‘Stop now,’ ordered Metellus. ‘We’d be idiots, after all we’ve been through, to let ourselves be done in by haste and emotion.’
He turned the pickaxe around and started knocking at the wall with the handle, until the thin diaphragm of sandstone crumbled, creating an aperture that allowed a beam of light to filter through.
The men looked at each other in silence, although they felt like shouting with joy. Metellus held an ear to the opening, then widened it enough to stick his whole head out. When he pulled it back in there were tears in his eyes as he said, ‘We’ve done it. We’re out!’
7
THE KING OF KINGS, Shapur I, was still in his private apartments for his ritual morning dressing when a messenger was allowed in with a missive of absolute priority.
The man prostrated himself with his forehead to the ground before the sovereign and remained in that position until the vizier signalled for him to rise to his feet and speak.
‘My Lord,’ he began, ‘the Roman died ten days ago. At the Aus Daiwa turquoise mine. I’ve come to bring you the news in accordance with your orders.’
The emperor seemed disconcerted. He waved away the hairdresser who was curling his beard and asked, ‘How did he die?’
‘Like everyone who works in a mine. Exhaustion, illness, maltreatment of every kind.’
‘Did he say anything before he died?’
The messenger lowered his head in confusion. ‘Pardon me, Great Lord, but he died during the night and no one was present except for his comrades, the Romans you defeated and had taken into captivity through the power of your authority. But he couldn’t have said much. He had been more dead than alive for a long time.’
‘Well, when he was alive, didn’t he ever say anything? Didn’t he ever plead or beg for deliverance?’ The messenger was ready with the reply that he imagined would please his sovereign, but Shapur interrupted him before he could begin: ‘The truth,’ he said.
‘He never said anything. From when he arrived to when he died, he never uttered a word.’
Shapur bowed his head without speaking for a moment, then asked again: ‘His body? What was done with it?’
‘It was thrown into the gorge, where the corpses of all your enemies who are expiating their wrongdoings in the work camp are thrown.’
Shapur fell silent again, pacing back and forth in his bedchamber, wrapped in a dressing gown of red silk and gold. ‘I want his armour and weapons here, in my palace. Why have they not been brought to me?’
The messenger hesitated.
‘I asked you a question,’ repeated the emperor in irritation.
‘The Romans’ arms are being held at the camp armoury, but no one ever made a request in the name of the royal palace.’
‘The request has now been made.’
‘Your Majesty shall not need to ask again. As soon as I reach the camp I will relate your order and the trophy you are entitled to will be brought here in as short a time as possible.’
The emperor made a gesture to dismiss him and the messenger withdrew, walking backwards and bent double, all the way to the door.
Shapur turned to the vizier, an elderly dignitary from a family of ancient nobility who was called Artabanus. ‘He said nothing! He did not beg for mercy. He did not ask to be relieved of his intolerable burden.’
‘If he had, would you have heeded him?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘True generosity comes from he who does not wait to be implored.’
‘Are you saying that I am not generous? That I am not magnanimous? In my reign I have allowed the spread of both the Greek and the Indian cultures. I have allowed all of my subjects to practise their own religions. Is this not magnanimity?’
‘I don’t say it is not, My Lord. I’m saying that perhaps the compassion you feel for him now comes from the fact that he is dead. Only now have you realized that no one is safe: even an emperor can fall captive to his enemy and die. And perhaps you’re asking yourself whether you would have been capable of dying like him, enduring misery, humiliation and the certainty of having been forgotten. It is not difficult to die in battle with your sword in hand, to die in the sun at the peak of excitement, in the frenzy of combat. It is different to die slowly, in privation, abandoned by all.’
‘He died the death he deserved. The Romans are insatiable raiders and plunderers. The entire world does not suffice to satisfy their avaricousness.’
‘Some say the same about us.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Do you have doubts? Have I not served you faithfully my whole life? It is my duty to say things that may displease you. I’m a minister, not a courtesan. The Romans have not always been this way. In the time of your predecessor Osroes, their emperor returned his daughter, whom he held hostage, without demanding anything in return.’
‘Hadrian . . .’ mused Shapur. ‘He was a great man.’
‘And he was not alone. What troubles me about this story is that Valerian was deceived, drawn into a trap. If I had been at Edessa, I would have advised you against it. It was not worthy of you. And what he was made to suffer afterwards was unworthy of you as well. After all, Valerian was guilty of no crime. He was merely trying to stabilize the frontiers in a territory that has always been hotly contested.’
‘His fate is to serve as a warning. His successors must know what awaits them if they dare to challenge the emperor of the Persians. You’ll see that Gallienus will not attempt to move a finger against me.’
Artabanus nodded solemnly and said, ‘Gallienus is not a problem. The problem is Septimius Odenatus, defender of the eastern borders. As you were returning from Edessa he was bold enough to attack us. Your booty and your concubines fell into his hands, and you still bear the signs of the wound you received . . .’ Shapur wrinkled his brow but Artabanus continued unperturbed: ‘His cavalry is not inferior to ours and his infantry is superior. Our army was not capable of defeating him or seizing what he had stolen from you.’
