Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

The guard bowed and closed the door behind him. Cato swung his feet out of the bed and stared down at the clothes on the bench. The fine garments brought in by the guard made his plain army clothing look the dull, functional trappings of a peasant. And yet he sensed the shrewd manipulation of his mind that Vologases was attempting. First the display of wealth in Seleucia, and then a display of power as they were brought into the palace. Now the king was inviting him to plead his case for a treaty in the garb of a noble of the Parthian court.

  He reached for his loincloth and fastened it securely before pulling his tunic over his head, then sat down to lace up his boots. A quick shave to remove several days’ growth of stubble, and a brush of his hair to tame his curls, then he inspected himself in the polished bronze of the mirror. There would be no mistaking his appearance in the court of King Vologases. He was a Roman soldier through and through, and would carry himself with the self-assurance and pride that entailed.

  When he stepped out into the corridor, he saw that Apollonius had chosen to wear Parthian robes. The agent shrugged. ‘When in Parthia, do as Parthians do.’

  They were taken to an anteroom, where they saw Haghrar sitting on one of the benches lining the walls. Opposite was a pair of doors constructed from a dark timber and inlaid with swirling flower designs of silver. Two guards armed with spears stood on either side. Haghrar looked up as they approached and raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘I hope your accommodation was agreeable, Tribune.’

  ‘Very, although I cannot answer for my men.’

  ‘They have been well looked after, you have my word on it.’

  Cato gestured towards the door. ‘I take it that leads to the royal audience chamber?’

  Haghrar nodded.

  ‘Are we expected to see Vologases soon?’

  ‘Hard to say. This is not the only anteroom. There are more arranged around the chamber. The king will deal with us according to the schedule determined by his chamberlain. I have no idea where we sit on that schedule.’

  ‘Have you been summoned along with us, or separately?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Apollonius sat down on the bench a short distance from the Parthian nobleman, while Cato began to pace across the room, hands clasped behind his back. Occasionally they heard voices from the far side of the door, but apart from a few snatches of Greek, the rest was in the Parthian tongue. He wondered what this delay in seeing him betokened.

  An hour passed, during which the beam of light streaming through the window high up in the wall slowly angled down and bathed Cato in a golden hue. At length he stopped pacing and turned to Haghrar.

  ‘Is it customary for embassies to be kept waiting for so long? You said there was a schedule.’

  ‘The king keeps his own schedule,’ Haghrar replied. ‘All of us serve at his majesty’s leisure.’

  ‘I don’t serve his majesty,’ Cato pointed out.

  ‘I don’t think you understand, Tribune. Here in Parthia, the king is regarded as the absolute ruler of all men. All men. Including Romans. To Parthians, Rome is merely a land we have yet to conquer. In our eyes, that makes you a supplicant like any other.’

  ‘Really?’ Cato tugged his ear lobe. ‘It’s a small world indeed. That’s precisely how Rome regards Parthia.’

  Haghrar smiled sadly. ‘Well, we can’t both be right.’

  ‘No. But if war comes, there’s a chance we will find out who is.’

  There was a soft scraping noise as the handle on the door turned and then it was drawn open by a guard on the far side, who spoke briefly to Haghrar.

  ‘It’s time,’ Haghrar said to Cato as he rose from the bench. ‘May the gods grant us the wisdom to find a way to avoid war.’

  He led the way through the door into the audience chamber. A vast open space spread out before Cato, at least fifty paces long and as many across. Gilded pillars lined the walls and ran down the centre of the chamber. The high ceiling was painted deep blue and decorated with stars and a large crescent moon so that it looked like the night sky. The walls between the pillars were painted with depictions of lavish gardens and parks, as if the chamber was an open-sided pavilion set in the heart of some idyllic landscape. Palace guards were stationed around the edge of the room, and at one end was a large dais covered in furs. Upon it stood a golden throne with brilliant peacock feathers radiating out from the top. On the throne sat Vologases, in a bright green silken robe, a band of gold around his brow with a large emerald in a setting over his forehead. He appeared to be tall, and an immaculately trimmed beard outlined his strong jaw. There was an open space before the dais, around which his courtiers stood.

