Carrhae (59 page)

‘The Romans’ tax system is based on the harvest of farmlands, majesty,’ he explained, ‘so the more crops that are harvested the more taxes they collect. Very clever.’

The plain that we travelled through before we reached Antioch had red soil and was filled with olive orchards. The slopes of the high hills that surrounded it were also covered in olive trees and oaks. The land was green and fertile and as we continued and came to the Orontes River I saw an abundance of vineyards, fig trees, myrtle, ilex, arbutus, dwarf oak and sycamore. The Orontes had deep and swift waters with which to irrigate the land and it wound its way round the bases of high and precipitous cliffs before entering the Mediterranean Sea that was some thirty miles away.

We rounded a bend in the road and were confronted by dozens of Roman horsemen around three hundred paces away. I instinctively raised my hand to signal a halt and then reached behind me to pull my bow from its case hanging from one of the rear horns of my saddle. Vagises did the same and shouted ‘ready!’ as ahead the Romans made no attempt to move.

From smiling and looking relaxed Bayas’ face registered alarm.

‘No danger, majesty,’ he stuttered, ‘it is a guard of honour to welcome you to Antioch.’

I already had an arrow knocked in my bowstring and when I glanced behind I saw that every one of my horsemen had done likewise.

‘Stand down,’ I shouted, placing the arrow in my quiver before sliding the bow back into its case. Vagises sneered at the stationary Romans and did the same as Bayas galloped forward to greet the new arrivals.

‘I don’t like this,’ growled Vagises, who had finally begun to relax and accept that he was probably not going to be murdered in his sleep. I noticed the new Roman horsemen had no spears, continuing to sit motionless in their saddles, hands holding their reins as they gazed at us. Bayas halted in front of a man I assumed was the officer in charge. Some of the Roman horses were grazing.

‘I do not think they are about to charge us, Vagises,’ I said, nudging Remus forward, ‘so it would be bad manners to shoot at them, do you not think?’

He grumbled a reply and then joined me as behind us our Syrian hosts and my horse archers rode ahead to meet the Romans. We had moved forward around fifty paces when Bayas wheeled his horse around and began trotting back to us accompanied by a Roman officer. I raised my hand to signal a halt and waited for them to arrive.

The Roman commander, whose face was hidden behind his large closed cheekguards, sported a magnificent red crest atop his burnished helmet, and as he closed on us and brought his horse to a halt I saw that like me he was also wearing a muscled leather cuirass, but it made mine look a poor article indeed. It was white and sported silver griffins on the chest with a candelabra between the mythical beasts and surmounted by a gold gorgon. Below the candelabra was a golden she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus, the founders of the city of Rome. He wore
pteruges
at the shoulders and waist whose ends were decorated with gorgon motifs. Whoever this Roman was he was certainly wealthy.

He removed his helmet and handed it to Bayas, then clasped his clenched right fist to his chest. Broad shouldered with a handsome face, square jaw and a full head of brown hair, I estimated his age to be around thirty. He fixed me with his piercing brown eyes.

‘Greetings, King Pacorus, I am Publius Licinius Crassus,
Praefectus Alae
in Syria.’

So this was Crassus’ son and the men he led were presumably some of the horsemen he had brought with him from Gaul. I too removed my helmet and handed it to Vagises, whose hand was resting on the pommel of his sword. I frowned at him to show my disapproval of his gesture and so he let his hands rest on the front of his saddle.

‘Greetings Publius Licinius Crassus,’ I replied, ‘I am pleased to meet you. You have the same title as another commander of horse named Mark Antony that I had the honour of meeting.’

‘He has returned to Italy, sir.’

That was something at least. I held out a hand towards Vagises.

‘This is Vagises, the commander of my horse archers.’

Publius stared at the white uniformed horsemen behind us.

‘They are a fine body of soldiers.’

‘We have a lot more of them in Parthia,’ said Vagises with barely concealed contempt.

‘Would you care to inspect my men, sir?’ Publius asked me.

I nodded and rode forward with him as trumpets sounded and his soldiers sat erect in their saddles. Each man was dressed in a red short-sleeved tunic, light brown breeches that ended just below the knees and open sandals on his feet. Mail shirt, sword, helmet and oval shield completed his appearance. I had to admit that they were a fine body of men.

