The Blood of Rome

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘A fine morning, Tribune Cato,’ she said sweetly.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and sat up, regarding her warily. ‘It was, until a moment ago.’

  She affected a hurt look. ‘I hardly think such an ill-mannered comment is justified.’

  ‘Look here, I am tired of your games, and you cannot play me as you do your husband.’

  ‘Is that so? I seem to recall that I managed to persuade you to bring me into your tent . . . and your bed.’

  Cato frowned. ‘That was a mistake. I shan’t make it again.’

  He glanced round.

  ‘If you are looking for my king, he is still asleep, or was, when I left him but a moment ago. I know how to exhaust a man.’ She shot him a coquettish look before she continued. ‘So we can talk in peace.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

  Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down beside him and covered his hand with hers. Cato shook it off angrily. ‘Enough!’

  ‘Very well.’ Her expression hardened. ‘I will not play any games with you for the moment. But I must ask your opinion on something. Speak freely or not, as you will.’

  Cato’s chest heaved in a bitter sigh. ‘What is it?’

  Zenobia folded her hands in her lap and thought a moment before she spoke in a low voice. ‘I do not understand why we are being held here. What reason could Pharasmanes have for keeping us waiting? Why not just send for Rhadamistus at once? I fear that he does not trust his son.’

  ‘Can you blame him? And after all that you, and he, have put me and my men through, I can’t find it within myself to trust you either. I’d sooner trust a scorpion.’

  ‘That is uncalled for, Tribune.’

  ‘I beg to differ. I have known you and Rhadamistus long enough to realise just how calculating and dangerous you both are. King Pharasmanes must have an even deeper understanding of the treacherous nature of his son. If I were him, I would not permit Rhadamistus free movement within Iberia. He’s already proved himself capable of betraying and murdering his uncle in Armenia. It is not such a large step to take from murdering one member of his family to murdering another. I’d rather Rhadamistus was somewhere contained, and where I could keep an eye on him.’

  Zenobia looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Then you are saying that this place is to be our prison?’

  ‘It seems that way.’

  Her shoulders sagged fractionally as she took this in. ‘You echo my thoughts, Cato.’

  There was a brief silence between them before Cato spoke again. ‘The question that I am asking myself is why my men and I are being kept here with you.’

  ‘Yes . . . I wondered that. Now that you have brought us to Iskerbalis there is nothing to stop you returning to your cohort.’

  ‘I am sure King Pharasmanes has a good reason. I hope we’ll discover what it is soon. I tire of such hospitality very easily.’

  She smiled at his ironic tone. ‘Yes. We’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure.’

  The answer came later the same day, at dusk, as there was a sudden commotion in the street outside the governor’s villa, with the sound of a large group of horses drawing up and shouted exchanges in the local tongue. Cato was in the library and set down the scroll he was reading to step out on to the terrace to investigate. One side looked over the large courtyard at the front of the building and he saw several servants dashing about, and then the governor hurrying to the doors that opened on to the street. When the servants were in position around the edge of the courtyard and his guards lined up on either side of the door, the governor gave a nod to his major-domo and the man slipped the large iron latch and swung the doors inwards. Light flooded the entrance from the street outside and then shadows fell across the mosaic floor, followed by a score of soldiers in green tunics and black cuirasses. They filed to the sides and there was a pause as another shadow appeared, and then a tall man entered. He wore simple blue robes and a gold diadem with a large ruby mounted above his forehead, holding back his grey hair. At his entrance all but his guards went down on their knees, including the governor. There was a brief exchange before the governor climbed to his feet and led the king in the direction of the wing of the villa used for official matters.

  Cato went downstairs into the garden and saw that his men were in a group muttering anxiously at the commotion.

  ‘It’s the Iberian king, lads. He’s finally arrived to fetch his son. With luck we’ll soon be on our way back to rejoin the rest of the cohort.’

  That brought some looks of relief and a few smiles. One of the men puffed his cheeks. ‘We’ve been wondering how long we’d be kept here, sir. Been starting to feel like prisoners, if you know what I mean?’

