CHAPTER FIVE
There was little sign of life anywhere in the house as Cato slipped out of the door just after dawn. After Corbulo had left, the drinking had continued well into the night, with most of the guests joining in a dice game that Macro had insisted on, now that the general had provided him with a handsome fortune to stake. Fortunately, Petronella had taken the box from him and counted out sufficient coins to let her husband enjoy himself without risking profligate foolishness. Fortuna had decided to bless the newly-wed, and Macro made handsome returns on his betting all night, emptying the purses of most of the other officers until Cato called an end to the game before anyone was tempted to make any wagers based on promises. He knew from experience that that sort of debt between soldiers created bad will and lingering resentment, something he would not tolerate in his cohort. And so, with Centurion Nicolis slung over the burly shoulder of his optio, the officers had noisily made their farewells before stumbling outside and weaving their way down the street back to their billets by the light of the stars. The last of the civilian guests followed in their wake, the wives clucking irritably at their husbands’ drunken state and light purses.
Cato, still sober enough to take charge, closed the door behind them before returning to the garden to find Macro fast asleep on his couch, one arm curled around the bowl containing his winnings. Fetching his cloak from its peg in his room, he covered his friend up and looked down on him with a smile.
‘It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?’
Turning, Cato made out Petronella standing at the opening to the corridor that led back into the house. He nodded. ‘So it has. You want me to move Macro into your room?’
She came forward, and he saw that she had removed the tie from her stola so that it hung straight down from her shoulders. She stopped at his side and gazed at her husband for a moment until Macro suddenly snorted and smacked his lips before rolling onto his back. A moment later, he was snoring; a deep, steady nasal rumble.
‘No, I think he can stay here for the night, the state he’s in.’
‘Not quite the wedding night you imagined, eh?’
She chuckled good-naturedly. ‘It’s exactly the wedding night I imagined, knowing him as I do. He’ll make up for it, if he knows what’s good for him.’
Given what the general had said, Cato was not sure how much of a chance his friend was going to have to placate his new wife before duty called him away. He decided it might be best not to say anything until he had spoken to Corbulo. Let them enjoy what time they had together while they could, without the moment being clouded by anxiety over their separation.
‘He knows how good you are for him, Petronella. Trust me. Once you settle down in Britannia, I’m sure you’ll not find a better man to be with.’ Cato clicked his tongue. ‘His mother, on the other hand . . .’
Petronella shot him a sharp look. ‘I think I can handle her.’
‘I’m sure you can.’ He laughed. ‘I can picture Macro now, caught between the two of you. He’ll be running off to the nearest recruiting officer first chance he gets. Better a barbarian horde than the barbed tongues of the two women dearest to his heart.’
Petronella did not share his humour. ‘Do you really think so? Would he really prefer to stay in the army?’
‘I was joking. He wants to be with you more than anything.’
‘And what about you? He’ll miss you, I know it.’
Cato’s first response was to make some dismissive remark, but then he thought better of it. He owed Petronella the truth. He cleared his throat softly before he responded. ‘To be honest, there is no soldier I’d rather have guarding my back. Macro’s been there from the moment I first joined up. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have been dead long ago. He taught me almost everything I know about soldiering. But I’ll cope without him. And I wish you both all the happiness you can find.’
‘Thank you, master.’
They exchanged a quick look at her use of the term, and then she shook her head. ‘I’m still not used to it. And it’ll be hard to leave young Lucius as well.’
‘He’ll miss you.’
‘I hope you’re not angry with me . . .’
‘Angry?’ Cato shook his head. ‘Why would I be angry?’
Petronella looked down at Macro again. ‘I feel like I’m taking him away from you, and from Lucius. Taking him away from where he belongs.’
‘He belongs with you now.’ Cato reached out and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. ‘Look after him, eh?’
They shared a smile, and then Cato turned and walked away. As he reached the door to his room, he paused to look back and saw that Petronella had sat down on the couch and was gently stroking Macro’s brow. He felt a pang of guilt as he wondered what General Corbulo might have in store for them come the morning.
There were few clerks and staff officers about at the merchant’s house that Corbulo used as his headquarters. The duty Praetorians from Porcino’s century snapped smartly to attention at Cato’s approach, and they exchanged a salute as he entered the building.
The general’s office was on the second floor, overlooking the formal gardens at the rear of the house. Cato was asked to wait outside while Corbulo’s secretary announced his arrival. There was one other man in the anteroom: a wiry-looking individual, completely bald, dressed in a simple black tunic, who was leaning against the wall next to the window, examining a flute. Cato took him for some kind of entertainer. The man glanced up and looked Cato over briefly before they exchanged a nod.
The secretary emerged from the general’s office and stood to one side. ‘Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo will see you now, sir.’
The general was sitting at his desk reading a scroll. ‘A moment, please.’ He raised a finger as he quickly finished the document, and then sat back in his chair, sliding the scroll to one side. ‘Good morning to you, Tribune. Take a seat. I trust you are not feeling the effects of last night’s drinking.’
‘I’m fine, sir.’
