‘I was thinking the same thing. You’d think that Tiridates would want to attempt some kind of harassing action to unsettle our men before they reach the capital. That’s what I’d do in his place.’
‘Perhaps he’s as cocky as our friend over there.’ Macro nodded to the last of the trees lining the road, where Rhadamistus was sitting with his cronies, feasting on some snacks his slaves had set out for them. ‘Maybe Tiridates thinks the city walls will keep us out.’
Cato shook his head. ‘I think we can be certain he knows about our siege weapons. And from what Rhadamistus told us, the walls are no stronger than those of Ligea. So it’s surprising that he hasn’t harassed us all the way from the river. At some point his men were bound to get in amongst the wagons of the siege train and have the chance to burn some, if not all, of our onagers. Then we’d have had no hope of breaching the walls of Artaxata. Not without digging mines under the towers, and you know how long that can take.’ Cato rubbed his jaw. ‘It’s a puzzle all right. I’d love to know what the Parthians are up to . . . Better double the watch on the ramparts tonight. And have Nicolis’s century on stand-to behind the rampart.’
‘You think that’s necessary, sir?’
Cato thought a moment. ‘Best to be safe, since we know the enemy must be up to something. I’d rather be cautious and not need to be, than need to exercise caution and fail to do so.’
Macro blinked as he digested this and made a neutral grunt. ‘I’ll let Nicolis know.’
They were silent for a moment, each giving himself to an interior train of thoughts. Macro was thinking about the end of the campaign. Once the Armenian capital was taken and Rhadamistus was securely back on the throne then the Second Cohort would return to Syria and he would see Petronella again. Macro smiled. He had never felt this way about any woman before, not even that fierce Iceni lass he had briefly been involved with. Petronella was bold and held her own in an exchange with any woman or man who crossed her path. And smart too. Perhaps too much so, as often she was at least one step ahead of Macro. And fierce as a lioness when she needed to be . . . And in bed as well. Now don’t let yourself be thinking of that again, he mentally chided himself. The truth of it was she was a good friend too. They laughed at the same things and could match each other drink for drink.
He took a healthy swig from his canteen and fixed his attention on the routine duties he must carry out when the column halted and made camp.
Cato’s thoughts were of a more anxious and sinister kind as he fixed his gaze on Rhadamistus and his entourage. He had never been comfortable in the Iberian’s company, even before Bernisha’s revelation about his responsibility for the death of Petillius and his men. Since then, being in the presence of Rhadamistus made him feel sick with suppressed anger and anxiety. He feared giving himself away and becoming a target for the Iberian’s scheming. And there was Cato’s wider concern for his men, given what Rhadamistus had proven himself capable of. At present he needed the Romans to back up his claim to the throne. But once he was safely installed in Artaxata, what then? Would he be content to allow them to return across the frontier, or would he demand that they remain as his ‘guests’?
The longer Cato was forced to remain, the greater the risk that Rhadamistus would discover what he knew. He was desperate to complete the mission and quit Armenia as soon as possible. If there had not been so much at stake, then he would have taken his own revenge and nothing would have given him greater satisfaction than putting Rhadamistus to death in the same way that the Iberian had killed Cato’s soldiers.
It was a pity, he thought. There was as much to admire about Rhadamistus as there was to despise. He was bold and brave and led from the front. He was also ambitious, ruthless and cunning – fine qualities for any despot, Cato supposed. But the same qualities made him perilous for any person who dared to thwart his ambition. Such were the rulers that Rome was required to treat with in order to maintain the balance of power over her vast empire and sprawling frontier. At times Cato was astonished that Rome could exercise such influence with a relatively modest number of soldiers, even allowing for the weight of her reputation in the minds of her allies and enemies. They could be sure that if Rome entered into an alliance, then she would never permit an ally to be worsted. On that guarantee her reputation hung. That was why it was Cato’s duty to ensure that Rhadamistus triumphed over Tiridates and his Parthians, and why he must bear the burden of knowing about the treachery of Rome’s ally. For the present, at least.
