Rome's Lost Son (13 page)

‘I may not be a queen any longer but the people of this city look to me for leadership and patronage; all the new building that you see was paid for out of my own coffers. That buys me influence just as it would in Rome. It’s no different here.’

‘We don’t go around killing close family.’

‘And you don’t consider Tiberius’ great-nephews or Caligula’s cousin and great-uncle to be close family?’

Vespasian did not offer an opinion.

‘You accepted my assertion that Nero will inherit?’

Vespasian saw where she was heading with her argument. ‘Yes and he’s bound to kill Britannicus; but Britannicus is only a stepbrother.’

‘Indeed; but although it will be Nero who orders the knife wielded or the poison poured, Britannicus will have actually been killed by his own father. Claudius committed infanticide the moment he adopted Nero. So don’t try to pretend that you act in anyway different in Rome than we do in the East. Agrippina will kill her uncle and husband, Claudius, just as Caligula killed his great-uncle, Tiberius, just as Radamistus killed his uncle and father-in-law, Mithridates.’

‘So Mithridates is dead then?’

‘Smothered; and both his sons too.’

‘Smothered?’

‘Yes, Radamistus swore to his uncle that he would never harm him with blade or poison. Whatever may be said of my nephew, he’s no oath-breaker, so he had Mithridates smothered under a pile of clothes and then smothered his sons for mourning their father openly. I’m sure that comes as no surprise.’

‘Not really, no; it was the logical thing for Radamistus to do.’

‘As you said quietly in private the other night.’

Vespasian could not help a half-smile. ‘You’re not as well informed as you think. It was Sabinus who actually said it; I just agreed with him.’

‘I should have my agent strangled for that error,’ Tryphaena said lightly.

‘Then perhaps you will be able to tell me who it was?’

‘That would be the act of a fool.’

‘As would be having such a useful, active agent killed.’ Vespasian noted that Tryphaena did not dispute the point and immediately changed the subject. ‘So my embassy is a waste of time; I can’t restore a dead man to the throne, and yet if I don’t remove Radamistus Parthia will attempt to do so by force and we will be heading for war.’

‘It is a conundrum, proconsul.’

‘One which you helped to create.’ Vespasian looked at her pointedly. ‘Time to really press to prove your loyalty to Rome, I think. Persuade your nephew to step down.’

‘You’ll have to kill him because he won’t relinquish the throne now.’

The suggestion came as no surprise to Vespasian. ‘And will you help me do it?’

‘What would I gain by it?’

‘You would regain Rome’s trust.’

Tryphaena pointed to Sabinus still deep in conversation with the worthy. ‘I have just sold out at least a dozen of my former countrymen to do that. What would I really gain by helping you kill my nephew? Claudius will soon be dead, as you’ve worked out; my kinswoman Agrippina will see to that for the good of Rome before he completely loses our family’s power to his freedmen. In his place will be our golden boy Nero, and my Roman family will once again be back in control. So I will retain Rome’s favour and the favour of my brother in Pontus, my brother-in-law in Iberia and my nephew in Armenia; I am surrounded by friends.’ She indicated again to an enthusiastic-looking Sabinus. ‘What is more, the Governor of Thracia is now very well disposed towards me, and the new Governor of Asia, as
you know, is my old friend Corbulo. So I ask you again: what would I gain?’

‘So you do want war with Parthia?’

‘Of course, proconsul; as you have already guessed – quietly and in private, but for many of the wrong reasons – that’s what this is all about. I may not be a queen any more, Vespasian, but the blood of the royal houses of the East and the Emperors of the West still flows in my veins. I would have neither of those great houses return to the level of the rural poor, as you so astutely observed.’

