The Blood of Rome

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Sir, we have found the enemy!’

  ‘Enemy?’ Cato arched an eyebrow. ‘In that town? On this side of the Euphrates?’

  Narses nodded vigorously. ‘We saw them! Riding away as we approached. Parthians.’

  Macro muttered. ‘Like I said, trouble.’

  ‘How many Parthians?’ Cato demanded.

  ‘A hundred. Maybe more. The king took half his men after them.’ Narses’ eyes were gleaming. ‘If we can catch them before they reach the river . . .’

  But Cato was only half listening. Since the Parthians had been able to flee at such short notice, that meant that they had seen the Iberians approaching. More likely a scout had seen the entire column and dashed back to warn his comrades. Should they escape Rhadamistus, then they would warn their leaders of the presence of Cato’s column. With Romans this close to the frontier with Armenia it could mean only one thing, that Rome was making an attempt to seize the kingdom from Tiridates.

  ‘Shall I give the order for the men to close up?’ asked Macro.

  ‘No. No point. The Parthians have already gone. I’m going ahead. Keep the column moving. Once you reach the town, have the first and second centuries take the gates and post sentries on the walls. The rest can fall out and find billets. Narses, on me!’

  Cato adjusted his helmet so that it was firmly in place and spurred his mount down the road. The dust raised by Narses was still in the air as the two pounded back through it. Closer to, Cato could see that the crudely constructed walls enclosed a settlement no bigger than the area taken up by the camp of a legion. A population of around five thousand then, he estimated. Enough to have some kind of militia, but not enough men to defy the Parthians when they arrived. A group of Iberian horsemen had dismounted by the gate, and while the handlers took charge of the horses the others had taken command of the gatehouse and ensured that the gates were kept open for the rest of the column. A wise step by Rhadamistus, thought Cato approvingly. His ally had had the presence of mind to order the precaution before taking off after the enemy.

  He slowed his horse before he reached the gatehouse and entered the town at a steady trot. A narrow street led through tightly packed houses once whitewashed but now stained and streaked by sand blown in from the barren hills. Few people were about, and those that were scattered at the sound of hoofbeats and dived into alleys or doorways at their approach. Rounding a corner, Cato saw that the road opened out on to a large space, roughly square, and most of the riders that Rhadamistus had left behind had dismounted, tethered their horses, and gone in search of food and quarters for the night. A small party of horse-archers stood guard over an anxious-looking group of townspeople as Cato and Narses rode up to them.

  Cato reined in and looked down on them. ‘Anyone speak Greek?’

  One, well-dressed in an embroidered tunic and silken headpiece, raised a hand.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘I am the magistrate of Arbelis, sir,’ he answered in Greek.

  ‘Arbelis?’ Cato could not recall the name on any of the itineraries he had examined before the campaign. But that was not so surprising, given the small size of the town and its location. ‘Who do you answer to? Rome? Armenia? Parthia?’

  ‘We send tribute to the governor in Cappadocia once a year, sir. When his agent comes to collect it.’

  Roman then. But only just, here on the very fringe of the Roman province.

  ‘I see. So what were those Parthians doing in Arbelis?’

  ‘They came yesterday, at dusk, sir. Galloped in and seized our valuables, as well as food, wine and oil. Any man who resisted was killed.’ The magistrate clasped his hands earnestly. ‘Thanks be to the gods that you have come to save us.’

  Cato felt a moment’s guilty sympathy for the townsfolk as yet another band of soldiers descended on them to seize supplies. At least this time there should be no deaths, and the hope of repayment.

  ‘My men need shelter for the night.’

  ‘Of course.’ The magistrate nodded, grateful that the presence of Cato and his men guaranteed that the Parthians would not return. That gratitude might prove to be rather short-lived, thought Cato.

  ‘We will need billets for my soldiers, stabling and feed for the horses . . .’

  ‘Yes, of course. As you wish, honoured sir!’

  ‘I’ll have one of my officers give you a full list of our requirements.’