He stirred and rose stiffly to his feet. ‘It’s time to move on. Have the assembly signal sounded.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Macro stood, slipped the canteen strap over his shoulder and went to find the cohort’s bucina player amongst the fringe of trees. A moment later a series of brassy notes cut across the gentle hubbub of conversation and there was a rumble of groans as the Praetorians and auxiliaries climbed to their feet, took up their marching yokes and shuffled back into formation along the road. Cato crossed over to the soldier holding his horse and swung himself up into the saddle. Further along, Rhadamistus and his followers were only just stirring, and their leader paused to finish a goblet of wine at a languid pace before he rose to his feet and led the way to their horses. The Roman soldiers and the Iberian spearmen watched them impatiently until they had all mounted and walked their horses to the head of the column. When they were finally in position, Cato pointed to the bucina player.
‘Sound the advance.’
The following evening, once the camp’s fortifications had been completed, the rampart was lined with curious soldiers anxious to survey the defences of the Armenian capital less than a quarter of a mile away. Artaxata was constructed in the loop of a minor river, just wide and deep enough to provide a useful natural defence on two sides of the city. While it served to make Artaxata easier to defend, it also meant that it was easier to contain the defenders as well. Macro and Cato climbed on to the platform above the gate that faced the city. The sun was still above the horizon and the long shadows of the rampart stretched out across the open ground towards the wall that surrounded Artaxata. Around the city he could make out Rhadamistus’s mounted patrols sent out to discourage any attempts to escape from the capital. Like many cities, it had outgrown its defences and a handful of neighbourhoods were clustered along the main routes leading out of it. Some attempt had been made to demolish the buildings nearest the walls to deny the attackers any shelter within bowshot of the wall, but there was still plenty of cover, Cato noted, as he pointed out some structures near the main gate.
‘We’ll get men into those tonight and fortify them. From there the slingers can keep the enemy’s heads down while we start the siegeworks.’
Macro nodded. ‘I have to say I’m surprised that the Parthians seem to be gifting us the chance to establish bastions so close to the wall. And given the height of the city’s battlements we could easily build up to the same level and sweep the walls clear of defenders before an assault is made. Makes you wonder what kind of fool is in command over there. Unless it’s supposed to be a trap of some kind.’
Cato scanned the buildings and the ground around them closely before he replied: ‘I don’t see how it could be a trap. But we’ll find out when we go in tonight.’
‘ I assume that means you’ll be leading the party?’
Cato looked at him sharply. ‘Yes, what of it?’
Macro was not happy raising the subject, and sucked in a breath through his teeth before he continued. ‘After Ligea, it might be best if you stayed back. The men need you, sir.’
‘I was not myself at Ligea,’ Cato said quietly. ‘I was deceived, I . . .’
‘Deceived?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Cato hurriedly collected his thoughts. ‘As I said, I was not myself. But I am recovered now and ready to lead my men into action again. Given what happened to Glabius, I think I have ground to make up in their eyes.’
Macro shook his head. ‘You have nothing to prove. It’s true
that they were brooding over the execution, but that’s just soldiers for you. But they’ve put that behind them. You saw how they were these last few days. Raring to get stuck in. And what they need is to know that the man commanding them is the best man for the job. That’s you, lad. I’d be a poor replacement.’
Cato smiled. ‘No you wouldn’t, brother. Anyway, I’ve decided. I will be leading the party. I need to see their defences close up.’
‘As you wish, sir,’ Macro conceded. ‘It’s your funeral.’
‘Trust me, I’ll be careful.’
The ladder beneath the watchtower creaked and a moment later Narses climbed on to the platform, breathing hard. Cato regarded him coldly, briefly wondering how far the courtier was complicit in his master’s actions.
Narses bowed his head before he spoke. ‘His Majesty requests your company for a feast tonight, to celebrate our arrival at his capital. You and Centurion Macro, sir.’
‘A feast?’ Macro rubbed his hands together. ‘And why not? Best way to mark the end of a long march, I always say.’
‘Do you?’ Cato arched an eyebrow, then considered the invitation. ‘At what hour?’
‘At sunset, sir.’