Afterwards he rode beside me as a detachment of his men trotted ahead of us and the rest fell in behind my horse archers. Bayas and his men were unceremoniously relegated to the rear of the column. Publius was in a talkative mood and so we discussed his journey from Gaul, my encounter with Mark Antony and the recent civil war in Parthia.

‘I remember seeing you when I was a boy, sir,’ he said.

I was most surprised. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, when you visited my father’s house in Rome during the slave revolt. A man from the east riding a white horse.’

He looked at Remus.

‘Is he the same horse, sir?’

I patted Remus on the neck. ‘Yes. Remus and I are old friends.’

‘It is most strange that a Parthian should ride a horse named after one of the founders of Rome.’

‘That was his name when I found him,’ I replied, ‘and it would have been unfair to give him another one.’

He looked sheepishly at me. ‘In Rome parents invoke your name to put fear into their children when they misbehave. They say that the Parthian on his white horse will come and kidnap them if they are not virtuous.’

I laughed. ‘I did not realise I had made such an impression.’

‘The slave revolt made a lasting impression on all Italy, sir. I have heard rumours that Spartacus escaped with you and now lives in Parthia.’

‘Spartacus died in the Silarus Valley,’ I told him. ‘I watched his body being cremated the day after the battle.’

I did not say that Spartacus’ son was riding a few paces behind us out of earshot and diplomatically avoided bringing up the subject of his father having crucified six thousand slaves along the Appian Way.

I rode beside Publius on the verge while my men trotted over the road’s stone slabs. There was no other traffic on the road, which led me to believe that it had been cleared for our benefit, an opinion that was confirmed when we rounded a bend and the city of Antioch came into view. And in front of it, arranged each side of the road for a distance of at least a half a mile from the walls, were Roman legionaries standing to attention. It was an impressive display of military might. Each man was attired in bronze helmet, mail shirt, red tunic and sandals and armed with a
pilum
,
gladius
, dagger and
scutum
.

Behind the Roman soldiers were the green slopes of Mount Silpius on our left and Mount Staurin on our right that both rose up to an impressive height to dwarf us. We carried on towards the eastern entrance to Antioch, which Publius informed me was called the Iron Gate. As we got nearer I saw the walls either side of the gates were also lined with soldiers, the sun glinting off the whetted points of their javelins. A few minutes later, escorted by the son of Crassus and surrounded by hundreds of Roman soldiers, I rode into the city of Antioch.

I had heard that Antioch was called the Athens of the East and whereas I had never been to Athens and therefore could not comment on the claim, I had been to Rome and seen its size and wealth and although Antioch could not compare with it in terms of size it was certainly a place of great opulence. The gatehouse we passed through was large and impressive, holding two sets of massive twin gates strengthened by iron strips on both sides. The city had been founded two hundred and fifty years ago by one of Alexander of Macedon’s generals named Antigonus Monophthalmus but had been captured by his rival, Seleucis I Nicator, who had gone on to found the Seleucid Empire. And the heart of that empire was the so-called
Tetrapolis
– ‘land of four cities’ – the ports of Seleucia and Apamea, like Antioch situated on the banks of the River Orontes, and the port of Laodicea.

As I exited the Iron Gate I glanced back at the slopes of Mount Silpius where many houses had been built to accommodate the city’s eastern sprawl and where the walls snaked across the craggy slope higher up. Those walls had been designed by an architect named Xenaeus and were both high and thick and on the eastern side virtually impregnable. I should have asked Surena to accompany me on this journey so he could see for himself the strength of the Syrian cities he wanted to plunder.

