‘Sir,’ the clerk announced. ‘Tribune Cato, from Tarsus.’
The prefect hurriedly swallowed and laid the half-eaten leg on the tablet before he wiped his hand on his tunic and held it out. ‘Prefect Clodius, First Dacian Cohort.’
Cato strode forward, and they briefly clasped forearms in greeting. He was conscious of the grime on his tunic and armour and streaked on his exposed skin. Clodius looked him over and nodded. ‘I expect you could use something to eat and drink. If you need it, there’s a bathhouse behind the forum. It’s still open, even though hardly any of the locals use it.’
‘Sounds good. Later, maybe. And yes, some food would be welcome.’
Clodius issued orders to his clerk and then stretched his shoulders before picking up the chicken leg and taking another bite. ‘So, what brings you to this charming little bolthole at the arse end of the Empire?’
‘General Corbulo has ordered me to lead an embassy to Parthia to make peace.’
Clodius stared at him for a moment, then suddenly roared with laughter, spluttering fragments of chicken before he doubled over and choked. Cato hesitated, wondering if he should slap the prefect on the back, hard, but Clodius coughed to clear his throat, then straightened up, grinning. His expression faded as he saw the serious look on Cato’s face.
‘You’re not joking, are you?’
‘Deadly serious,’ Cato responded. ‘I need to draw rations and feed from Bactris. We’ll be crossing the Euphrates at first light and then making for Ctesiphon.’
The prefect shook his head. ‘You really aren’t joking. You might as well not bother with the rations, brother. The Parthians will find you and you’ll all be dead by noon and left out for the buzzards to pick over.’
‘Well, that’s not my plan exactly.’ Cato made his way to the side of the chamber and sat down. ‘Peace would be best for both Parthia and Rome.’
‘Of course. But do you think for a moment that either will accept it? There’s too much at stake. Neither side will back down. You’ve been sent on a fool’s errand, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Cato was too tired to care much about what Clodius said. His orders were clear, and he had sworn an oath to obey those who were appointed to command him. Come dawn, he would lead his men over the ford and into enemy territory. Nothing would change that.
‘It would help if you had intelligence about the situation on the other side of the frontier.’
‘Intelligence? That’s rich.’ Clodius laughed again. ‘Since I relieved the last garrison commander a month back, not one traveller has crossed the river. I’m told that when Rome and Parthia were content with merely regarding each other with hostility, there was plenty of traffic across the Euphrates. I imagine that’s how we gleaned information about matters over there. Now the other side of the river might as well be the end of the world. I did send a patrol across a few days after my cohort arrived. They marched up the bank and over the low ridge on the far side, and nothing has been seen of them since. Nothing. They just disappeared. There have been sightings of the enemy, though. I know they have sent raiding parties over the Euphrates to the north of here, but they’ve made no attempt to cross the ford. However, any fool knows that if they do invade Syria in strength, Bactris will be where they strike first. And how long do you think me and my men will hold out?’ He sighed. ‘Given that your embassy is bound to be a futile waste of effort, you might as well remain here and help defend Bactris.’
‘What’s the point? If you’re right, then I’ll die either on the other side of the river or cooped up here. All that’s left for me to do is choose where. If I stay here and Parthia attacks, then death is certain. If I choose to continue with the embassy, at least there is a chance, small though it might be, that King Vologases will agree to make peace. If that happens, I will survive, and so will you and your men. Think on that and wish me well.’
Clodius chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘It’s your funeral, brother.’
‘I hope it doesn’t come to that. I am not the kind of soldier who lives in search of a glorious death. I’d rather do all I can to maintain peace and live a long life. But if war comes, then of course I’ll do my duty, even if that means laying down my life for Rome.’
The prefect considered this. ‘For what it’s worth, I hope you get the Parthians to keep the peace.’