This far into the summer the days were long, but there would be plenty of time to eat and then organise the men for the night’s operation, Cato decided. But he’d need to make sure he did not drink heavily, or overeat. And if he refused the invitation then he risked causing offence.
‘Tell His Majesty we would be delighted to attend.’
Narses looked relieved and nodded quickly. ‘I will tell him at once, sir.’
With that he swung himself back on to the ladder and hurried down and away before Cato could change his mind.
The Iberian encampment was livelier than ever before. Some of the soldiers had taken out the wooden instruments they called duduks and were playing in pairs, one man droning an almost constant low note while his companion blew the notes of the main song, and others joined in by humming along as they shared their food and wine around the campfires. It was quite different to the raucous laughter and ribald doggerel coming from the Roman tents, Cato noted curiously. Allies they might be, for now, but their language and culture were as alien as those of any far-flung barbarian.
Somewhere, during the march from the river, Rhadamistus had managed to obtain more luxurious accommodation and was able to entertain at least fifty guests in comfort inside the largest tent. As Cato and Macro entered he greeted them with a broad smile and indicated the cushions in the place of honour to his right.
‘Welcome, my friends! Welcome. Be seated.’
Cato bowed his head, and Macro followed suit as his friend answered formally: ‘We thank you, Majesty, for the invitation and—’
‘Spare yourself the polite protocol, my friends. We are all comrades in arms here. Tonight we dine as brothers on the eve of battle. Once those Parthian dogs are cut down Artaxata will be mine, and my beloved Zenobia will be at my side once again. Come, sit and eat with us.’
The two Roman officers did as they were bid, settling on to the fine material of the soft cushions. Another recent purchase, Cato guessed, and almost obscenely comfortable compared to the thin bedroll stuffed with horsehair that lay across his campaign bed. Servants hurried through a side flap and set an array of dishes and two flasks of wine in front of them. Macro eyed the spread hungrily then reached for a dish of lamb cutlets before pausing guiltily to wait for his superior to start eating first. Cato was mindful of his plans for later that night and plucked a small glazed loaf from a basket and nibbled the corner.
Rhadamistus laughed. ‘Why, Tribune, someone might think you were afraid I was trying to poison you! If you would like my taster to sample your dishes before you eat, I’d be happy to oblige.’
Cato shook his head. ‘I apologise, Majesty. It’s just that Roman soldiers are not used to such fine foods while on campaign. We believe that our soldiers march further and fight better on plain fare. Is that not so, Centurion?’
Macro eyed the lamb and a basket of figs sorrowfully before he reached for a loaf from the same bowl that Cato had chosen from and agreed, in Greek for their host’s benefit: ‘That’s right, sir. Although, of course, when in Armenia, and all that.’
‘A very healthy attitude!’ Rhadamistus nodded. ‘I see you have spotted the spiced lamb. A true delicacy of this region. You must try it.’
Macro grinned cheerfully, while steadfastly refusing to meet Cato’s stern glare. ‘Indeed I will, Your Majesty!’
He popped one of the larger chunks of lamb in his mouth and chewed vigorously for a moment, before his jaw stopped working and then hung open as he muttered, ‘Spiced? The bloody thing’s on fire.’ He swallowed carefully, then poured a goblet of wine and downed it swiftly before pouring another as sweat pricked out from his brow.
Cato clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Centurion Macro is just demonstrating why Roman soldiers need to maintain a plain diet, Majesty.’
Rhadamistus chuckled as he leaned forward and helped himself to a chunk of mutton and chewed happily as he stared Macro straight in the eye. ‘Perhaps our food is sometimes too much of a challenge for those with a more delicate palate. Never mind, Centurion. Stick to the bread, just like Tribune Cato, eh?’
Macro scowled slightly as he looked away and drew cooling air over his still tingling lips.
‘How will you open the siege tomorrow?’ Rhadamistus directed his question at Cato.