  He did not spare a glance in their direction as Cato and the others entered the chamber, but directed his gaze at a man stripped to the waist with his arms pinioned by guards on either side. As they drew closer, Cato saw that the man’s flesh was heavily bruised and scored with cuts and burns. The king spoke solemnly, and the man cried out before being silenced by a blow to the side of his head from one of the guards. Vologases continued speaking, and then waved him away contemptuously. The guards turned and dragged the man off, the courtiers parting to let them through.

  A ponderous man with large jowls stepped up to the dais and read from a waxed tablet, then turned towards Cato and beckoned to him. The guard gave Cato a gentle nudge, and he stepped forward, with Apollonius at his shoulder. When Haghrar made to follow them, the official called out sharply and the nobleman stepped back. Conscious that the eyes of nearly everyone in the chamber were upon him, Cato kept his shoulders down and his back straight as he strode into the open space in front of the dais and faced Vologases. He fixed his gaze on the steady dark eyes of the king for an instant before he bowed his head.

  There was silence as the Parthian ruler stared at him as in thought. It continued long enough for some of the courtiers to shuffle uncomfortably. At length Vologases leaned forward and folded his hands.

  ‘You are Tribune Quintus Licinius Cato, are you not?’ He addressed Cato in fluent, accentless Greek.

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  ‘And this is your aide, Apollonius.’

  The agent bowed deeply in response before the king continued.

  ‘You represent the embassy sent to my capital by Rome to discuss terms for a peace treaty between our two empires to put an end to the long rivalry that has existed for well over a hundred years. A rivalry that has cost Rome and Parthia much blood and treasure without any appreciable result.’

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  ‘Then I have to say I admire your ambition, Tribune.’ Vologases smiled. ‘And I can’t help wondering what you think you can achieve when so many others have attempted and failed to negotiate a peace. You appear before me not in the finely spun toga of a Roman aristocrat, but the simple tunic of a Roman soldier. How might a simple soldier have come to possess the wisdom of a seasoned diplomat so that he should be sent on such an embassy, I wonder? I have not heard that Roman soldiers possess the temperament to carry out such a task. Tell me, Tribune, why were you chosen? Is it that men of your rank are fit for such a purpose, or are you something more than you seem? You have the look of a soldier, but maybe that is merely another Roman ploy. Well?’

  ‘Majesty, I was chosen by General Corbulo to convey his terms. I am, as you see, just a soldier. But I am a Roman soldier and I am a tribune. I speak my mind and I keep my word. And that is why I imagine he entrusted me with this embassy.’

  ‘So?’ Vologases tilted his head. ‘That is all? You were chosen for no other reason?’

  ‘None that I know of, Majesty.’

  ‘I see . . .’ Vologases let out a long sigh as he settled back on his throne. ‘Then tell us, what are the terms your general has ordered you to present?’

  Cato had prepared for this moment. ‘First, there is the question of Armenia, Majesty. My general says that it falls
within the Roman sphere of influence. All that Rome requires is that this is acknowledged by Parthia. In return, Rome undertakes to station no garrisons on Armenian soil and only seeks to have any new Armenian ruler crowned by an official appointed by Rome. If Parthia would accept this, then the greatest contribution to the conflict between our two empires would be removed at a stroke.’

  Vologases raised a hand to silence him. ‘The question of Armenia has been a sore point for many years, Tribune. Before Rome involved itself in its affairs, Armenia was a long-standing ally of Parthia and would have remained so had not some wretched king appealed to your empire for assistance and drawn it into our sphere of influence. So let me make a counter-proposal. If Parthia promises not to station troops in Armenia, or to crown Armenia’s kings, will Rome be content to rescind its claim to Armenia?’ He paused and continued in a mocking tone. ‘After all, it would remove the main source of friction between our empires at a stroke, as you say.’