  Cato nodded. ‘Although, as prisons go, it’s not so bad.’

  ‘You speaking from experience there, sir?’ another soldier piped up.

  ‘No.’ Cato wagged a finger. ‘And if you ask me questions like that again, Guardsman Plautius, you will be.’

  The men laughed and he was pleased to see that their anxiousness had gone. ‘Stay here, lads, I’ll go and see what’s up.’

  Cato turned and headed towards the entrance to the corridor leading through the house. As he emerged into the courtyard he saw Rhadamistus and Zenobia angrily confronting the captain of the royal bodyguards. The latter was impassive, and he and his men refused to give way as they blocked the entrance to the wing of the house where the governor and king had gone shortly before. They turned at the sound of Cato’s boots crossing the courtyard and Rhadamistus gestured towards the armed men with a look of contempt.

  ‘These dogs refuse to let me see my father! I’ll have them flogged when he finds out about this outrage.’

  Cato noted that Zenobia looked far more subdued, and there was a calculating expression in her eyes as she stood to one side.

  Even though Rhadamistus was no longer a king, he was still susceptible to arrogance, Cato decided, ‘I am sure there is a good reason for it, Majesty. These men are only obeying orders. It would be wrong to insist they be punished.’

  A month earlier, Rhadamistus might have flown into a rage at such thwarting of his will, but defeat and the loss of his throne had humbled him to a degree, and after a moment’s reflection he sighed. ‘You are right, Tribune. I will not have them punished, on this occasion.’

  He stepped aside and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘My father will be delighted to see me again. To see us both.’ He smiled at Zenobia. ‘He always told me that he thought you a beautiful and intelligent woman.’

  She smiled back, as if with pleasure at the flattery, but Cato saw that it was no more than a perfunctory expression.

  ‘The king will welcome us to his court. He will find me new soldiers to make new conquests for the glory of our royal line. In time, I will be a king again. And I will not forget your loyalty, Tribune, nor the debt of gratitude I owe to Rome, despite how things turned out.’ He drew himself up. ‘I am a man who is loyal to his allies.’

  Cato was struck by his defiant, superior tone. Had he forgotten all that Cato said to him in the camp before the surrender? Was it that he did not guess how perilous his predicament was? Were his confidence and arrogance such that he truly believed King Pharasmanes would welcome him like a doting father and heap further honours and opportunities upon him? Or was it simply bravado, intended to conceal the fear and uncertainty gnawing at his heart?

  Cato forced himself to bow his head in gratitude. ‘I am delighted to hear it, Majesty.’

  A voice called from down the corridor and Cato saw the governor standing at the entrance to his modest audience chamber, beckoning to the captain of the guard. With the armed men on both sides, Rhadamistus, Zenobia and Cato were escorted into the presence of King Pharasmanes. The chamber was no more than forty feet across and there was no dais, or throne-like chair, merely a marble-topped table and a carved wooden seat behind, from where the king regarded those he had summoned. His guards filed into the chamber and
stood on either side, as if to emphasise that the three were prisoners.

  The king’s gaze fixed on Cato as he addressed him in Greek. ‘It is important that you understand what I have to say. The governor tells me you speak Greek well.’

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  ‘That is good.’ The king turned his dark eyes to Rhadamistus. ‘It warms my heart to see you, my son.’

  Rhadamistus smiled and took a step forward: ‘Father, I—’

  Two of the guards lowered their spears to stop him approaching any nearer to the king. There was a heavy silence as Rhadamistus’s jaw hung slackly, then the king rose stiffly and made his way round the table to stand a short distance in front of his son. Up close, Cato could see that his face was heavily lined and his sunken eyes were grey and glinted like silver. His lips lifted in a smile as he spoke. ‘You were always my favourite child. From the moment your mother presented you to me. You were bold as an infant, always first to say what you were thinking, first in every race you ran. And years later the best student my swordmaster ever taught. You rode like you were born in the saddle. So strong, so handsome, so loved by all and so feared by some. Rhadamistus, no father could be more proud of your qualities.’

