the empire’s newest province, Arabia Nabataea and another sworn enemy of Hadrian. The bitterness and hatred between Palma and Hadrian was infamous, deep and raw for it was rumoured that Hadrian had managed to seduce Palma’s wife and sleep with her. Finally, there was the man whom Marcus most respected amongst the successful battle-hardened military leaders of the war party - the Berber prince from Mauretania in northern Africa, Lusius Quietus, descendant of an illustrious Berber royal house.
As he shuffled on at the back of the group of senators following Trajan around the edge of the imperial garden, Marcus lowered his eyes to the ground, in thought.
In the senate, he had quickly learned, that because Trajan had no natural sons, there were two main factions competing to get their man publicly announced as Trajan’s successor.
The War Party led by Gaius Avidius Nigrinus, counted amongst its members many of Trajan’s loyal, successful and prominent battle-hardened generals. They were committed to the limitless expansion of Rome’s empire.
The Peace Party led by Hadrian, had the support of many of the more junior commanders and crucially, it seemed, the friendship and support of the women closest to Trajan. For it was rumoured that the empress Plotina, Trajan’s wife and Salonia Matidia, Trajan’s niece, were all big supporters of Hadrian and worked tirelessly to further his cause. In the senate debates, Marcus had heard the Peace Party argue that the empire’s resources were limited and that a better strategy would be to consolidate and strengthen the imperial borders and call a halt to military expansion. It was a position that was completely unacceptable to Nigrinus and his war hawks.
Trajan however, had stubbornly refused to nominate a successor and from Paulinus, Marcus had heard that he refused to do so because he did not want to alienate his support from either senatorial faction. Every time the succession and his successor was brought up in the emperor’s presence, Paulinus had quipped that Trajan would simply provide the same answer, “ let him be more fortunate than Augustus and better than Trajan.”
As he thought about the great split within the senate, caused by this struggle to secure the imperial succession, Marcus raised his head to study Nigrinus, the man to whom he had sworn an oath of loyalty. Nigrinus had done so much to help raise him to his current privileged position. Yet despite the help, the favours and the protection Nigrinus had provided him with, Marcus could still not shake off the thought that the man was really a bit of a dick. Nigrinus was walking along maintaining a careful posi
tion at Trajan’s shoulder, a masterpiece of professional charm, wit, persuasion and calculated political cunning and Trajan was smiling as he listened to him.
He, Marcus, although now a senator, was still very much a junior member of the War Party, whose leaders far outranked him in wealth, power and influence. And his usefulness to the party was limited. He had pitched himself to Nigrinus by claiming that, as a respected and well-known Batavian war hero, he could command the allegiance and loyalty of the thousands of Batavian auxiliaries and veterans, who were stationed and living scattered around the empire. It was a tenuous claim for which there really was no basis, but it seemed to have worked on Nigrinus. Marcus sighed. And now that he had made his bold pitch, he dreaded the day when Nigrinus would demand that he put his claim into practice. It would either work or it would expose him as a fraud.
“Friends,” Trajan said at last, raising his voice and coming to a halt. The senators and advisers abruptly fell silent as they gathered around the emperor waiting for him to speak.
“I have made my decision,” Trajan said with an amused smile, as he turned to look at the tense and anxious faces that surrounded him. Then slowly as the silence lengthened, Trajan’s face changed and he grew sober and serious minded.
“Osroes,” the emperor said at last, “the so-called “king-of-kings” of Parthia, has broken the long-standing agreement with us. He has dared appoint a king to the throne of Armenia without seeking our consent. It is a clear violation of the treaty that emperor Nero made with the Parthians more than fifty years ago. And what is worse is that this new king on the Armenian throne - this man called Parthamasiris, is the nephew of Osroes. This insult; this breach of faith is unacceptable and cannot be allowed to stand.
We are going to war, gentlemen. Rome will be going to war with Parthia.”
Trajan paused for a moment to glance at the faces around him. “Now recently,” he continued, “I received a Kushan ambassador from Peshawar, a great city that lies to the east of Parthia, close to India. This man had an interesting story. He told me that the Kushan empire is no friend of Parthia and that his ruler is looking to make war on Parthia from the east. He encouraged me to do the same from the west.”
Trajan paused to gage the reaction from his advisers. Then he cleared his throat. “Since the time,” he continued, “when Crassus suffered his humiliating defeat against the Parthians, a hundred and sixty years ago, Rome has struggled to find a solution to the eastern question. How do we handle a power like Parthia? Throughout all that time, we have tried everything to stabilise our eastern frontiers. We have a history of defeat in this region but I am going to change that. We are going to solve the eastern question once and for all. So, it is my intention to not only drive Parthamasiris from his new throne in Armenia, but to annex the whole kingdom of Armenia and bring their lands into the official domain of the senate and people of Rome. That gentlemen, has not been tried before and that is what we are going to do.”
For a moment, the hallway remained silent. Then dutifully the leaders of the War Party turned to Trajan, saluted and dipped their heads respectfully.
“A wise decision Trajan,” Nigrinius replied smoothly. “You are right. Such a blatant breach of a treaty cannot be allowed to stand. War is the only way to resolve this and I have no doubt that you and our armies will be victorious.”
“Yes, yes,” Trajan said, raising his hand in an annoyed gesture. “I have not summoned you here to laurel me with compliments. You are my best generals and closest advisers. If I wanted compliments I would go to my wife. But I want your thoughts and advice on the upcoming campaign. So, talk to me and speak plainly.”