It was as if curtains before Vespasian’s eyes were drawn back and he suddenly saw Tryphaena for what she really was: another Antonia. But she was not fighting for one family’s survival in power, but two. ‘It’s you who is behind this, not Agrippina. You knew of the Parthian embassy and you timed your nephew’s invasion of Armenia to make it look as if they had instigated it in order to get a Roman embassy sent there; you wanted Parthia provoked. You know Corbulo, you had him recalled and given Asia so you could have Rome’s best general awaiting in the region because you couldn’t afford to have Rome lose the war that would secure both your families. If Rome beats Parthia in Armenia you gain even more than Agrippina.’

Tryphaena tutted with disappointment. ‘I always had high hopes for you, Vespasian; you’re close but you’ve missed one vital point. I knew that you had a keen mind and Antonia mentioned a few times in her letters just how impressed she was with your development; she evidently was being a little too generous. However, you did work out who my agent was when I carelessly as much as admitted that he was still with you; but you tried to take care not to let me know by changing the subject. Do you know which one?’

‘By a process of deduction, if it is one of my lictors – and how else would my words travel as fast as me? – then it has to be the only one that could disappear for half an hour without the permission of the senior lictor so that he could brief you upon our arrival before you came up here. Therefore it has to be the senior one himself and that would be confirmed by the fact that
I saw him lurking outside the triclinium door the other night when it was opened suddenly and I had been talking quietly and in private.’

‘Very good. Will you keep him? As a favour to me, that is.’

‘So that he can spy on me?’

‘No, so that he can keep you alive.’

‘That’s what lictors are meant to do, amongst other things.’

‘Yes, but he will keep you alive for my sake because I chose him specifically to look after you.’

‘How? I only knew that I was coming East three days before I left; you had no time to get that news here and then fiddle with the lictor appointments.’

‘I’d already done it.’

‘So you’d already decided who would lead our embassy?’ Vespasian did not need an answer; now he truly understood and his eyes widened. ‘Your agent knew of the Parthian embassy because he was with it when it arrived in Tyras; he was with it because …’ Vespasian paused in admiration.

‘Go on; say it.’

‘He was with it because it didn’t come from Parthia, it came from here.’ Vespasian’s eyes widened as Tryphaena did nothing to deny his assertion. ‘It was false. You set it up to seem as if the Parthians had negotiated with the northern tribes and had your agent tell Sabinus who, naturally, believed him; and then you made sure that his failure to capture it was brought to the notice of the people who count in Rome. Meanwhile, the fake embassy returned here and you paid a trierarchus heading back to Rome to give Agarpetus information that implied that the embassy had travelled via Iberia; this was enough for Narcissus’ spy-master to bring the matter to his master’s notice. You timed the Iberian attack on Armenia at the same moment as the embassy would have been in that country to make the whole thing look as if it were a Parthian plot. Finally, you made sure that Narcissus suspected his enemy, the Empress, of treason by having Agarpetus intercept a false message purporting to be from one of her agents that implied that Agrippina knew of the embassy and was trying to keep it a secret from you. Pallas was right: he had been
purposely kept in the dark while Narcissus was purposely enlightened. You also rightly concluded that Narcissus would think that he had an ally in me because Agrippina hated me and would use any excuse to block me. He also guessed that my brother might have known more than he had let on so therefore my uncle and I would be the best people to talk to him. But most of all you knew that a consul, newly stepped down, is the most obvious candidate to lead an embassy to Armenia if the grandeur of Rome is to be taken seriously and Pallas, who would make the final choice, would see me as his ally in a delicate matter. You are why I’m here.’

‘And all for the cost of three expendable ships.’ Tryphaena looked genuinely pleased at the exposure of her duplicity and took Vespasian by the arm and led him inside. ‘Antonia did train you well after all. Now I shall put all that training to good use.’

‘And why should I serve your cause?’

‘Because, proconsul, you would be foolish not to and I don’t think you are a foolish person. Now, how are your powers of suggestion? Because the procurator of Cappadocia, Julius Paelignus, is the key to this.’

