by R. W. Peake
“That’s what’s-his-name!” Balbus exclaimed. “Tispes? And that other one is the boy who slit that cunnus’ throat for us.”
“Teispes,” Pullus corrected, “and yes, that’s Bodroges. I wonder what Caesar wants with them.”
“Maybe those bastards who are supposed to be waiting for us up ahead decided not to wait,” Balbus suggested.
It was certainly a possibility, but Pullus doubted it, just judging by the manner in which the men of the command group were behaving. They were agitated, certainly; even then, Hirtius was pointing at Ventidius, while the old Muleteer was shaking his head, but Pullus didn’t get the sense that there was a battle in the offing.
“Well,” he concluded, “we’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.”
As it turned out, they remained in place for almost a full watch.
“Who are these people?” Caesar demanded, ostensibly addressing both Parthians, but aiming it at Bodroges. “And,” he asked coldly, “why didn’t you warn me about them?”
“They call themselves the Elymais,” Bodroges repeated, but when Caesar’s eyes narrowed, he hurried on, “and honestly, I didn’t think them important enough to mention.” He turned and indicated the line of mountains almost due east, which paralleled their line of travel, and through which at some point the army had to penetrate in order to reach Istakhr. “Their territory is entirely within those mountains.”
“So they’re Parthians,” Hirtius spoke up, but at this, Teispes shook his head.
So rare was it that he spoke, the few times that he did, those around him always listened intently, and this time was no exception.
“No,” he said. “They are…” he quickly corrected himself, “…or were a vassal state, but they were not particularly…enthusiastic about it. They paid their tribute, but they never supplied the required drafshi when the king demanded it.”
“How did they get away with that?” Caesar asked curiously. “Orodes never struck me as the type of man who would tolerate that kind of disobedience. Nor would Phraates, for that matter.”
“No,” Teispes agreed. “Orodes was not happy about it. And neither was Phraates. Of course,” his demeanor didn’t change, but Caesar heard the dry humor in his voice, “Phraates wasn’t king very long.” This elicited some chuckles, although Caesar had no idea if this was Teispes’ intent, but the Parthian repeated what Bodroges had done by pointing a finger and moving it along the expanse of the mountain range as he explained, “But that’s why neither Orodes, nor Phraates, or Orodes’ father, for that matter, did anything about them, because of those mountains. There’s not enough flat ground for cataphractoi to operate, and as you well know, our infantry is simply not good enough, so the only force that would have a chance are our horse archers, but they would be unsupported.” He finished with a shake of his head. “The truth is that we don’t know that much about these people, aside from the fact that they speak our tongue and worship the same gods.”
Caesar was silent for a moment, then in a tacit acceptance of Teispes’ words, returned his attention to Bodroges, asking the courtier, “What else can you tell me about these people?”
“Not much,” Bodroges admitted, “but I know that their king is named Kamnaskires, and he’s the fifth of his name to reign, and that he’s old. He has a son, also named Kamnaskires, who is their crown prince. I’ve never met him, but I have seen him once, when he escorted the tribute payment for their kingdom to Ctesiphon. That was,” he thought for a moment, “three years ago, my first at court.”
“Whoever is ruling, that they are requesting a parley is…interesting,” Caesar mused.
“It could be a trap, designed to lure some of us out away from the main body,” Pollio pointed out.
“It could be,” Caesar replied, “but to what end? From what you two have told me, it doesn’t seem likely that they’re going to do something on Parthia’s behalf, given how reluctant they are to supply men.” Something occurred to Caesar, and he asked the Parthians, “How many men could they field if they chose to?”
The pair exchanged a glance, but while Teispes only shrugged, it was Bodroges who answered, “Honestly, Caesar, I have no idea. I did hear another courtier make the comment that it was around five thousand men, but barely any of them were mounted, and I do not know where he got that information.”
“Well,” Caesar concluded, “there’s only one way to find out.”
