Carrhae (60 page)

I smiled at him. ‘You are still the accomplished diplomat, Ajax.’ He must have seen the scar on my cheek and the weariness in my eyes and to him I probably looked ten years older than I was but I was grateful for his compliment. I turned to Scarab.

‘This is Scarab, my squire, who will require a room,’ Ajax smiled at the Nubian.

‘And this,’ I continued, looking at Spartacus, ‘is my nephew, Prince Spartacus of Hatra, who will likewise require accommodation.’

Ajax’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of the name of the man who had terrorised Italy but he instantly regained his composure and smiled at them both.

‘There are rooms for all, majesty.’

Publius had allowed his mouth to open in surprise and was staring at my nephew while his father maintained his expression of civility. The silence, though, was deafening. It was Publius who spoke first, smiling at my nephew.

‘Your name is not a Parthian one, prince.’

Spartacus knew the history of his father and his revolt against Rome. He flashed a smile at Publius. ‘It is Thracian because my father was a Thracian and was known to your father, I think.’

The cobra was out of the sack as Ajax shifted uncomfortably on his feet but Crassus was too skilled in politics to allow the unexpected to disconcert him. He looked thoughtfully at Spartacus.

‘You must have travelled back to Parthia with King Pacorus all those years ago. And now you are a prince in that land. My congratulations.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘It has been a long day and I for one would welcome a bath and a change of clothes.’

Crassus smiled at me and nodded to Ajax who bid us follow him down the corridor to our accommodation as the governor of Syria and his son took their leave of us.

My room was spacious and airy and led to a balcony that gave an excellent view of the River Orontes below. Its twin doors were made from Syrian cedar with handles of red copper. Like the corridor outside the walls were painted with mythical scenes of hunting and war with a ceiling of cypress wood. The bedroom floor was white marble and in addition to the large bed my quarters contained a writing desk, four plush couches and three chairs with wooden arms and backs inlaid with ivory. The rooms of Scarab and Spartacus either side of mine were similarly well appointed.

Ajax knocked at my door a few minutes after showing me to my room and offered to show us to the bathhouse, a great structure in the northwest corner of the palace complex that was a marvel of engineering. With Scarab and Spartacus we left our clothes at its reception and walked into the warm room, the
tepidarium
, and then into the hot room, the
caldarium
. These rooms were heated by means of a system called a
hypocaust
where the floor was raised off the ground by pillars and spaces were left inside the walls so that hot air from a furnace could circulate beneath our feet and in the wall cavities.

I sat on a bench and sweated and watched my two young companions immerse themselves in the warm water. I had to admit that the Romans were great builders but nevertheless had to remind myself that they were also great destroyers and that their empire was built on the misery of subjugated peoples. And even in this place of calm and relaxation I was reminded of this when our bodies, after we had sweated in steam rooms, were scraped clean by slaves holding a curved metal tool called a
strigil
that removed oil, sweat and dirt from the skin. It was most relaxing though I noticed that Scarab, being a former slave, was slightly uncomfortable and took every opportunity to thank the man scraping his body. For his part Spartacus, having never felt the lash on his back or known what it is like to be treated like an animal, basked in the attention he was receiving.

Vagises came to the baths to report that his men had settled into their barracks and the horses were receiving excellent attention in the stables. He also took the opportunity to wash the journey from his body and although he too had the dirt scraped from his flesh, he demurred when it came to being massaged with oils.

‘Our hosts are bending over backwards to make us feel welcome,’ I said.

‘That is what bothers me,’ he replied. ‘I feel as though we are being fattened up for a feast. Make sure you keep your bedroom door bolted tonight.’

‘We are perfectly safe.’ I told him. ‘The Romans frown upon murdering their enemies in the dark; they prefer to slaughter them in the open, on the battlefield, where the whole world can bear witness to their victory.’

‘We are wasting our time here,’ he said. ‘I have known the Romans too long not to know that they will interpret Orodes’ offer as a sign of weakness.’

‘I know,’ I agreed.

He looked at me with surprise. ‘If you knew why did you not persuade him to abandon the plan?’