The sound of footsteps echoed off the chamber walls, and Cato turned to see the clerk returning with bread, cheese and a shank of mutton on a large platter balanced on his forearm, a small wine jar in his other hand. Clodius indicated a clear spot at the end of one of the tables. ‘Enjoy the food, Tribune Cato. It may prove to be your last supper.’
Cato exchanged a terse farewell with the prefect after he had finished eating, and then went to find the garrison’s quartermaster to arrange for supplies to be provided for himself and his men. Although it was after nightfall, there were still a handful of officials hunched over their slates as they worked in the glow cast by oil lamps. Cato recognised the slim man with thinning hair working at the largest of the desks, and smiled as he approached him.
‘How goes it, Graniculus?’
The quartermaster looked up and frowned for a moment before his craggy features creased into a smile. ‘By the gods, Tribune Cato!’
He lowered his stylus and rose stiffly from his stool to salute. ‘This is a surprise, sir. I had no idea the Praetorians had been sent back to the frontier. That’ll come as a huge relief to some.’ He nodded in the direction from which Cato had just come. ‘Our new commander is a little jumpy. Same goes for his men.’
‘Ah.’ Cato clicked his tongue. ‘The rest of the cohort is back in Tarsus, alas. I’m here with a small party, just for the night, before we continue on our way. We’ll need supplies.’
The hopeful gleam in Graniculus’s eyes faded as he digested the reason for Cato’s presence. He forced a smile. ‘Never mind. I’m sure we can keep the Parthian wolves from the door a while yet.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
‘What do you need from our stores, sir?’
‘Food and feed. Some items of kit. Garum, if there’s any to be had, and wine to top up our waterskins.’
‘Consider it done. And while you’re here, I still have a few flasks of Falernian to use up. Be damned if I die and leave it for some bloody Parthian.’
Cato laughed. ‘Now that is something worth drinking to.’
Graniculus dismissed the other clerks before producing a stoppered jar from beneath his desk. ‘No cups, I’m afraid.’
Pulling out the stopper, he handed the jug to Cato, who lowered his head to sniff the spicy aroma of the sweet wine.
‘I don’t know how you do it, Graniculus. Where on earth do you come by such good wine?’
The older man tapped his nose. ‘Secrets of the trade. Any half-decent quartermaster in the army can get hold of almost everything. In peacetime, at any rate.’
Cato raised the jug and took a swig, then handed it back as he swilled the liquid around in his mouth, savouring it before he swallowed.
‘By Bacchus, that’s good. Do you have any to spare?’
Graniculus hesitated a moment before nodding reluctantly. ‘For the right price.’
They drank some more before Cato asked the quartermaster if he had heard anything about the situation in Parthia from traders passing through before Clodius had taken command.
‘Not for the last month or so before the Dacian lads arrived, sir. Up to then, there was the occasional merchant’s caravan. Things have been relatively quiet since the conflict kicked off last year. At first it looked like Corbulo was going to go straight in. When you and that Armenian noble set off, I thought that was only going to be the first of the columns the general sent out. As it was, he pulled all the units back from the frontier a few months later, and beyond the cohort sent to cover the c
rossing, we’ve not seen any sign of our army, or theirs.’ He took another swig before he handed the jug back to Cato. ‘How did things go with your Armenian lad, Rhadamistus? Did you get him back on his throne?’
Cato arched an eyebrow. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘News reaches us slowly out here, sir.’
‘Since you ask, it ended badly. We got him on the throne, and there he might have stayed if he hadn’t turned out to be a tyrant.’
‘Not Rome’s finest hour.’
‘Quite.’
The quartermaster regarded Cato thoughtfully. ‘I dare say there were some who tried to have the blame pinned on you. That’s how it usually works.’
‘It may yet happen. Meanwhile, the general still needs time to prepare the army for war. And that’s why he’s sending an embassy to Parthia to try and persuade them to accept peace.’
Graniculus’s eyes widened as he grasped the truth. ‘You’re leading the embassy?’