Glancing around, he selected a half dozen Tribunes, and Pollio, who mistakenly assumed that he would be leading the contingent, until Caesar began moving at a trot away from the group, not even bothering to look behind him.
The Legate opened his mouth to protest, then realized it was pointless, but before he followed the Tribunes, and Caesar’s personal bodyguard, who had immediately put their mounts into motion, he told the pair of Parthians, “I suppose you should come as well, if they don’t speak Greek.”
When Teispes and Bodroges obeyed, they were quickly joined by Gundomir, who had unobtrusively followed them from their spot in the column, following Caesar’s orders to the letter. They had to go to the canter to catch up to Caesar, and when Teispes saw the German pull alongside, he made no comment, giving the man his version of a smile of understanding.
The spot that the envoys from the Elymais had chosen was one of the few that offered any shade, where a copse of trees had grown up along a tributary to the Pasitigris. At first glance, these men appeared no different than other Parthians; they had erected a tent that was identical to those used by members of the Parthian nobility, and even with the shade, an awning had been set up where a table was placed, behind which two men sat, watching as the Roman party approached. Somewhat unusually, Caesar decided to be cautious, halting while still several hundred paces away as Barvistus, now the nominal commander of Caesar’s bodyguard since Gundomir was performing a new duty, led a dozen of his Germans on a wide circuit around the spot. If the Elymais envoys were disturbed by this obvious lack of trust, they didn’t show it in any way, although their own bodyguards, who were standing out in the hot sun, did make sure they turned and watched the foreign horsemen make their inspection. Satisfied, Barvistus raised a hand from where he was now positioned behind the envoys, but that was the only move he made, nor did the men with him return to the party. Caesar put his horse to a walk, calling for Bodroges and Pollio only to accompany him, which not surprisingly, wasn’t met with much enthusiasm.
“You’re close enough to see if there’s any treachery,” Caesar spoke dismissively, confident as always in his own abilities to sense any trap, and if there was, to fight his way out of it on his own.
Predictably, it was Gundomir who was the most put out, but he contented himself with cursing in his own tongue under his breath, ignoring Teispes regarding him with some amusement as he sat watching Caesar and the others ride closer. Once within about a hundred paces, one of the envoys stood and walked from around the table, striding towards the approaching Romans. He was very young and very handsome in a swarthy way, his beard oiled and gleaming, while his hair was carefully curled. Despite the richly brocaded robe he wore that, contrary to appearances, Caesar had learned was actually quite cool, the young man moved with the kind of lithe grace that matched that of Caesar when he had been that age. His teeth were surprisingly white and even, which was obvious because of the broad smile he wore, but once the distance closed to perhaps a dozen paces, he stopped and gave a low, courtly bow in the Parthian style.
“I bear greetings to the great Gaius Julius Caesar, Dictator of Rome, from my king Kamnaskires, fifth of his name, and King of what the Parthians call Elymais. It is a great honor to meet the conqueror of the King of Kings, and my sovereign sends his regrets that he could not make the journey himself to meet you.” This had been spoken in flawless Greek, and the man continued, “I,” he stood erect, and there was no missing the touch of haughty pride of Eastern nobility that seemed to be sucked up at their mother’s breast, “am Vologases, councilor to the crown prince,
also named Kamnaskires. He,” at this, Vologases turned to indicate the man who had remained seated, “is waiting to speak with you, Caesar.”
“I return the greeting offered by your king, Vologases,” Caesar answered, completely accustomed to the intricate rituals of the Eastern court, “and am deeply honored that he would send his son to meet us. However,” Caesar’s tone was mild, “I confess I’m confused. We are just passing by on our way…elsewhere and are frankly in a bit of a hurry, so I am not sure what the purpose of this meeting is.”