  ‘Majesty, in honesty I do not believe that would be acceptable to my general or his emperor. But we are talking about substance and appearance. What would profit both empires is for Armenia to be treated as a neutral kingdom. If that is the substance of the matter, then the appearance of which empire claims that Armenia is within its sphere is immaterial.’

  ‘So if it makes no practical difference, why should Rome not allow Parthia to appear to be in control? Let me tell you why. It comes down to stubborn Roman pride. Your people refuses to admit that it shares the world with other powers. You refuse to accept any others as equal, and once you lay claim to even a scrap of waterless desert, you will willingly sacrifice an ocean of blood just to fly your standard over it. But Armenia is ours. Parthian blood runs through the veins of its kings and nobility. It is ours by right, and Rome would steal it from us.’

  Cato nodded reluctantly. ‘You speak the truth, Majesty. Roman pride is a stubborn obstacle, but it can be got round.’

  The Parthian ruler’s brow creased into a frown. ‘I am Vologases, king of kings, and I do not skulk around obstacles.’

  ‘Pardon me, Majesty. I see things in pragmatic terms and lack the gilded tongue of a diplomat. I meant no offence.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Vologases’ nostrils flared angrily for a moment before he spoke again in a calmer tone. ‘What other terms does your general present to us?’

  ‘No more than the usual formalities, Majesty.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Cato steeled himself before he replied. ‘It is the custom that Rome never asks for peace, but grants it. Again, it is a matter of form, Majesty, not substance.’

  ‘Go on. What else?’

  ‘An exchange of hostages and a token payment of tribute.’

  ‘What tribute can Rome afford to pay me that I do not already possess?’ Vologases demanded, and many of his courtiers smiled or laughed lightly at his barbed comment before he continued, ‘I assume that is what you mean, since you cannot be expecting Parthia to pay tribute to you upstart Romans, surely?’

  Cato swallowed nervously. ‘My general’s terms are that it is for Parthia to pay the tribute, Majesty.’

  The last of the laughter died away, and Cato feared that his host would be provoked into a rage at such hubris. Instead, Vologases regarded him calmly.

  ‘Tribune, forgive me, but it seems that your embassy is no more than an empty gesture. You have been sent with terms that your general must have realised would not be acceptable. A cynic might question his motives for doing so. Is it that Corbulo hopes to lure me into negotiations he has no intention of honouring for the sake of winning himself a little time and sowing division amongst Parthia and her allies? Or did he know that I would reject his terms outright, as I do now, and there is another purpose for which you have been sent deep into Parthia?’ He leaned forward again and pointed a finger at Cato. ‘Well?’

  ‘I was sent on an embassy, Majesty. That is the truth, I swear it on my honour.’

  ‘On your honour,’ Vologases repeated coldly. He turned to Ramalanes and pointed at the dais directly in front of his feet. ‘Have that chest brought here.’

  The captain bowed and hurried away to the rear of the hall. Cato felt an icy tingle of apprehension prick the back of his neck. He was tempted to shoot an enquiring glance at Apollonius, but the king was staring at him directly and he dared not act in any way that might be deemed suspicious. Ramalanes returned with two men carrying the chest into which the embassy’s weapons and effects had been placed. They set it in front of the throne and bowed deeply as they backed away from their master.

  ‘You recognise this chest?’ Vologases asked Cato.

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  The king reached for the lid and raised it before letting it drop away on its hinges. ‘You recognise its contents? Come closer.’

  Cato did as he was commanded, and approached the dais so that he could see inside. There were the swords and bundles of leather bags they had placed in the chest on board the barge. He wondered what could be so remarkable about them that they were being presented to the Parthian court in this dramatic manner.

  ‘Are these your possessions?’

  Cato peered closer. ‘I see my sword, and my saddlebags, and the rest belong to my men, Majesty.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Vologases reached down and plucked out a flute. ‘Do you recognise this?’