  He reached out and rested his wrinkled hands on his son’s shoulders and then drew Rhadamistus forward to kiss him on the forehead before he embraced him. He held his son for a moment and over Rhadamistus’s shoulder Cato thought he saw the glimmer of tears in the old man’s eye. Then, abruptly, the king drew back and retreated a pace and his expression became stern. ‘I rightly praise your qualities. But there are also faults in your character, chief amongst them ambition. Long before you had grown into manhood I knew that you desired to take my place on the throne of Iberia. But you swore loyalty to me and were content to wait for me to grow old and die. But I grew older and did not die, and your impatience was there to see. That is why I gave you soldiers to go and take Armenia for your own and slake your thirst to rule. It was that, or regard you as a rival for the Iberian crown.’ He paused and shook his head sadly. ‘But you proved yourself unfit to rule and were forced to flee and go and beg Rome for help to reclaim Armenia. And that was when I finally accepted that your ambition overruled all other considerations. You are not to be trusted, Rhadamistus. You are treacherous and you are dangerous. Such men are not fit to be kings, and if they are not content with what else life has to offer, then they are not fit to live.’

  Rhadamistus’s eyes widened in dread. ‘Father, my king, I am your servant. I swear on my life that I am a loyal son.’

  ‘You are no man’s servant but your own. I am sorry, my son. My child. You leave me no choice. I am not safe while you live. Nor are your brothers or sisters.’

  Rhadamistus clasped his hands together. ‘I beg you. Give me a chance to prove my loyalty.’

  ‘You have had plenty of chances. More than any man has a right to expect.’

  Rhadamistus turned towards Zenobia and stabbed a finger at her. ‘She made me this way! It was her, always her, filling my mind with whispers and promises of things to be. Scheming, always scheming.’

  Cato saw the shocked expression in her face, and then fear and then cold fury, all in a heartbeat, as her lips twisted into a sneer. ‘You accuse me of scheming? Me? I was as loyal to you as you never were to your father. If I schemed, then it was only because I was forced to.’

  ‘You lie! I never forced you. Father, she lies!’

  ‘Quiet, you fool,’ she snapped. ‘Yes, fool . . . Too stupid to see that the king has already decided your fate. Too stupid to realise you would have achieved nothing without me cajoling you into doing what was necessary, and constantly battling to prevent your cruel nature undoing all that I had made you achieve.’ She shook her head. ‘It is all over now. Majesty, it is true what you say. Your son has a bad soul, and I did all that I could to guide him to what was right. If I have done wrong, it was only in trying to make Rhadamistus do what was best for him, and you. I do not deserve to share his fate. I beg for mercy.’

  Rhadamistus trembled with rage at her words. Then before anyone could react, he sprang at her. She turned, her mouth opened to scream, but only a gasp escaped her lips. Cato dashed forward and slammed his fist into Rhadamistus’s jaw. The Iberian prince staggered back, dazed, and two of the guards quickly took his arms and pinned them behind his back. In his hand was a small dagger with a fine blade, smeared crimson. Cato turned to Zenobia. She looked down and saw a red blotch spreading across her tunic.

  ‘He stabbed me . . .’ she said softly with a look of stunned surprise. Then she stumbled back and sank to the ground. Cato hurried to her side, unwinding his neckcloth. There was a neat hole in the blood-drenched cloth and he pulled it apart to reveal her skin. He wiped the blood aside and saw the entry wound briefly, before more blood welled up out of it. Turning her he saw another hole and realised that the blade had only pierced flesh and muscle and not damaged any organs. He tore his neckcloth into two and pressed the bundles into the wounds, making Zenobia cry out.

  ‘You’ll probably live,’ he said. ‘Just a flesh wound.’

  Cato looked up and saw the shocked expression on the king’s face as he regarded the injured woman, then his wild-eyed son. He swallowed and took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he spoke.

  ‘Prince Rhadamistus, I sentence you to death . . .’