Instead of rattling the young courtier, Vologases’ smile broadened even more, and he explained, “I assure you, great Caesar, that my prince will clear up any confusion that you may have about why we requested this meeting. Now,” he took a step towards Caesar, which elicited a reaction from Pollio, whose hand dropped to the hilt of his gladius, but the Parthian was only offering to hold Caesar’s horse, “if you care to dismount and follow me, we have some refreshment to offer. Of course,” he turned first to Pollio, “these men will be offered some as well.”
When he turned to look at Bodroges, his smile remained, but he said nothing more; Caesar assumed that it was because Bodroges was a Parthian, and he wondered how these Elymais would view the fact that other Parthians had changed their allegiance. He was too busy to notice the expression on Bodroges’ face, or that his mouth opened, then quickly shut, as if he was about to say something, but instead chose to stare, hard, at this Vologases. Dismounting, Caesar handed the reins to Pollio, telling him and Bodroges to remain where they were, then without another look back, strode towards the table. The man behind it had risen and come around in front, and while he was dressed as richly as Vologases, he also wore a circlet of gold, with a series of points on the front part of the circlet, the tip of each point adorned with a precious stone, reminding Caesar that the Parthians valued these trappings of power. I wonder, he thought wryly, what his father’s crown must look like, though his face gave nothing away of his thoughts. Accustomed as he was to the Eastern obsession with courtesies and small rituals, Caesar was reasonably certain that this man, who appeared to be about ten years older than Vologases, expected him to bow, or make some other form of obeisance, something that Caesar had no intention of doing.
It was something of a test, and when Vologases made the introduction, intoning, “Caesar, may I present Crown Prince Kamnaskires, sixth of his name, and heir to the throne of Elymais,” instead of bowing or even inclining his head, Caesar thrust out an arm in the Roman manner.
The strongest reaction came from the watching bodyguards, several of whom either hissed or muttered imprecations under their breath, but Kamnaskires, who wasn’t smiling as Vologases had been, glared at Caesar, then said something in what sounded to Caesar’s ears like a dialect of the Parthian language, similar enough to recognize it, but too different for him to pick out any words.
Once he was finished, Vologases turned to Caesar and said apologetically, “I regret to say that my prince has taken offense to the fact that you do not show the proper obeisance due him as a member of a royal family.”
Rather than angering Caesar, it amused him, and he replied lightly, “I can see how he would take it that way, but no offense is intended. It’s just that Romans do not bow….to anyone,” his voice lost any semblance of humor and he finished, “…particularly to those vassals of a kingdom that we have conquered.”
Vologases’ smile remained, but for the first time, Caesar saw the anger in his eyes, yet the young Parthian replied coolly, “You may have conquered most of the Parthian kingdom, but that is not the same as conquering all of the Parthian kingdom. And,” he added quietly, “you have not conquered Elymais.”
“That is true,” Caesar countered, “but if we must, we will.”
Since they had been speaking in Greek, when Vologases turned to translate for Kamnaskires, Caesar decided that it would be wise to have Bodroges as his own translator, but when he turned to wave to him, Vologases hastily said, “No translator will be necessary, Caesar. As you can see, I speak Greek.”
“And,” Caesar replied honestly, “very well, indeed. But,” he turned and was about to point at Kamnaskires but caught himself, and just indicated the prince with a nod, “apparently, your prince does not, and no offense to you, Vologases, it’s him with whom I wish to speak.”
Now the smile returned to Vologases’ face, and he answered cheerfully, “I can assure you, Caesar, that the crown prince speaks Greek just as well as I do.”
This confused Caesar, but then Vologases turned back to Kamnaskires, spoke in Parthian again, but as he did so, he extended his hand. And, before Caesar’s astonished eyes, the crown prince took the circlet from his head, walked over, and placed it in Vologases’ hand, whereupon he immediately dropped to his knees, and lowered his upper body so that his nose was no more than an inch from the dirt.
“I apologize for this…subterfuge, Caesar,” the real Kamnaskires said, “but I wanted to get an idea of who this Roman is who has managed to subdue most of Parthia before revealing my identity. Now,” he extended a hand towards the table, “please join me so that we may talk.”