Grey clouds rolled in on a northeasterly wind, thickening over the trireme’s masthead as if the incoming thunderstorm was aimed at that vessel alone and anything else that it hit was peripheral. Thunder rumbled with brooding menace across the Euxine and over the mountains of Pontus. The coastline showed the same threatening intent: high, dark cliffs rose from an unsettled sea, jagged teeth of rock at their base waiting to gnaw hungrily on any hull driven onto them by Poseidon’s malice, Fortuna’s whim or just plain bad seamanship.

Magnus pulled his cloak tight about his shoulders, his grey hair lank with spray as he looked with angst at the looming shore a quarter of a mile away to starboard and coming ever closer. Vespasian, standing next to Magnus at the starboard rail, glanced back at the trierarchus, positioned between the steering-oars; the deck bucked once more and all lurched in an effort to remain upright. The trierarchus scanned the endless procession of cliffs,
his face set grim as the steersmen to either side battled to keep the two steering-oars’ blades straight in order to prevent any more drift towards the sure death that lurked so close to them.

‘He can’t see anywhere safe to heave-to,’ Vespasian said, his voice raised against the growing storm.

‘Then we should run before the wind,’ Magnus opined through clenched teeth.

‘What makes you a nautical expert all of a sudden?’

‘Logic: if you can’t fight against something then go with it.’

At that moment the trierarchus evidently came to the same conclusion and screamed a stream of orders through his speaking trumpet that sent the cowering crew scuttling barefoot to all points of the deck. Ropes were unsheeted and hauled upon as the steersmen pushed their oars to starboard and, as the trireme came round, a small section of the bow sail was unfurled; the leather immediately ballooned, pumped by the wind that drove the ship before it faster than it had done for the last five days. Five days since they had dropped Sabinus and Gaius – along with the untrustworthy lictors, despite Tryphaena’s request – at Byzantium and begun the long pull along the coast of Bithynia, Paphlagonia and then Pontus. Five days in which Vespasian had tried to get to grips with the magnitude of what Tryphaena had asked him to do; no, not asked, ordered. And it had been an order that he could not refuse because to have done so would have spelt disaster for him and his family. Gone had been the kindly Queen who had helped him when he had been a young military tribune in Thracia; now he could see that she had only been kindly because he had been working for Antonia’s, and therefore her own, agenda. It had not been threats that had bent him to her will; it had been bald statements of fact.

Fact: his family were not well established and could revert to the status of the rural poor within two generations if Tryphaena’s two families decided to make it so. Fact: however Tryphaena’s scheme ended, either Pallas’ or Narcissus’ life would be forfeit, leaving the survivor in Tryphaena’s debt and Vespasian would benefit from that. Fact: that what he was to do would ultimately benefit Rome and, although it could never
be made public knowledge, his participation would eventually be whispered in the right people’s ears and in the meantime he could console himself with the thought of service for the greater good. But there had been one other reason why he had finally decided to do Tryphaena’s bidding and that was not a fact but, rather, a hunch; and it was a hunch that he kept to himself.

But he had not been fooled into feeling safe and that was why he had entrusted Gaius with a letter to Caenis. If something should go wrong with what he planned to do and he was exposed and killed, she would be able to make sure that his reasons for acting as he did would not remain secret as Tryphaena would wish. Gaius would wait out the year with Sabinus in his provinces before returning to Rome next spring with Vespasian, all being well, and if not, then with just the letter.

As the ship began to run fast with the gathering wind, carrying him swiftly towards his destination, Vespasian felt a strange relief; the gale was hastening what he must do. If his mission went well, Tryphaena would reward him and Corbulo would have the military command that he desired.

Because Vespasian was hastening towards Armenia to provoke Parthia into war.

CHAPTER VII

‘D
O YOU HAVE
the Emperor’s authority for this outrageous request?’ Julius Paelignus, the procurator of Cappadocia, drew himself up to his full height, which was limited to five feet owing to a severe curvature of the spine. ‘Because, I would remind you, I am a very good personal friend of Claudius and it would not do to cross me.’