  ‘For what reason?’ his son demanded.

  ‘Does it matter? Given all that has been said here.’ The king shrugged. ‘Very well, then. Plotting against your king, murder of your uncle. Attempted murder of your wife. Those alone are sufficient reasons.’ Pharasmanes turned to the captain of the guard and issued brief instructions. Before Rhadamistus could protest again he was dragged from the room and down the corridor out of sight. Cato could hear him struggling and cursing the guards as he went, fighting until the very end. There was a final pitiful shriek.

  ‘Father!’

  Then silence.

  King Pharasmanes closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists for a moment, then sighed heavily as he turned to Cato.

  ‘Tribune, you will take his head back to Artaxata to show the people. You will tell them that I will leave Armenia in peace. When you eventually return to Rome, tell your emperor that I humbly suggest he does the same. No good will ever come of wasting so many lives and treasure attempting to win power over Armenia. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand, Majesty. But I cannot speak for the emperor.’

  King Pharasmanes stroked his creased brow. ‘I have heard that the new emperor is no more than a boy. I hope he is wise beyond his years, for the good of us all. Neither Rome nor any other kingdom can long endure a foolish braggart running its affairs . . . Take my son’s head and make your preparations to leave at once. You Romans are not welcome in Iberia. Begone.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Tarsus, October

  The change of season was evident in the leaves falling from the trees in the walled gardens of Tarsus and carried into the streets by the cool breeze. The men of the two cohorts Cato had led into Armenia were setting up camp under Macro’s watchful eye while Cato entered the city to report to General Corbulo. He had taken the time to think carefully about it before committing himself to a written record. The mission had been a failure insofar as the man Rome had sent to rule Armenia was dead and the kingdom was in the hands of a group of rebel nobles who had yet to choose a successor. Despite their protestations of neutrality there was no guarantee that the next king would decide to be an ally of Rome. And if, instead, he chose to align himself with Parthia, then Armenia would once again know war. The mission’s failure was compounded by the losses suffered by the two cohorts, as well as the destruction of the siege weapons. The fact that they had been destroyed rather than allowed to fall into Armenian hands was not likely to win Cato any approval.

  When he reached the general’s headquarters Cato was informed that Corbulo was out hunting in the hills and was not expected back before
nightfall. Cato handed over his written report and told the clerk where he could be found and then left the building to make for the silversmith’s house near the Forum. Despite the prospect of being reunited with his son, Cato’s heart was heavy as he strode through the streets with Cassius’s leash in his hands. The dog was much improved in appearance since the time Cato had adopted him. Most of his fur had grown back over the bald patches and now covered his scars. There was nothing that could be done about his missing ear and it lent him a lopsided appearance which might have occasioned laughter had he been a smaller animal and not looked quite so ferocious. As it was, people steered well clear of him as they passed the Roman officer and his shaggy beast.

  Cato was oblivious to the impression he and Cassius were making. His thoughts were deeply troubled. Corbulo’s disapproval would be relayed to Rome and Cato had little doubt that his failure to bring Armenia back into the Roman sphere of influence would be seized on by his enemies in the palace to strip him of his command of the Second Cohort. That would leave him languishing in Rome, waiting for a new posting. But with several officers of similar rank and greater experience vying for each vacancy there was little prospect of an appointment to a new command.

  He crossed the Forum and turned the corner into the street where the silversmith had his small workshop and house. His heart rose at the familiar sight and he smiled to himself as he strode up to the door of the house. He stopped outside in the street and leaned down to fondle Cassius’s good ear. The dog wagged his tail happily.

  ‘Now then, boy, you are going to cause a bit of a stir when we go inside. No biting. Or jumping up. You’re likely to flatten Lucius, and likely to get flattened by Petronella if you try it on her. Licking is fine, provided you don’t drown anybody in that stinking drool of yours. Do you understand?’

  The dog looked up at him blankly and then gave his tail another wag as if to test the water. Cato smiled. ‘You’re right. I’m just trying to put the moment off. Come on then.’