It was rare for Caesar to be speechless, but even as he moved to the table under the awning, he began chuckling; he thought that he might come to like this Kamnaskires.
They talked for a good third of a watch, a period that Caesar found extremely informative, and, provided Kamnaskires proved good to his word, extremely profitable in several senses. During their exchange, Caesar learned that the reason for the reluctance of the Elymais to provide their required drafshi was due more to their hatred of their Parthian overlords than poverty.
“They have looked down on us for generations,” Kamnaskires had said with a venom that Caesar was certain was unfeigned. “Because we chose to remain here, in these mountains, and not seek to expand our holdings, they viewed it as weakness, not wisdom. But,” the prince turned and pointed to the slopes of the nearest mountain, which was perhaps ten miles away, “we have no need of walls, nor do we need to move our herds of goats and sheep. We’re not many in numbers, and it has remained this way for that very reason.”
As Caesar sat listening, he was of two minds; part of him was admiring of the discipline it must take for these people to remain aloof and resist the normal temptation of a state to expand its territory, but at the same time, he was worried that such an independent-minded people might pose yet another challenge to Roman rule. The longer he listened to Kamnaskires, however, his concern eased, and by the time the prince had finished his speech, which Caesar could tell had been prepared with great care, he felt reasonably confident that not only would the tiny kingdom of Elymais not prove to be a problem, but they might be useful to the Roman cause.
Once Kamnaskires was finished, the two men sat and sipped from their cups of a drink made from fruit and chilled by snow brought from the peaks towering above them, then Caesar broke the silence by saying, “I believe that we can help each other, Prince Kamnaskires.”
“Oh?” The only visible reaction by the younger man was a raised eyebrow, and he set his cup down carefully and asked, “How so?”
“First, I must ask, how many men could your kingdom field?” Caesar queried.
Kamnaskires didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to stare into his cup for several heartbeats, then he countered, “I will tell you, Caesar, but I would like to know why you ask.”
“Because,” Caesar had decided frankness was the best approach, “it will play a role in how I choose to proceed, and what I will offer to your father.”
This seemed to satisfy the prince, because he answered readily enough, “No more than five thousand men. But,” he lifted a hand, “I feel it is important that what we lack in numbers, we make up for in skill.”
Caesar’s initial reaction was to dismiss this as typical boasting by a young man, but Kamnaskires seemed to sense this, because he went on, “The proof that our warriors are as skilled as I claim is obvious.” Leaning forw
ard to look Caesar in the eye, the prince asked, “Why do you think that the Parthian king, the King of Kings, has not sallied forth from his capital to crush us and bring us to heel?”
Caesar didn’t reply immediately, choosing instead to think for a moment, but while he could see the point the prince was making, he wasn’t convinced, and he pointed out, “Couldn’t it be because of the terrain? It’s so mountainous that it’s not the kind of ground where the cataphractoi can operate.”
“That,” Kamnaskires readily admitted, “is a large part of it. But it is not the entirety of why the King of Kings has been unable to conquer us. The only cataphractoi we field are those of the royal bodyguard, and they number only five hundred, nor do we have many infantrymen, no more than a thousand. The rest are archers, but whereas the Parthian archers are only effective on horseback, the archers of Elymais are equally effective mounted or on foot. And, our horses are mountain bred, very fleet of foot and able to climb heights that the Parthians of the flatlands can only hope to scale.”
Caesar was intrigued, his mind running over the possible uses of troops of this nature; provided, of course, that Kamnaskires wasn’t merely boasting. Somehow, Caesar certain that the young prince wasn’t.
“Kamnaskires,” Caesar spoke carefully, “how much tribute were you required to pay the King of Kings?”
“Two thousand talents of silver a year,” Kamnaskires answered, his bitterness obvious.
“What if,” Caesar asked, “instead of paying tribute, you were paid the same sum every year?”
“What would you require of us for that amount?”