‘Because he is high king and it would have been unseemly for his lord high general to disregard his orders. Besides, I have to confess that I wanted to see Crassus again, to see if he had changed or mellowed.’

‘And has he?’

‘No.’

But that night it was Crassus the impeccable host who was on display as he feasted my men in the palace’s large banqueting hall. The Romans normally liked to recline on couches during their banquets but on this occasion long tables had been arranged at right angles to the top table where I sat between Crassus and his son. Vagises sat on the other side of Publius and my nephew and Scarab sat opposite each other at the end of one of the tables directly in front of me. All the city senators were present, along with Crassus’ senior officers and a collection of differently dressed priests from the many temples in the city. I knew that the temples dedicated to the Greek gods Athena and Ares were over two hundred years old but also that the Romans had brought their own religion and had shrines in the city dedicated to Mars, Apollo and Jupiter. I scoured the faces of the Roman officers dressed in their rich tunics but could not see Marcus Roscius.

‘Tell me, governor,’ I said to Crassus, ‘is Tribune Marcus Roscius still in Syria?’

He seemed rather surprised that I knew that name. ‘He is a legate now and commands his own legion. He is unwell and could not attend the feast. You know him?’

I feigned disinterest. ‘He came to my city one time concerning a legal matter, that is all.’

He must have known that Queen Aruna was resident in Antioch and that Roscius was her lover but he kept his council and said no more about his legate. Perhaps he truly was ill but I doubted it; more likely he was ordered to stay away by his viper of a mistress. Instead he introduced me to a pale, thin man dressed in a purple-bordered tunic who sat next to him named Gaius Cassius Longinus. About thirty years of age, he had a square face, thick curly hair and large brown eyes. He seemed affable enough and was obviously one of Crassus’ senior officers according to where he was seated. I was surprised to learn that he was actually a
quaestor
, a sort of glorified treasurer, though bearing in mind Crassus’ obsession with money I suppose his elevation had a certain logic to it.

Crassus may not have been interested in discussing his absent officer but he was most eager to find out more about my nephew. As a slave filled his silver cup adorned with images of Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, he pointed at Spartacus.

‘He is the son of the leader of the slave rebellion?’

‘He is,’ I answered.

‘He must have been an infant when he, and you, escaped from Italy in the aftermath of my victory,’ he said. ‘His mother resides in Parthia?’

The first course of our meal had comprised bread rolls sprinkled with poppy seeds and honey, delicious spiced sausages, lettuce and olives. But now the slaves were carrying sliver trays heaped with the second course, which included roasted livers of capon steeped in milk and dressed in pepper, roasted peacock, eels, prawns, pork, boar, mushrooms and truffles.

‘His mother died giving birth to him, the night before we gave battle in the Silarus Valley,’ I replied.

‘He knows of his father, that he was a slave and a renegade?’ probed Crassus.

‘Of course, he knows that his father was a great commander who at one time had the whole of Italy at his mercy.’

Crassus stiffened but then drained his cup and held it out to be refilled. ‘History is interpretation, King Pacorus, and is being constantly rewritten to reflect the opinion of the victor. And in the end that is all that matters: who is the victor.

‘I trust your wife, Queen Gallia, is well.’

I nodded. ‘She is, thank you.’

He again looked at my nephew. ‘And he is the heir to the throne of Hatra?’

‘He is, though I hope that he does not accede to it for many years.’

Crassus put down his cup and leaned back in his chair. Around us the hall was filled with the noise of men becoming louder as the consumption of wine increased.

‘How would the people of the Kingdom of Hatra feel about a slave becoming their king?’

‘He is not a slave,’ I corrected him. ‘And their feelings are irrelevant. They are subjects and they obey their rulers.’

‘I see your time with Spartacus in Italy did not blind you to the realities of life. Let me ask you another question: what would be the opinion of Hatra’s lords to the son of a slave being their king?’

I could not discern the logic of this conversation. ‘They too are subjects and they too would obey their king. Kings rule, subjects obey. That is the natural order of things. And you seem to forget that I too was once a slave and yet I have the unquestioning loyalty of my people.’