  The magistrate frowned. ‘Full list?’

  But Cato was already riding on, across the square and down the main street to the far gate of the town. There, another party of Rhadamistus’s men had taken control of the gatehouse and they stood aside to let him pass. Cato continued a short distance and reined in atop a knoll, to one side of the track. Ahead, he could make out the great river, and saw that it was joined by a tributary, snaking into the hills to the east in the direction of Armenia. A faint trail of distant dust marked the path of the Parthians and their pursuers. Cato gestured to Narses to follow him and galloped on. Every so often he encountered a body, some attended by wounded or abandoned horses. Only one of the dead wore Iberian robes.

  Three miles down the track, close to the west bank of the Euphrates, he saw the Iberians had halted. A smaller party, led by Rhadamistus, towering above his companions, was making its way along the riverbank. As Cato cleared the mass of horsemen and made for their leader, he caught sight of a small fort rising above the reeds on the far bank. It guarded the pebbled shallows of a ford.

  ‘Ah, Tribune!’ Rhadamistus smiled broadly, still excited by the pursuit of his Parthian prey. ‘The Parthian dogs have gone to ground.’ He pointed towards the fort and Cato could see the dull gleam of helmets and bright headcloths above the battlements, three hundred paces across the river. Small parties of Iberian horsemen surrounded the fort.

  ‘But not before we slew scores of them,’ the Iberian prince continued. ‘The rest got away and shut themselves up over there. I had to pull my men back out of arrowshot. But we have them trapped, no?’

  Cato eased himself up in the saddle and scanned the fort and the far bank. He could see more of the Iberians a safe distance beyond the fort. The Parthians were trapped, for the moment. But that presented a set of new problems. It was imperative that none escaped to spread the news about his column. And that meant reducing the fort and destroying the enemy inside. That would entail a delay and casualties that Cato could ill afford. But he had no choice. He turned back to Rhadamistus.

  ‘Majesty, we will have to take the fort.’

  ‘Good,’ the Iberian beamed.

  ‘May I request that you send more men across the river to ensure that none of the enemy escapes to raise the alarm? In the meantime, I’ll bring the rest of our column forward to prepare for the attack.’

  Rhadamistus nodded and quickly issued orders to his men as Cato turned back towards Arbelis. The Praetorians and auxiliaries were no doubt looking forward to the prospect of a comfortable night in the shelter and warmth of the town, rather than having to construct another marching camp. Instead they’d have to march by the town, into the gathering dusk, and construct a camp by the river in darkness. He would well imagine the grumbling that would ensue. But some, Macro more than most, would be delighted by the imminence of the first action of their campaign.

  The Parthians had provoked this war, Cato reflected grimly. Now they were about to start paying the price for their hubris.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘This spot will do nicely,’ Cato decided as he and Macro emerged from the shallows, dripping. Ahead of them, a hundred paces from the eastern bank of the Euphrates, Cato could just make out the mounted pickets in the moonlight. He turned to look back over the river. The other bank was nearly a quarter of a mile away but he had managed to mark a passage across the pebble banks and the flows between that was no more than waist height. The wagons of the siege train and Porcino’s century were waiting for orders to make the crossing. Centurion Metellus’s men had already crossed and Cato could hear the sound
s of their pickaxes as they laboured in the thin moonlight to complete the battery on a small rise just beyond the fort.

  ‘All right, Macro, get back across the river and bring the siege train over.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And do it as quietly as you can.’

  The centurion did not reply as he strode back into the current and Cato felt irritated with himself at the unnecessary admonition of his friend. Macro knew well enough the value of surprise. But Cato was tired, and anxious to take the fort as quickly as he could, question the prisoners, and discover if the Parthians had managed to send any message about his presence in the area. If Tiridates was warned, then he would have ample opportunity to ambush the column or lure them into a trap. All of which had prompted the remark to Macro. He tried to thrust the thought from his mind.