‘Then you have a firmer constitution than I.’ Corbulo smiled. ‘But then, you have youth on your side.’
Cato nodded briefly, not willing to admit that he had not had much to drink. He disliked being drunk and losing control of his faculties. He disliked hangovers even more. But he was aware that such notions might be regarded as unmanly by most hardened veterans. Such as the man sitting at the desk.
‘You’ll recall what I said last night about needing to buy myself some more time.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The army is not ready to invade Parthia, Tribune. Not nearly ready enough. Discipline is poor in some units. Many of the men are not fit enough for hard campaigning.’ Corbulo sighed. ‘It seems that when the winter comes, I may have to take them into the mountains once again to toughen them up. I’d hoped the last time would be enough to make them ready. Clearly, I was mistaken. This time I will make sure they are pushed hard to weed out the weaklings and ensure that discipline is enforced with an iron will.’ He folded his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. ‘I’ll not spare them any hardship. I want to know that the men I lead to war will be as tough and ruthless as the general who commands them.’
He stared hard at Cato. ‘Which brings me onto your mission.’
He reached out and tapped the scroll. ‘There have been sightings of bands of Parthians moving up the far bank of the Euphrates. I fear they mean to mass their forces and attack us before the army is ready to meet them in battle. I need time to prepare my men. It would be better still if war could be avoided, even at this late stage. So I have decided to send an embassy to King Vologases and present him with one last chance to prevent war between Parthia and Rome. You, Tribune Cato, will lead that embassy.’
‘Me?’ Cato shook his head. ‘But I’m no diplomat, sir. I’m just a soldier.’
‘I have come to realise that you are rather more than
that. You have quick wits and an eye for detail, and I can’t think of a better man for the task I have in mind. I need you to buy me some time to prepare the army.’
‘If the Parthians suspect the embassy is merely being used as an attempt to win Rome breathing space, then I dare say they’ll not be inclined to treat my reason for being in Parthia as diplomatic, sir. I could lose my head. Me and the men I take with me.’
‘Then you’d better make sure you go about your business effectively. The main purpose of your being sent to Vologases is to try and prevent a war that will not profit either side, even if it appeals to hotheads who clamour for glory. I need you to try and convince him it is not in Parthia’s interests to wage war with Rome. Given that he is already fighting a war on his eastern frontier, he may desire peace with Rome in order to turn his forces against Hyrcania.’
‘If I recall, the Hyrcanians are being led by Vologases’ son, Vardanes.’
‘That’s right.’ Corbulo nodded. ‘And Vardanes and his followers are being funded by Roman gold. We don’t expect him to defeat his father, although that would be welcomed, but he and his friends are a most useful distraction for Vologases to have to deal with as far as Rome is concerned.’
Cato thought for a moment before he spoke. ‘What would I be authorised to offer Vologases in order to provide Rome with the peace we need, sir? And in whose name should I speak? Yours, or the emperor’s?’
Corbulo’s lips pressed together in a thin line as he glared back. Then he took a long, deep breath. ‘You will be acting on my authority, but you will tell the Parthians that you speak for Rome and the emperor. I cannot afford to let months pass while I ask Nero for permission to send an embassy. Besides, those advisers he chooses to surround himself with have no grasp of the situation I am facing. So I am giving you the order and I will be the one held responsible for the consequences. If Vologases opts for peace, we will be spared a costly war, even if it disappoints those in Rome who want conflict.’
‘It seems that I may be held responsible for the consequences too, sir.’
‘I see . . . Would you like me to put my orders to you in writing and set my seal on it. Is that what you are after, Tribune?’
Cato shook his head. ‘What would be the point? If Nero wants heads to roll, I doubt any document is going to save me.’
‘Quite. If it’s any comfort, then know that if I fall from favour, I will do all I can to shield you from the repercussions.’
Corbulo rose from his chair and stepped over to the window overlooking the garden. He continued to speak with his back to Cato. ‘In order not to dishonour the prestige of Rome, you are instructed to negotiate with Parthia within the following strictures. First, we will not pay them any gold or silver as the price of peace. Second, we will not give up our claim to Armenia. Third, and most important of all, Rome must not be seen to offer peace before the Parthians do. You will emphasise that while we will be content with peace between our two empires, we threaten war and destruction on a scale they have never witnessed before.’
‘That might be difficult, sir. I imagine they will not have forgotten their victory over Crassus at Carrhae. Any threats I make might ring a little hollow given that the Parthians all but annihilated eight of our legions and took the head of our general as a trophy.’
‘I dare say you are right. One tends not to forget such matters. Nevertheless, it is vital for the honour of Rome, and my survival, that it is the Parthians who sue for peace. And if they do, you must insist on them making an unmistakable act of obeisance. Rome will want hostages and tribute, even if it is little more than a token offering. Appearances are everything as far as the emperor and the Senate are concerned.’
‘That is true, sir. And I imagine the same may be said of Vologases and his nobles. They will not be willing to look weak.’