As a major trading centre at the western end of the Silk Road Antioch received an unending supply of silk, furs, porcelain, spices and gems from China for shipment across the Mediterranean to Rome, and from the west came cargoes of gold, silver, ivory, carpets, perfumes and cosmetics to be sold in China. It was rumoured that Antioch was so wealthy that every house had its own fountain and though I could not verify this I did see magnificent two-storey buildings fronted by marble columns and public baths. We rode along a wide street that ran from the Iron Gate west bordered by marble colonnades. Other, lesser streets crossed it at right angles. Legionaries stood guard along this route as behind them a sea of curious faces gazed at me. They did not cheer or jeer but watched in silence as I rode with the son of Crassus to meet his father. Like all cities Antioch stank of human sweat and filth and animal dung mixed with exotic spices, but at least the temperature was bearable with a pleasant northerly breeze blowing.

Eventually we reached Antioch’s royal palace located in the northwest of the city on an island in the middle of the Orontes and connected to the metropolis by five stone bridges. Surrounded by a high stonewall, it had a large portico entrance of marble columns topped by huge wooden beams that supported a roof of thick marble tiles.

We rode through the entrance, into the spacious courtyard and towards the palace steps opposite. In front of these was a large crowd of Roman officers, local priests and senators. A senate composed of wealthy property owners administered every Syrian town and city; in Antioch they numbered two hundred balding, middle-aged men. A slave walked forward, bowed at me and held Remus’ reins as I halted in front of the assembled dignitaries and slid from the saddle. Trumpets blasted and a guard of honour at the top of the steps stood rigidly to attention. Remus, alarmed by the sudden, loud noise, shifted nervously so I stroked his neck to calm him.

‘Greetings, King Pacorus, welcome to Antioch.’

I turned and saw a face I thought I would never see again in this lifetime. Now around sixty, the last time I had clapped eyes on him he had a full head of neatly cut brown hair, but now Marcus Licinius Crassus was balding which made his large ears look even bigger. That said he looked remarkably good for his age and his broad forehead was largely free of worry lines. He still had a rather serious face with thin lips but now they parted in a smile as he walked forward and raised his right hand in salute.

Like most Romans Crassus was shorter than me and had a slighter frame but his appearance projected wealth and prestige. He wore a pristine white tunic that had broad purple stripes and had a purple cloak draped over his left shoulder that was fixed in place by a large gold brooch. Mt eyes were also drawn to his rich blue boots.

I reciprocated his salute. ‘Greetings Marcus Licinius Crassus, Governor of Syria. It has been a long time.’

He walked forward and took my elbow as the slave led Remus away to the stables. Crassus nodded to one of his officers. He walked over to Vagises who had also dismounted.

‘Your men will be shown to their quarters,’ said Crassus. ‘You must be tired after your journey.’

Spartacus and Scarab had handed their horses to slaves and strode over to follow me up the steps as Vagises oversaw the movement of his men and their animals to the barracks that had been allocated them.

Two Roman centurions, angry red crests atop their helmets, went to intercept them and stop them entering the palace.

‘They are with me,’ I snapped as Spartacus’ hand went to the hilt of his sword.

Crassus stopped and waved the centurions back and then gestured to my two young companions to follow us. I saw my nephew’s hand on his sword.

‘Behave yourself, Spartacus,’ I ordered.

Crassus heard the name and raised an eyebrow but said nothing as we passed the priests, sweating senators and Roman officers to enter the palace, but he must have known that it could not have been a coincidence that the strapping young man behind him with long black hair had the same name as the man he had defeated in Italy twenty years ago. Did he know that the son of the slave leader was walking behind him or did he think that perhaps one of my followers had named him thus?

Publius walked beside Spartacus and engaged him in polite conversation as his father escorted us into the palace, a large, sprawling structure containing many halls and rooms. If it was not as grand and expansive as Axsen’s royal palace at Babylon then it came a close second. Its long and richly decorated corridors led to private apartments, reception rooms, dining halls, offices and temples, and it seemed an age before Crassus stopped and nodded to a slave standing at the entrance to yet another corridor who stepped forward and bowed his head to me.

‘King Pacorus, if you would please follow me I will show you to your quarters.’

I recognised him. ‘Ajax! It is good to see you.’

He looked older and perhaps a little thinner but like his master was remarkably well preserved. I was taken back twenty years to Spartacus’ tent in Italy where he had been escorted in by a guard with an invitation for me from Crassus to visit his house in Rome.

‘It has been a long time, majesty. Time has been a good friend to you, I think.’