  Cato comforted himself by reflecting that the Parthians must be feeling secure behind their wall as he climbed up through the reeds and on to the bank, his boots squelching with each step. After all, there was a good chance that they had fled the town after sighting Rhadamistus and his men, who had kicked up more than enough dust to obscure the main column, and more importantly the siege train. Horse-archers and cataphracts alone would never reduce the fort, and the enemy would be confident that they merely had to wait until the Iberians rode away before they could emerge again to continue their raids across the frontier. When dawn stole over the horizon and revealed the siege weapons, the Parthians would realise their mistake, moments before the first missiles struck the ramparts.

  Making his way along the bank towards the chink and thud of the pickaxes, Cato saw the dark outline of the fort against the lighter night sky and hoped that the enemy would swiftly come to their senses and surrender. That would entail detaching half a century to escort the prisoners back to the nearest town garrisoned by Roman troops. He could ill afford to lose forty of his men, but still less could he afford losing as many men or more in an assault on the Parthian outpost. And the need to take it swiftly so that he could continue the advance meant that an attack would be necessary.

  ‘Halt! Who is there?’

  Cato instinctively grasped his sword handle and braced his boots before he took a calming breath and responded: ‘Tribune Cato.’

  A figure stepped out from behind a stunted tree and Cato could just make out the tip of the spear pointed at him as the Praetorian spoke again. ‘Publius says . . .’

  ‘Pour the garum,’ Cato replied softly.

  ‘Pass, friend.’ The sentry grounded his spear and Cato released his grip on the sword and approached.

  ‘Next time, whisper it, soldier. Better than blurting it out loudly enough for every enemy for miles around to hear,’ he exaggerated to drive the lesson home.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the sentry assented quietly.

  ‘That’s better. Centurion Macro will be bringing the siege train up shortly. Make sure you challenge him properly or he’ll not be so forgiving.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The sentry retreated into the shadows of the tree, keen to escape back into anonymity before his commander could recognise him.

  Cato continued towards the rising ground where the battery was sited and was pleased to see that the outer ditch and palisade were well under way, a precaution against any attempt by the defenders to sally out and attempt to damage or destroy the precious siege weapons. Behind the palisade other men were busy levelling the ground. A man with a crested helmet approached and saluted.

  ‘Tribune Cato?’

  ‘Yes. You and your men have done well, Metellus. No easy task to do this in the dark.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Any trouble from the Parthians?’

  ‘They sent a party out an hour or so ago, sir. Keranus and his lads allowed them to get on to some open ground before they let rip and sent the enemy running. They bagged two of the bastards. Not a squeak out of them since then.’

  ‘Good. I don’t want them getting wind of what we’re up to. Once Macro arrives with the siege weapons, get ’em up quick as you can and ready to shoot the moment it’s light enough to see the target. And, more importantly, for the target to spot us.’

  Metellus chuckled. ‘I wish I could see their faces when that happens.’

  ‘You’ll get your chance. Either when they give up, or when we go in.’

  ‘My lads are up for it, sir.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘They’ve had no rest since we broke camp yesterday morning. If we have to assault the fort, I’ll be using fresh troops.’

  ‘Fair enough, sir,’ Metellus conceded reluctantly. ‘But if they need support then my mob will be ready.’

  ‘I’m sure I can depend on you and your men.’ Cato patted him on the shoulder. ‘But for now, let’s get the battery completed.’

  The work continued through the night until they heard the low rumble of approaching wagons and Cato strode towards them to greet Macro.

  ‘Any problems?’

  ‘One of the wagons went over as we came out of the river, but the rest are fine.’

  ‘Good.’ Cato indicated the outline of the battery on the knoll. ‘Metellus’s men are just about done. Get the wagons up there and assemble the weapons as soon as you can.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  As Macro led the vehicles up the slight incline, the rumble of the wheels and the straining grunts of the men were added to by the braying of mules as their drovers used their switches on the animals’ rumps. The noise seemed deafening in the darkness and Cato feared that it might prompt some sudden action by the enemy. Sure enough, a blazing arrow shot high into the sky and arced in the direction of the wagons, but it fell far too short to illuminate anything but the bare ground in front of the battery, and one of the mounted patrols which swiftly dashed a short distance away to avoid being subjected to a barrage of arrows from the fort. All the same Cato sought out Rhadamistus and found him on the track, three hundred paces to the east of the fort. No attempt was made to challenge him, he noted irritably, and he resolved to tackle the Iberian prince about the matter later.