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  Taking the instrument in both hands, the king pulled it apart. The length containing the mouthpiece was in his left hand, while in the right he held the section with the finger holes. He raised this and gave it a quick flick, and a length of papyrus protruded from the broken end. Vologases plucked it out and held it up so that Cato could see that it was in fact several sheets of fine papyrus covered in tiny notations and diagrams.

  ‘Do you know what this is, Tribune?’ he demanded.

  Cato shook his head, aghast.

  ‘It is written in code,’ Vologases continued. ‘Fortunately, I have many scholars at court, and they were able to determine that it was a simple alphabetical replacement cipher, which they began to decode last night and finished this morning. The results make for interesting reading. Especially for a Roman general preparing to invade Parthia. There are descriptions of the terrain, estimates of distances between settlements, maps, and a diagram of the defences at Ichnae, amongst other useful intelligence.’ He lowered the sheets and thrust them towards Cato accusingly. ‘This is espionage, Roman! Your embassy is a sham. Your true purpose in coming here was to spy!’

  As his voice echoed off the walls, there was complete silence from the rest of the chamber. Cato saw the nearest guards grasp their spears more tightly, as if in anticipation of an order from their master.

  ‘Have you nothing to say for yourself?’ Vologases demanded.

  ‘I swear I have not seen those documents before, Majesty,’ Cato said truthfully. It was all frighteningly clear to him now. He had been ordered to lead the embassy as a cover for Apollonius’s spying activities. Corbulo and his agent had used him. He had been chosen for the job not because he was the most likely candidate to lead a successful embassy, but because he needed to be seen as honest. And that was why he had not been told of the real purpose of the mission, out of concern that he would not be able to lie convincingly. All this rushed through his mind in a heartbeat.

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘They are not mine,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself. Then he clamped his jaw shut. There was no point in telling the truth and identifying the owner of the flute while claiming that he himself was innocent. Vologases would not believe him, and nor would his courtiers. And if their positions were reversed, Cato would not believe it either. It would simply make him look like a coward trying to save his own life by throwing a subordinate to the wolves. His pride would not stomach such a thing, so he kept his mouth closed.

  ‘Not yours? You expect me to beli
eve that?’ Vologases’ voice rose again. ‘You had your aide there carry this for you. No doubt to allow you to deny that it was yours. Do you take me for a fool, you Roman dog? Well, do you? Answer me!’

  ‘No, Majesty, I do not.’

  ‘Then don’t you dare lie to my face. You are a spy, and as such, your life and those of your men are forfeit. And not just your lives. There is one other . . .’ The king raised his eyes and slowly scanned the surrounding courtiers. ‘There is amongst us a man, a Parthian noble, who has so debased his honour that he has talked treason with our Roman enemies. He has claimed that there are others like him in my court who are also traitorous dogs conspiring against us. We shall discover their identities soon enough. As for the nobleman in question, he will be arrested and tortured until he gives up all the information I require. Only then will he be executed, and by such means that his torment will endure for days before he is granted the mercy of death.’

  His roving gaze stopped and fixed on a face in the ranks of the assembled nobles and courtiers. ‘Haghrar of the house of Attaran, step forward, traitor, and take your place alongside these Roman spies.’

  Cato looked over his shoulder and saw a commotion in the throng as two guards seized Haghrar and marched him out into the open space beside Cato and Apollonius. Haghrar did not struggle and stood erect as he regarded his King. ‘I am no traitor, sire. I swear it, on my honour.’

  ‘Silence!’ Vologases roared. He brandished the documents. ‘These documents prove your honour is worthless. They speak of your disloyalty, and that of others. Men who would have another king of Parthia.’

  ‘Majesty, I—’

  ‘Not one more word, you dog!’ Vologases laughed. ‘You fool! Did you really think you could trust a Roman? What did the tribune promise you in exchange for turning on your king? Was it gold and silver? Or the chance to sit on my throne as one of Rome’s client rulers? You would have sold your soul to Rome, and Parthia along with it. There is no shame greater than that which you have brought on yourself. Your family will perish along with you, and your name will be struck from every written record and inscription. It will be treason to even mention it aloud.’