‘Afraid so. Not by choice, I can assure you.’
‘Sweet Jupiter! Seems to me that Corbulo’s chosen you to get the shit end of the stick every time.’
Cato sighed. ‘That’s the way it goes, brother. Let me have some more of that wine. I’ll need all the Frisian courage I can get when I lead my men across the river in the morning.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘What’s the reason for the delay?’ General Corbulo demanded as soon as he had reined in his mount in a swirl of dust and grit. Macro and the section of mounted Praetorians who served as his escort halted a short distance along the road from their commander.
Corbulo jabbed his riding crop as he continued. ‘The rearguard were supposed to have crossed the bloody river hours ago.’
The centurion from the Sixth Legion who was in charge of the engineering detachment mopped his brow and pointed back down the slope to the river, where a swift current ran between the two banks and surged around the breakwaters twenty paces or so upstream from the bridge.
‘They haven’t been able to get over, sir. It’s the centre section. It started to give when the first of the heavy wagons began to cross. I ordered the wagon to be backed up onto the far bank while we repaired the damage.’
Macro looked across the river and saw the long line of the motionless baggage train stretching back along the road that followed the river before it ran round a looping bend and disappeared from view. The mules and oxen stood in their traces, lazily flicking their tails, as the drivers sat beside their wagons and carts. The bridge had been destroyed by the rebels as soon as they were aware of the approach of the Roman column. However, there was a ford five miles downstream, where the river emerged from the hills and flowed less swiftly, and the mounted vanguard and the main column of infantry had been able to cross there. The engineers had been tasked with bridging the three piers that remained standing, using timber cut from the trees growing on the slopes above the river. The sections extending from each bank looked sturdy enough, Macro thought. The problem was the middle section, where a thirty-foot gap had to be spanned.
Breakwaters had been erected upstream and trestles had been constructed to support the section. Some large logs had been swept downstream and struck the piles of the trestles, and now several men were hanging onto the timbers as they hurriedly attached more ropes to secure the undamaged sections. Many others on both sides of the river were holding a rope across the water to try and snag the logs and pull them into the banks. Even as they watched, Macro could see another log bobbing through the rapids a quarter of a mile upstream, and it was obvious that the engineers would not be able to deal with the others in time before the fresh danger swept down on the bridge.
Corbulo took in the scene and grasped what was happening at once. ‘This is the work of the rebels.’
The centurion nodded. ‘The logs we’ve managed to land were all cut down and trimmed of branches to make sure they didn’t lodge in the shallows. The enemy know what they’re about, sir.’
‘Then we must hunt them down and put a stop to their games.’ The general turned to one of his staff officers. ‘Fabius!’
‘Sir?’
‘Get back to the vanguard. I want the cavalry to advance along the bank and drive the rebels away.’
The junior tribune saluted and wheeled his mount round to gallop back up the road to Thapsis, while Corbulo turned his attention back to the bridge. ‘Now let’s see how bad the damage is.’
He gave the order to dismount and strode down towards the bridge in the company of the centurion. Macro handed the reins to one of his men as he followed. The sound of rushing water swelled as they approached, and the officers in charge of the engineers were having to shout orders as they competed with the din. The general stepped up onto the nearest section of the repaired bridge. The freshly cut corduroy of tree trunks had been packed with brush and covered in earth, and felt perfectly solid as Macro tested his weight on it. Corbulo did not hesitate as he walked up to the middle section and paused in the centre to examine the damage more closely.
‘We’ve lost one of the upstream piles,’ the centurion explained. ‘The first of the logs struck it and carried it off, and both pieces struck the downstream pile before they were done. If there’s another strike, I fear we’ll lose that pile as well, sir.’
Corbulo grunted and stepped to the edge, gazing down for a moment before he retreated and rubbed his jaw. ‘We’ll try to get a wagon across.’
The centurion looked alarmed. ‘It ain’t safe, sir.’