‘I am well aware of your relationship with the Emperor.’ Vespasian looked down at the deformed little man and tried not to let the contempt that he felt for the procurator’s self-importance play on his face. ‘It is not a request; it’s a suggestion. I have an imperial mandate to act in whichever way I see best in relation to the current crisis in Armenia and I suggest that your auxiliary cohorts secure its border with Parthia.’

‘All of them?’

‘All of them!’ Vespasian’s voice echoed around the marble columns and walls of the procurator’s palace located in the eastern city of Melitene in the mountainous province on the edge of the Empire.

‘I can’t spare them all.’

‘Are they doing anything else important at the moment?’

‘They’re guarding our border with Armenia.’

‘That border is guarded by the Euphrates River; Armenia’s border with Parthia is a vague line just to the south of Tigranocerta.’

Paelignus spluttered, looking up at Vespasian with protruding, bloodshot eyes; his thick, moist lips dominated the lower part of his gaunt face. ‘But they are
my
troops.’

‘And you shall command them, Paelignus, as is only right as, although I’ve made the suggestion, this will be
your
idea.’

Paelignus’ thin nose twitched and he rubbed it with his thumb and forefinger; his fingernails were chewed almost to the cuticles. ‘And I shall take the credit for any victory?’

‘Procurator, I am not here. You have seen my imperial mandate and that should be enough for you. My presence should not be mentioned in any official papers or letters and should not be reported to your direct superior, Ummidius Quadratus, the Governor of Syria; so therefore the obvious conclusion is yes, you will not only be able to claim all the plunder but also take all the credit for any victory, worthy feat of arms or successful negotiation through force that
you
may achieve in
your
securing of the southern Armenian border during this period of instability in that client kingdom.’ As well as any fiasco, dishonourable retreat or double-dealing agreement, Vespasian added in his head as he smiled ingratiatingly at this puffed-up little joke of a procurator whose eyes had narrowed as he contemplated riches and honour easily come by. He had only met Paelignus once previously, on the last day of the Secular games three years before when the man had been present in the imperial box almost begging Claudius to be given the post of procurator of Cappadocia to restore his finances; his friendship with the Emperor involved many games of dice and wagering on just about anything and his purse had been severely depleted by Claudius’ passion for gambling. Why Claudius would associate himself with such a buffoon he could only … but then he realised that, as a hunchback, Paelignus was exactly the sort of person that Claudius would enjoy having around him: he would make the drooling fool seem less of an oddity. Now that Paelignus had his wished-for position, Tryphaena had judged that his greed and venality would serve her purposes well. Vespasian was unsurprised as the procurator acquiesced.

‘Very well, proconsul,’ Paelignus affirmed, summoning as much dignity as he could in order to seem in command. ‘I will leave in ten days.’

‘Wrong, Paelignus; speed is of the essence and the Emperor will commend you for it. You will leave in three. In ten days you will be in Tigranocerta. Meanwhile, King Polemon of Pontus will
bring an army in from the north and secure Artaxata.’ Leaving the procurator speechless and gaping, Vespasian turned on his heel and marched quickly from the room. He was in no mood for more delay; now that he was close to his objective he wanted to achieve Tryphaena’s dubious aims and then get back to Italia and watch the results from the relative safety of one of his estates. It had already taken over half a month to make the two-hundred-mile journey from the port of Sinope, the seat of King Polemon, Tryphaena’s brother. Vespasian had not been surprised to find himself expected and treated with the utmost courtesy by the ageing King; he had been furnished with a unit of Polemon’s personal guard cavalry for his protection overland. They were armed with lances in the image of Alexander the Great’s companion cavalry; shieldless but with stout leather cuirasses and bronze helmets they looked like troops from days gone by, but Polemon had assured him that they had no equal when it came to horsemanship. Their mere presence deterred any banditry along the route and it had been with some regret that Vespasian had released them, upon their arrival in Cappadocia, having not seen them fight.