He wagged his finger at me. ‘Not quite the same. Your fame as a fearsome warlord is known throughout the world. Who would dare to raise his sword against the man who rode beside Spartacus, killed Narses and Mithridates and placed King Orodes on his throne?’

‘You are well informed,’ I said brusquely.

‘Information is power, King Pacorus, perhaps even more than military might.’

The third course, desserts, was a lavish affair of cakes, fruits, pastries stuffed with raisins and nuts, snails, oysters and scallops. While the senators gorged themselves, the priests frowned and shook their heads, and my men and the Roman officers found much in common with each other, Crassus ate little and drank sparsely. He kept his emotions in check and I felt as though I was being subtly probed and tested throughout the whole evening, though not in an aggressive way. Publius was very courteous and though Cassius was dour and boring Crassus was charm itself. He was a most interesting and complex character.

The next day Publius took Spartacus and Scarab hunting while I sat with his father, Vagises and Cassius to relay to the Romans Orodes’ offer. To be truthful I would rather have been chasing animals with my two younger companions. The terrain around Antioch was teeming with bears, wild boars, antelopes and gazelles and I was sure that they would have more success than me.

The gathering was held in a spacious circular meeting room that had marble columns around the sides decorated with floral motifs. Greek armour and shields hung from the walls themselves – relics of a bygone era – while the ceiling was adorned with large gold images of eagles – emblems of Antioch’s current rulers. I sat beside Vagises on one side of a large rectangular oak table with a perfect, polished surface. Crassus sat directly opposite me and Vagises stared at Cassius. Ajax sat on the other side of Crassus and smiled at me as slaves served us wine diluted with cool water and offered us cakes and yoghurt. The atmosphere was both convivial and tense.

Crassus spoke first. ‘Well, King Pacorus, perhaps you would be kind enough to elaborate more on the reason for your visit here, agreeable though your company is, and the nature of King Orodes’ offer.’

Cassius already looked bored and yawned without covering his mouth, earning him a frown of disapproval from his commander.

I smiled at Crassus. ‘First of all I would like to convey my gratitude for the courtesy you have shown myself and my men, especially in this time of difficult relations between Parthia and Rome.

‘It is with those relations in mind that King Orodes is most concerned. He does not desire war between our two great empires but rather wishes to pursue the path of peace. He believes that war between Rome and Parthia would serve neither side but would rather lead to great and unnecessary bloodshed that would be detrimental to both. He realises that you have incurred considerable expenses in transporting your army to Syria and is therefore prepared to offer a sum of ten thousand talents of gold in return for your pledge that you will suspend hostilities for a period of one year.’

Cassius’ eyes lit up at the mention of such a huge sum but Crassus, who had been studying me carefully, sat impassively. I began to think that he had not heard my words but then he folded his hands across his chest.

‘That is a most generous offer and one that would normally deserve careful consideration.’ He drew himself up. ‘However, these are not normal circumstances, King Pacorus, far from it. No less than the honour of Rome itself is at stake and that cannot be bought.’

That was debatable because I knew that to Crassus everything had a price, but I was eager to know more about his reason for dismissing Orodes’ offer so quickly.

‘I was not aware that Parthia had insulted Rome’s honour,’ I said.

He looked at me sternly. ‘Were you not? Then let me elucidate. It is common knowledge that the region known as Gordyene was Roman territory that had been granted to the Armenians, our valued allies. It was subsequently invaded by a Parthian army that committed many outrages and forced the Armenians, who were greatly outnumbered, to withdraw.’

This was not how I remembered events.

‘Aggression against one of Rome’s allies,’ Crassus continued, ‘is an act of violence against Rome itself and cannot go unpunished.’

‘The Kingdom of Gordyene is Parthian,’ I said firmly, ‘not Armenian or Roman and it was not invaded but rather liberated from foreign rule.’

Crassus smiled thinly. ‘And then there is the matter of Judea.’

‘Judea?’ I replied. ‘That does not concern King of Kings Orodes or Parthia.’