  ‘Tribune Cato,’ Rhadamistus greeted him cheerfully. ‘How are the preparations going?’

  ‘We’ll be ready before first light, Majesty.’

  ‘I cannot wait to see my enemies pulverised by your siege engines.’

  ‘Their walls won’t last long. I intend to give them a good pounding before I ask for their surrender. I don’t imagine they’ll be keen for the bombardment to continue.’

  ‘Surrender?’ Rhadamistus edged his horse closer to Cato and loomed over him as he spoke in a low, urgent tone. ‘Why give them the chance to live? Those are the scum who drove me from my throne. They deserve to die, if only to set an example to any who pass by the fort. Let no one doubt what fate awaits them if they dare defy King Rhadamistus.’

  The vehemence in his voice took Cato aback and he had to think quickly before he replied in an emollient tone. ‘Majesty, if they surrender then we will have no need to risk any of our men in an attack.’

  ‘They are soldiers, Tribune Cato. Your men, and mine. They need to be tested so that they are ready for greater challenges when we march deep into Armenia. Their blood is up, and they want to get at the enemy. If we let the enemy surrender, then our men will feel cheated.’

  ‘What they may feel is immaterial. As long as they obey my orders,’ Cato insisted.

  ‘Your men, maybe. My warriors are less cowed by discipline and wish to prove themselves. There will be no surrender. That is my command. The command of a king.’

  Cato had known this moment would come at some point. His ally was headstrong and proud and no doubt did not relish having to go and beg for Rome’s support in his bid to return to his throne. But Corbulo’s orders were clear. Whatever Rhadamistus might think, or desire, Cato was in command of the column, and that needed to be established here and now with certainty, so that his authority would not be challenged again before the mission was complete.

  Cato cleared his throat, e
ased his shoulders back and looked up at the other man unflinchingly, his bluff ready. ‘Majesty, when you sit on your throne again, then you are king. Until then I have been charged by General Corbulo, in the name of the emperor, to do whatever it takes to ensure that you become king. That entails being the overall commander of our combined forces. If, in my judgement, your actions make it impossible for me to carry out my orders, then I will simply turn my men round and march back to Syria, with my siege engines. In which case, I think you may struggle to win back your kingdom by yourself.’

  Rhadamistus was silent for a moment before he whispered harshly, ‘You dare to defy me?’

  ‘Majesty, I do not wish to defy you, but if you force my hand then I will do as I say, without hesitation.’

  ‘Your emperor will crucify you when I tell him about this.’

  ‘That may be, but you will have to make your case in person if you wish to resolve the matter as speedily as possible, and by then you will have wasted another year, maybe two, and it will be even harder to displace Tiridates the next time you march against him. Would it not be better to work with me now and win your throne before this year is out?’

  Bathed by the light of the half-moon, Rhadamistus’s features looked like an anguished marble sculpture, then his lips pressed into a thin line and he nodded, barely enough for the gesture to register. ‘Very well.’

  ‘You accept that I am in command?’

  ‘Until the throne is mine. After that I shall back in command and you will do my bidding without question.’

  ‘As you do mine until then?’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Then the matter is settled. I will offer them a chance to surrender.’

  ‘And if they refuse?’ Rhadamistus asked.

  Cato shrugged. ‘Then there will be no quarter.’

  ‘Good. And if they accept? What then?’

  ‘Then I shall have them returned to Antioch to sell into slavery as spoils of war, while we march on into Armenia.’

  Rhadamistus considered this briefly and nodded. ‘That is good. I accept your proposal.’