As he went in search of Magnus who was settling into the sparse comforts of the guest quarters of the draughty and seldom-used palace, Vespasian allowed himself a satisfied smile; he felt as if events had finally started to move. He had commandeered his army: five auxiliary cohorts of eight hundred heavy infantry each, all trained to fight in dispersed order; ideal for mountainous terrain. But fighting was not going to be their primary function and he was looking forward to seeing the expression on the ugly, drawn face of Paelignus when he found out just what really was required of them.

‘This will be a glorious march of conquest!’ Paelignus all but screeched as he raised his voice for the small army of over four thousand foot and horse to hear. ‘The Emperor and the Senate look to us to restore Rome’s rightful influence over Armenia. We will invade from the west and capture Tigranocerta whilst our Pontic allies come in from the north and take Artaxata. For us the
hour has come when we can write Cappadocia into the annals of history as the province that saved Roman honour in the East.’

As Paelignus continued to harangue his troops with notions of grandeur far in excess of what was really being asked of them, the infantry stood beneath their banners, rigid, eyes front; weak sunlight glinted on their chain mail, javelin heads and unadorned helms, and the red of their tunics and breeches matched painted shields emblazoned with crossed burnished-iron lightning bolts, giving the impression of rank upon rank of blood and silver. Beside them the baggage train was formed up in surprisingly neatly dressed lines, their appearance less uniform as their clothing was not standard issue. However, they shared one common factor with their infantry comrades: a look of complete non-comprehension.

‘I don’t know why he bothers to waste his breath like that,’ Magnus said, pulling back on the reins of his skittish horse. ‘I don’t suppose more than a dozen of them can speak Latin better than the average five year old.’

Vespasian chuckled as he too was forced to control his mount, which had been spooked by its neighbour. ‘I don’t suppose it’s even occurred to him that he’d have a better chance of being understood in Greek; all he can think of is being seen as the equal of Caesar, Lucullus, Pompey and all the other generals who’ve campaigned in this region. There’s no one so blind as a small man with no military experience who thinks that he’s been given the chance to be a hero without actually doing anything.’

Vespasian steadied his horse, pulling it closer to the mule-drawn cart carrying their tent and personal effects, driven by Hormus, and caught his slave looking with admiration at one of the many young muleteers of the army’s baggage train in which he would travel. The lad smiled back with the promise in his dusky eyes of all received coinage being delightfully rewarded.

‘And so, soldiers of Rome,’ Paelignus falsettoed, his normally pale cheeks almost matching the tunics of his audience, ‘follow me to Armenia, follow me to Tigranocerta, follow me to victory and glory in the name of Rome.’ He punched his sword into the air to little reaction and was forced to repeat the gesture another
couple of times before his audience realised that the end of a rousing speech had come and began to react accordingly. Paelignus addressed the five auxiliary prefects standing behind him on the dais before descending the wooden steps to the ragged cheering of his troops. After the bare minimum time that could politely be allowed for an army hailing its commanding officer the prefects signalled to their primus pilus centurions; raucous bellows of command easily cut through the noise followed by the blare of horns. Centuries snapped to attention in unison and turned left, with thuds of massed hobnailed sandals, converting them into eight-man-wide columns. With another series of martial bellows and repeated
bucinae
fanfares the whole formation began to move, century by century, cohort by cohort, off the parade ground in front of the city’s main gate to head, in one long serpentine column, east towards the Euphrates beyond which lay the snow-capped peaks of Armenia.

Vespasian was impressed by the speed at which the column was able to travel along the Persian Royal Road, built by Darius the Great to connect the heartland of his empire with the sea to the west. Wide and well maintained, it was the equal of any road of Roman construction and its even surface enabled the auxiliaries to march at a good pace.

In fact, the speed with which the whole expedition had been brought together reflected well on the command structure of the province’s military. It was with something approaching a guilty conscience that, later that day, Vespasian watched the auxiliaries traversing the seventy-pace-long bridge over the Euphrates. In order for Tryphaena’s plan to work, it was not to victory that they were heading.