‘Your men seem to have done a decent job of bracing the remaining trestles,’ Corbulo countered. ‘Let’s put them to the test. If there’s no problem with the first wagon, the rest can cross one at a time. It’ll take until after dark, but we should get the baggage train and the rearguard over so that we can continue the advance tomorrow. We can’t be delayed any longer.’
The centurion chewed his lip. ‘Sir, I must protest—’
‘Your protest is noted.’ Corbulo cut him short. ‘Now get over there and send the first wagon across.’
The centurion gave Macro an imploring look, but the order had been given and Macro knew that the general had good reason to take the risk. The longer it took to crush the rebels, the more likely they were to inspire further uprisings amongst the tribes and towns in the mountains.
The centurion shook his head in resignation and called to the men still working on the trestles to climb up and return to the riverbank before he turned to make his way across the span to the waiting baggage train. The first cart was a heavy four-wheeled affair drawn by a team of four oxen and loaded down with a dismantled catapult. The driver and his mate were leaning against the rear wheel as the centurion strode up and issued his orders. Macro saw the driver shake his head, and there was an ill-tempered exchange before the centurion pointed back in the direction of the general to underscore his authority.
‘If that can get across safely, anything can,’ Corbulo mused. ‘Then that driver will see there was nothing to worry about.’
Macro gave a non-committal grunt, and they moved over to the safety of the section leading from the pier to the bank to watch proceedings. He had serious misgivings about Corbulo’s experiment and braced himself to address the general.
‘Sir, it might be a good idea to remove the load and carry it across separately. We may need every one of the catapults if the rebels refuse to surrender and force us to besiege Thapsis.’
‘Maybe, but if we unload all the wagons and carts, it’ll take far too long. We’re advancing too slowly and we only have ten days of rations left on the wagons. I know it’s a risk, but if the bridge holds, we’ll be across the river and outside the walls of Thapsis in three days’ time.’ Corbulo glanced at him sternly. ‘Have a little faith, Centurion, and I’d be obliged if you don’t question my decisions again unless there’s a more compelling reason to do so.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They stood in silence as the driver climbed onto his bench and picked up his whip. Macro felt a slight tremor through his boots, and looking down, he saw the engineers working a captured log past one of the remaining trestles. A moment later, it appeared downstream, a dark, glistening length surging along with the current.
‘Here we go,’ Corbulo announced.
Macro turned to see the oxen shuffle forward and the wagon lurch into motion and trundle up the short rise to the first span of the repaired bridge. The driver reined back as he approached the central span, and the oxen stepped forward at a languid walk, steering away from the edge. Pair by pair the beasts moved onto the middle of the bridge, and now Macro could see the tense expression on the driver’s face as he glanced down at the impacted soil on each side. The front wheels edged onto the span and the wagon rolled forward steadily towards the slight decline leading to the far bank.
‘There!’ Corbulo exclaimed with satisfaction. ‘I told you—’
He was interrupted by a sharp splintering crack from underneath the bridge, shortly followed by a splash. The driver instinctively hesitated and pulled back on his reins again, bringing the wagon to a stop. Macro saw the earth surface tremble, then shimmer, before a section at the edge abruptly gave way and dropped out of sight.
‘Keep moving, you fool!’ Corbulo shouted. ‘Forward!’
The driver snapped out of his brief trance and cracked his whip over the heads of the oxen as he shouted at them. ‘Gerrron!’
The wagon jerked into motion, and then the surface under the rear axle shuddered and collapsed, bringing the vehicle to a halt once more. There were more crashes from beneath, and the central span lurched as one side dropped a foot, canting the wagon over and alarming the oxen, who now bellowed and strained against their traces in a futile attempt to escape.
‘The wagon’s going to go!’ Corbulo shouted. ‘Macro, with me!’
The general dropped his riding crop and ran forward, steering clear of the terrified beasts as he called out to the driver, ‘We have to save the oxen!’
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