‘When I defeat him he will suffer a punishment ten times harsher than what his emperor suffered.’
‘That doesn’t seem like such a good idea, if I may say so. Odenatus is a great warrior, but he is also very ambitious, and his wife – the beautiful Zainab – is even more so than he. Gallienus is an intelligent man, but weak. My informers have hinted that Zainab is pressing her husband to break away from the empire and establish a kingdom of his own.
‘If this should happen, he will necessarily have to come to terms with us. The caravans headed for Palmyra – Odenatus and Zainab’s base – have to pass through our territory. It’s not worth his while to be at war with us and, all things considered, it’s not worth our while either. You have inflicted the greatest humiliation of all times upon the Roman empire. Don’t push your luck, My Lord. If Septimius Odenatus breaks away from Gallienus, as I think he will, the empire of the Romans will be greatly weakened, but he alone will certainly not be able to match the power of Rome. We have to pursue our own interests. As long as there is someone in the West who buys the precious goods the East has to offer, we cannot but stand to gain. Kings yearn to achieve glory through war and battles to ensure that their names will live on, but a good minister must occupy himself with making commerce and trade flourish, thus spreading wealth and well-being.’
‘I must think it over,’ replied the king. ‘I will reflect on your words. In the meantime, gather any information that may be useful to us.’
He gestured for the hairdresser to resume his work, and the man began to curl Shapur’s beard with a hot iron.
The vizier understood that he was expected to leave and he proffered the ritual question, ‘May I serve you in any other way, My Lord?’
Shapur waved him off, but the vizier lingered. ‘What is it?’ asked the king.
‘There’s something that you’ve never told me and that I’ve never managed to learn.’
‘What are you referring to?’
‘Did Gallienus ever offer you
a ransom for his father?’
Shapur motioned for the hairdresser to leave again, then looked straight into the vizier’s eyes. ‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘Simple curiosity. I’m a father myself and I have been a son. I’m interested in knowing whether power can be so important for some men that blood ties and familial love are relegated to second place. What’s more, it seemed strange that, as your vizier, I was never informed of any ongoing negotiations. It’s a question of state that concerns me directly.’
Shapur continued to stare at his minister with an indefinable expression. ‘I should dismiss a vizier who believes that a sovereign may be influenced by blood ties. The supreme interests of the state go well beyond the private interests of one’s family.’
‘I am not a king. I can allow myself to have emotions.’
Shapur did not respond to this, but said, ‘Yes. Gallienus offered a ransom.’
‘How much?’
‘He did not set a limit.’
‘Did you answer him, Majesty?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a personal matter.’
‘Did Valerian ever learn that his son had offered to ransom him?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I wanted him to suffer as much as he could possibly suffer. For a father, this is worse than torture.’
‘So even a sovereign has feelings.’
‘I could not exclude this hypothesis.’
‘I see. And in this case, his suffering would be greatly exacerbated. Was this a personal matter as well?’
‘Yes,’ replied the king.
‘May I be so bold as to ask what this personal matter was?’
‘You may ask, but you will obtain no answer.’
Artabanus nodded without saying anything else.
‘And now you may go,’ Shapur dismissed him.
The vizier bowed and walked backwards to the door as the king once again entrusted his cheeks to the hairdresser’s hands.
ARTABANUS WENT TO his rooms and sat at his desk. The fact that the king had hidden Gallienus’s ransom offer troubled him greatly. Shapur keeping him in the dark about such an important matter boded ill for his relations with the sovereign and for the position he occupied. In theory, as vizier he should have been the first to be informed, and he should have conducted the negotiations himself. He pondered over their conversation at length, especially regarding the personal matter that Shapur had hinted at. The king was not obliged to tell him why he had acted in a given way; he could simply have refused to answer him. Perhaps he wanted to let the vizier know that, despite the esteem he had for him, he had preferred or been forced to deal with this matter personally.
Since Artabanus had become vizier, he had never found himself in such a situation. He decided to summon his best informer, an old Nubian eunuch who was blindly faithful to him and who for years had enjoyed the confidence of the queen-mother, the king and many other important court personages. He was called Ardashir, but that may have been the name given to him at court. Perhaps not even he remembered his birth name any longer.
Ardashir arrived rather quickly, given his considerable girth, the result of his castrated condition as well as the fine Indian cuisine that a cook from Taxila prepared for him every day with great skill and refined art.
‘How are you?’ asked the vizier as soon as he entered.
Ardashir wiped his brow and took a chair, extracting a pheasant-feather fan from his pocket and beginning to fan himself. ‘Not too bad for such an old man,’ the eunuch replied. ‘What is it you want to know, Excellency?’
‘There’s not one thing in particular, actually. There’s something that escapes me and I would like to understand – if I can – what I’m being kept in the dark about in this palace and why.’
‘What are you speaking of?’
‘The king has only informed me now that Gallienus, the son of the emperor of the Romans, sent him a ransom offer some time ago. I was never told about this. The king refused his offer, purportedly for personal reasons he has not revealed to me. But as far as I know, the king has never met Gallienus personally on any occasion and, what’s more, I don’t believe he’d ever met Valerian before the ambush at Edessa. Do you know anything about this?’