The bridge was narrower than the road, causing a bottleneck, and it took the rest of the day and the best part of the following one to get the whole force and its baggage across; it was as the final carts trundled over that the first tiny silhouettes of horsemen were spotted on the crest of a distant hill.

‘It didn’t take long for news of our march to spread,’ Magnus commented, climbing into the saddle.

Vespasian swung himself up onto his mount. ‘I’m sure that King Polemon has taken the precaution of warning both Radamistus and the Parthians of our arrival by now.’

‘Naturally,’ Magnus agreed. ‘You can’t trust anyone in the East; they’d betray their own mothers for a goat if they thought that they could get more practical usage out of it. But you don’t seem to be too concerned by it. I thought that the whole point of quick strikes like this was to keep the element of surprise.’

‘That would be helpful if this were meant to be a quick strike.’

Magnus shaded his eyes as he took another look southwest at the scouts. ‘What do you mean?’

Vespasian turned his horse. ‘Has it occurred to you that we don’t really have anyone to strike at? Radamistus is meant to be loyal to Rome and the Parthians have not, as yet, as far as we’re aware, invaded.’

‘But I thought that you told Paelignus that the whole point of this mission was to secure Tigranocerta whilst King Polemon invaded from the north and took Artaxata on the basis that whoever controls the two royal capitals controls Armenia?’

‘That is indeed what I told him; but it is far from the truth. Had I told him that, he would probably have tried to have me arrested for treason.’ Vespasian enjoyed the surprise and confusion on Magnus’ face as he kicked his horse forward in search of Paelignus.

‘Probably just local brigands,’ Paelignus announced as Vespasian drew up his mount. ‘It’s beneath the dignity of Rome to send scouts scurrying around the country investigating riff-raff.’

‘If you’re sure, Paelignus,’ Vespasian replied, scanning the hilltop. ‘Whoever they were, they’ve gone now.’

‘That’ll be the last we’ll see of them.’

‘What makes you so certain?’

‘The Armenians would never dare to attack a Roman column.’

‘Maybe, maybe not; but Parthians would.’

‘The Parthians? What would they be doing in the country?’

‘The same as us, procurator, staking their claim to it in a time of change. And, if they did come, I believe they would come from
the southwest.’ He pointed to the hill on which the horsemen had appeared. ‘And judging by the sun, that is the southwest.’

The column followed the road east for three days until it turned and meandered south through the dun and dusty rough terrain of the uplands that preceded the Masius range. The horsemen were not seen again. By the time the auxiliaries approached Amida, on the banks of the young Tigris River, where the road struck east again towards Tigranocerta, across the hundred-mile passage in the gentle northern foothills of the Masius mountains, the horsemen had been forgotten by almost everyone. Paelignus led the march on at a hurried pace, imitating the Roman generals of old by disdaining to send out scouts on the spurious basis that looking out for ambushes set by barbarians was yet another thing that was beneath the dignity of Rome.

But what was not below Rome’s dignity was greed and it was soon after noon on the fifth day that the column halted to the blare of bucinae, above the peaceful-looking little town of Amida, set astride the road. The high-pitched calls of the bucinae, used for signals in camp and on the march, soon gave way to the deep rumbles of the G-shaped cornu favoured for battlefield signals, and the column started to deploy into line.

‘What is he doing?’ Magnus asked as auxiliaries filed left and right and farmers, ploughing the freshly thawed fields, abandoned their ploughs and sprinted for the relative safety of the town’s walls.

‘Exactly what Tryphaena predicted he would: rape and plunder. He’s never had this chance; being a cripple no one ever took him into their legion as a military tribune so he’s never been on campaign and he’s never felt the power of the sword.’

Magnus was confused. ‘But this is an Armenian town; how does he think he’ll forward our interests if he destroys everything he comes across?’

‘He doesn’t think, at least he doesn’t think beyond schemes of personal gain, and that’s his problem; that is why he’s so suitable.’

‘We want him to alienate the Armenians?’