‘I can’t help that,’ Corbulo responded tersely. ‘You will have to do what you can. If they will not meet my official demands, you have my permission to make it clear to the Parthians that our requests are a matter of form, to satisfy the emperor and his lackeys. What matters is that we get a peace that is acceptable to Nero. That’s what you tell Vologases. He may be prepared to agree to it on those terms. More likely, he will not. Either way, anything that gives me time to prepare the army for the coming campaign will be of advantage to Rome.’
‘Then the true object of the embassy is as much to win a delay as to achieve peace.’
The dryness in Cato’s tone was not missed by the army’s commander. ‘A general is forced to use the men, weapons and strategies available to him, Tribune Cato. If I can exploit an embassy as a ruse to gain an advantage over the enemy, then I will.’ He paused and regarded Cato closely for a beat before he continued. ‘No doubt you are questioning the integrity of offering to make peace while at the same time preparing to wage war.’
‘Something like that, yes, sir.’
Corbulo shrugged. ‘What can I say, Tribune? We live in difficult times. The Republic is no more than a distant memory. Any sense of honour that may have existed in some golden age is long since dead and buried. What matters now is victory, however that is achieved. With victory comes the prize of writing the history of how that victory was won. Do you really think that, if we are forced to fight, anyone in Rome will give a damn about how we defeated Parthia when the triumphal procession winds its way through the capital? No. The only thing that will matter to the mob, the Senate and Nero is the spectacle of the carts carrying the spoils of war, the sight of prisoners in chains and the garlanded standards of our soldiers being held high for all to see. So spare yourself your piety. You will sleep better as a result. I do. Any questions?’
‘I think you have made the purpose of my mission clear, sir.’ Cato thought for a moment. An embassy, particularly one sent out by Rome, was usually conducted on a scale sufficient to impress the other side. But the task that Corbulo had handed him was fraught with perils. The general could hardly fail to know that. It would be better, then, to ensure that the price that might have to be paid was as limited as possible. ‘Sir, given the circumstances, I think it would be best if I was accompanied by only a small escort. No sense in you losing more men than you can afford.’
Corbulo stroked his jaw for a moment and nodded. ‘Much as I would like to impress our Parthian friends with a display of pomp, I agree. Who knows, it might even play out well for us. They are familiar with the austerity of the Greeks. Let’s give them more of the same. Let’s show that Rome is not concerned with frippery. We are to the point. Try and impress that upon them, Tribune.’
‘I will do my best, sir.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Corbulo paused a beat before he continued. ‘You’ll take one of my best men with you as an adviser. Apollonius of Perga. Have you met him?’
Cato shook his head. ‘Not that I recall.’
‘A pity. He’s a man of considerable ability. Fluent in many tongues of the east and knows the region well. Just the kind of man to have at your side for the task at hand. I’ve already briefed him about the mission. In fact, he’s waiting outside. I think it’s time you two were acquainted.’ Corbulo crossed to the door and opened it. ‘Apollonius, in here, if you please.’
The man Cato had seen earlier entered the room and pulled up a stool to one side of the desk without being asked. He set his flute down carefully.
‘I thank you for this. It’s just what I needed.’
‘I’m glad,’ Corbulo replied. ‘Look after it well.’
‘I’ll do my best to return it to you one day.’ Apollonius smiled. ‘You may need it.’
The general did not seem to take any offence at the man’s informal attitude as he returned to his own chair.
Cato hesitated. He felt a surge of irritation that this man, Apollonius, should be treated with such familiarity. It was as if he was the general’s agent and Cato his aide, rather than the other way round.
Corbulo eased himself back into his chair as he began. ‘May I introduce Apollonius, son of Demippos of Perga. You may have heard of his father.’
The name stirred a distant memory. ‘The philosopher? A follower of the Cynic school, if I recall.’
‘Indeed he was.’ Corbulo nodded approvingly.
Cato raised an eyebrow. ‘Was?’
Apollonius sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together as he scrutinised Cato. ‘My father died in exile some years ago. I am surprised you know of him. I had thought his reputation was confined to a small circle of savants here in the Eastern Empire.’
Although his voice was deep, with a rich timbre, Apollonius spoke softly, and there was a pleasing melody and rhythm to his speech that Cato instantly warmed to, before his natural caution intruded.
‘His works are not easy to come by in Rome, I admit,’ the tribune replied. ‘The Cynics fell out of fashion during the reign of Augustus, but I found his Aesthetics of Being in the library of Tiberius when I was a youth.’
‘And?’ Apollonius tilted his head slightly to one side as his dark eyes remained fixed on Cato.
‘I was impressed by much of what he wrote.’
‘But . . .’
It annoyed Cato that the other man had discerned his reservations about the work so readily. He composed his reply carefully. ‘While I admired his style and the lucidity with which he conveyed his meaning, most of his ideas were derived from the work of earlier philosophers. Zeno in particular. Not that there is anything wrong with taking the work of earlier thinkers a stage further through applying dialectics.’ He paused. ‘But I found his reliance on epicheirema unconvincing. However, I am merely a soldier. And a Roman soldier at that.’
There was silence as Apollonius stared straight at him, as if daring him to continue. Then he suddenly shook his head and laughed as he turned to Corbulo. ‘He’s good! I like this one.’
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