Cato swallowed the mouthful of bread he was chewing thoughtfully and cleared his throat. He had already decided not to brief the Iberian on the night action as he did not trust his host to be discreet. If word spread, and reached the enemy, then the Parthians might have the opportunity to set a trap, or at the very least to launch a spoiling attack. It was better to seize the outlying buildings under cover of darkness and inform Rhadamistus in the morning.
‘Majesty, the first step will be to send a herald forward to demand the surrender of the city. I suggest that you offer the people of Artaxata clemency in return for opening the gates to you.’
‘Clemency? I would sooner deal with them in the same manner we dealt with those treacherous dogs in Ligea. It is a pity that I cannot kill all my enemies.’
Cato stifled his anger at the memory at being manipulated into the destruction of Ligea and forced himself to respond in a neutral tone. ‘As a general principle, it is better for a king to at least spare some of those he intends to rule. So it would be best to offer clemency.’
‘And if the people of Artaxata refuse to take advantage of my generosity? What then?’
‘Then we do as we did at Ligea. We use the siege weapons to batter our way into the city. Then we kill Tiridates and his Parthians and place you on the throne.’
‘You make it sound engagingly simple, Tribune.’
‘It is simple enough in principle, Majesty, but of course it will entail a considerable amount of digging to throw up fortifications for our siege weapons. Fortunately, that is what Roman soldiers are good at, even if they are not particularly enamoured of the hard work and danger that go with it.’
‘I can imagine.’
Cato paused a moment before he came back with the question he wished to put to Rhadamistus. ‘And you, Majesty. What are your intentions once you have recovered your throne? What do you intend to do in order to secure your position?’
Rhadamistus regarded the Roman officer shrewdly. ‘I imagine that my friends in Rome would prefer that I exercise moderation in order to win the affection of my people. We have already discussed this, you and I, and my position is clear and unchanged. The people need to be cowed into obedience, so that they obey my will as swiftly and unthinkingly as a whipped cur obeys its master. There are many in Armenia who are ill-disposed to me. Those I already know of and those whose hearts are not yet known to me. The former, I will hunt down and kill, so that the latter may be spared, if they learn by example. If not, then they too will be eliminated.’
‘I see,’ Cato responded thoughtfully. ‘And how will Your Majesty determine what is in the hearts of others? If they have a mind to hide their feelings, that is. How will you know if a person is ill-disposed towards you if they do not profess it? Surely there is a risk that you might execute a loyal subject?’
‘That is true . . .’ Rhadamistus pursed his lips. ‘But that is a risk I am willing for them to take.’
Cato puffed.
‘You disapprove, Tribune?’
‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove of the actions of a king. I merely carry out the orders dictated to me by my superiors.’
Rhadamistus smiled slightly. ‘Nevertheless, I sense you disapprove. Still. Even after your actions at Ligea? At the time, it seemed to me that you embraced the notion of the punitive example meted out to the townspeople.’
Cato felt his guts churn with anger and sudden bitter hatred for the Iberian and it required every strained sinew of his self-control to conceal his true feelings. It took him several heartbeats before he spoke in a flat tone: ‘What happened at Ligea was unfortunate. I will not let it happen again, Majesty.’
‘Are you saying we were wrong to do as we did?’
‘I admit that it seems to have produced a certain amount of useful trepidation so far . . . But I would urge you to consider very carefully how you act when the throne is yours once again.’
Rhadamistus struggled to restrain himself as he composed a reply. When he did speak, there was no mistaking the cold disdain in his voice. ‘Rome is my ally. Your emperor is my friend. And you, Tribune Cato, I respect. However, I find your advice somewhat presumptuous. You are a mere cohort commander, a soldier. You are not a ruler of a kingdom, as I am. Statecraft is my area of expertise, not yours, and I would be grateful if you remember that in future, before you consider offering me any such advice.’
‘Majesty, you asked me for my opinion about what happened at Ligea. I merely offered a soldier’s view, but I will desist in offering opinions about such matters from now on, as you command.’ Cato brushed the crumbs from his tunic and rose to his feet. ‘I thank you for your hospitality, but I have preparations to make for the opening of the siege at first light. With your permission?’ He gestured towards the entrance to the tent.
The Blood of Rome Page 29