“Sir,” Quietus was the first to speak and, as he did, Marcus studied the darkish skinned Berber prince carefully. “Parthia is a large and powerful empire as we all know and for a hundred and fifty years we have struggled to solve the eastern question - how to handle such a power on our eastern borders. I agree with you. Now we must go to war. Do not waste time seeking a diplomatic solution. Do not let yourself be trapped into agreeing a poorly conceived peace. The Parthians are weakened and distracted by civil war. They will only be able to put up a feeble resistance at best. We have the advantage. My spies tell me that Osroes rules in the west of Parthia but that his rival to the Parthian throne, Volagases the third, rules in the east of Parthia. Now is the time to strike and strike hard.”
“I have heard,” Nigrinus added, in a calculating voice, “that Osroes had Parthamasiris placed on the Armenian throne because Parthamasiris actually has a very good claim of his own to Osroes’s throne. Osroes gave him the throne of Armenia because he did not want his nephew becoming another rival to his own power. It follows therefore that Osroes must support his nephew if he is to avoid having another claimant to his own throne. Osroes wants to stop a two-way civil war becoming a three-way civil war in which he is attacked by two enemies. The correct conclusion is that no amount of diplomacy will get Osroes to stop backing his nephew. Only war with Parthia can settle this.”
Trajan nodded as he took in what had been said but remained silent and carefully kept his thoughts to himself.
Emboldened Nigrinus opened his mouth again. “Once Armenia is ours,” he said thoughtfully, “we shall also gain informal control over the Armenian vassal states that inhabit the southern slopes of the Caucasus mountains, Colchis, Iberia and Albania. These states will not only provide us with a buffer against the Scythian tribes beyond the mountains to the north. It will also open up a trade route across the Caspian Sea to India that will be free from Parthian interference.”
“If we annex Armenia,” Quietus said quickly, turning to look at Trajan, “we will need to secure the new province by also conquering northern Mesopotamia. It will mean the capture of the Parthian cities of Edessa, Nisibis, Hatra and Singara. With these cities and northern Mesopotamia under our control, we will be able to start constructing a viable frontier that will be relatively easy and economical to defend.” Quietus took a deep breath. “Sir,” he said with growing enthusiasm, “if we were to control northern Mesopotamia, we would control the head waters of both the Euphrates and the Tigris rivers. It means that we would be able to descend on the Parthian capital of Ctesiphon any time we like. It means we will have gained a permanent strategic advantage over the Parthians. That is an advantage well worth having.”
As Quietus fell silent, Trajan, nodded again and patted the general on his shoulder and to Marcus it seemed that the emperor was pleased.
“With respect my Lord,” Paulinus now spoke up in a calm and measured voice, “to the generals amongst your councillors. There is another prize to be won in this war. I would urge you to think beyond just the annexation of Armenia. To the south, on the shores of the Persian Gulf and the estuary of the Tigris and Euphrates, lies the city of Charax. It is the principal sea port through which a “shed load” of Indian trade reaches our lands and it is the only sea port and terminus that handles trade with India and which still lies outside the influence of Rome. My Lord,” Paulinus’s voice grew grave and statesman like. “Rome runs an annual trade deficit with India and it is of growing concern to us money men. Vast quantities of gold and silver leave our empire for the east, never to return. Now, if we were to control Charax we would gain a valuable mercantile asset. It would mean lower Indian and Chinese import costs and it should allow us to reduce the outflow of gold and silver. And another thing,” Paulinus said, raising his finger in the air like a school master standing before his class, “Charax is not a Parthian city. It is mainly populated by Arabs and Jews. The city may owe allegiance to their Parthian masters and pay them an annual tribute, but there is no love for the Parthian king of kings. I would propose that Rome simply replaces Parthia as the power to which Charax owes its allegiance.”
“An interesting suggestion,” Trajan murmured, as he looked at Paulinus with a thoughtful expression.
“Great Lord, master of Rome,” the Palmyran representative now spoke up as he bowed deeply to Traja
n with an exotic eastern flourish. “I agree whole heartedly with what my learned and gifted colleague Paulinus has said. My blessed city, Palmyra, the oasis in the Syrian desert, is the principal destination for all Indian trade coming overland and through the port of Charax. We know Charax well for our merchants do a lot of business with them. And great Lord, Charax’s influence extends beyond their city to the islands and Arab settlements along the southern coast of the Persian Gulf. If Charax were to become a Roman protectorate, these Arab cities too, would in turn become friends and allies of Rome.” The Palmyran representative bowed once more to Trajan. “It is our soldiers and merchants,” the man continued, “who escort and guide the trade caravans safely across the desert and into Roman lands. It is our city that protects the Roman provinces from raids by the desert Arabs. May I therefore humbly beg you sire, that if you decide to take Charax from the king of kings, that you install one of my citizen’s, a Palmyrean, as the next ruler of Charax.”
Aulus Cornelius Palma now joined in; “It is true,” he said as he nodded at Trajan, “the economic rewards of capturing Charax would be considerable. In Arabia Nabataea, which we have recently acquired, the new road between Bostra and the red sea port of Aila, the Via Traiana Nova, which you ordered to be constructed is already providing us with significant economic benefits.”
“I hear you,” Trajan said with a little nod of his own, but to Marcus watching from the back, Trajan seemed reluctant to agree or disagree with what was being proposed. The emperor was still keeping his thoughts to himself.
For a moment, the hallway fell silent as Trajan seemed lost in thought. Then the emperor raised and moved his head and peered at the men standing at the back of the distinguished group of senators who surrounded him.
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