‘No. But instinct tells me there’s a woman involved.’
Artabanus smiled. ‘Many claim that you eunuchs are the best judges of feminine nature and, if the rumours I’ve heard are true, the best lovers as well.’
Ardashir sighed. ‘Water under the bridge, Excellency, I’m too old for those things any more. But it’s true that when you’ve suffered such cruel mutilation as a mere child, your sensitivity increases greatly – something that women can appreciate. And our caresses may be much more pleasant for them than the often brutal penetration of a male in heat who has all the tenderness of a copulating boar. But, returning to the topic of our conversation, in all sincerity I do not know what these “personal reasons” that the king spoke of could be. That’s why I thought of a woman . . . women are always involved somehow.’
‘Are you sure that nothing comes to mind that might help me to understand?’
‘There is a rumour that has been circulating for some time in certain parts of the court . . .’
‘What rumour?’
‘That the king, in the course of certain negotiations a couple of years ago, made the acquaintance of the wife of Septimius Odenatus, the Roman general who defends the eastern front. She is a Syrian named Zainab. Her beauty is legendary.’
‘I’ve heard speak of it myself.’
‘And such is her fascination that no man who sees her can remain immune to it. At least this is what I’ve heard said. I’ve never met her in person, regrettably.’
‘But what does this have to do with what I asked you and with what the king told me?’
‘Probably nothing. But it’s the only personal element – if we can call it such – that I could imagine might involve the King of Kings, the radiant Shapur, our sovereign.’
Artabanus searched in the eunuch’s eyes for the meaning behind his subtly allusive expression.
Ardashir began in a different tone of voice, as if he were trying to explain something quite simple to someone a little dull-witted. ‘Shall we make a hypothesis? Just a little game, of course. Let us imagine that the king was smitten by this female and was no longer able to rid himself of the thought of her. Imagine that when he received Gallienus’s proposal he made a counter-proposal . . .’
‘Zainab in place of a sum of money?’
‘It’s only a hypothesis, mind you. You’ve said it, Excellency, not me. But suppose for a moment that the hypothesis is valid: many things tally up, wouldn’t you say? The king could certainly not make a request directly to Odenatus, who had just recently stolen his plunder and a good part of his harem through a treacherous attack. But he could demand that Gallienus oblige the general to give up his wife in reparation for the insult suffered by the Persian king. An agreement destined to remain a secret between the two emperors: Valerian in exchange for Zainab.’
‘If that were the case,’ replied Artabanus, ‘Gallienus was therefore unable to compel Odenatus to turn his wife over, and thus the negotiations for the release of Valerian reached a deadlock.’
‘Obviously we’re talking about a completely imaginary hypothesis,’ said Ardashir. ‘You know how we eunuchs are: always fascinated by great love stories, precisely because experiences so sublime and at the same time so terrible have been denied us.’ He concluded his phrase with a long sigh.
‘Of course,’ replied the vizier. ‘Nothing more than an imaginative hypothesis and a bit of court gossip. I’ll keep that in mind. But you understand, my good friend, that in my position I must take everything into consideration, even the warbling of the birds and the sigh of the wind in the royal gardens.’
‘Quite true,’ replied the eunuch. ‘In any case, it has been a ple
asure to exchange a few words with you, Excellency. Consider me always at your disposal.’
They left each other with a kiss on both cheeks, and the eunuch made his way towards the door, his flesh quivering at every step.
Artabanus sighed. Ardashir the eunuch had probably found the correct interpretation of what had happened. It explained Shapur’s silence as well. The king would never admit – not even to his loyal minister – that he had become obsessed with a woman and that he was mixing fundamental state affairs with a sordid matter of personal passion. In any case, the vizier felt relieved. There was no lack of trust towards him; if anything, what was involved was a kind of shame or perhaps discretion that did not reflect on him in any way. He felt reassured and quite certain that he had received – in an allusive form, naturally – the correct information regarding the mystery of why Valerian had not been ransomed.
He leaned back into his chair and enjoyed a few moments of serenity, then took the papers that his secretary had prepared for him and began to read his correspondence. He jotted a response at the end of each page, stopping only for a short meal at midday, and continued working in complete tranquillity for several more hours. Only the waning of the light streaming in through the window made him realize that the sun was setting and the dinner hour approaching.
His servant would soon enter to tell him that the table was ready and his secretary would come in to remind him of the names of the guests and the reasons for which they had been invited to dinner.
Instead, one of the imperial guards walked in, without even knocking at the door. ‘The king wants you.’
The vizier rushed down the corridor and arrived, breathless, at the audience hall, where Shapur was waiting for him. The sovereign spun round as he entered. A glance was sufficient for Artabanus to see that he was furious and that part of that ire would rain down on him.
‘Vanished!’ shouted the king. ‘Disappeared, and no one knows where to!’
‘Excuse me, My Lord. Who has vanished?’
‘The Romans! Those bastards have vanished without a trace! How it that possible?’
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