Magnus turned to the south. ‘You mean beyond those mountains is Parthia.’
Vespasian surveyed the peaks above them. ‘Yes, if you climbed to the top then as far as you could see and miles, miles further than that is all Parthia. Tryphaena showed me a map and there was hardly anything on it after these mountains, just the Tigris and Euphrates that flow all the way to the sea from where you can sail to India. Almost all the cities are on one of those two rivers but between them is desert.’ He pointed southwest. ‘A hundred miles in that direction is Carrhae where we lost seven Eagles in one battle, and then fifty miles west of that is the frontier of the province of Syria. Across those mountains is where Rome’s influence stops; if the Great King sees us on his border he’ll send an army to try to dislodge us and take Armenia back.’
‘And Paelignus will be responsible for starting a war and you might have some nasty questions to answer.’
‘No, I’m not here officially; if I’m ever asked, King Polemon is prepared to vouch that I was in Pontus all summer using it as a base for my negotiations with Radamistus.’
‘But he’s invading Armenia from the north.’
‘No, he’s not; he’s staying where he is on his sister’s advice. I told Paelignus that to make him feel safe, to ensure that he would bring his forces in. Paelignus will get the blame for starting this war, but as he’s an old friend of Claudius’ he’ll probably survive.’
With the long, low rumble of cornu two of the auxiliary cohorts moved forward as, from either side, the forty cart-mounted carroballistae of the army began to hail down missiles onto the scantily defended walls. From within the town came a great wailing as thousands of people despaired for their lives. The braver, steadier inhabitants shot arrows and slingshot towards the oncoming troops to little effect: many of them fell back, headless, in sprays of blood, decapitated by well-aimed artillery.
With their oval shields raised, the auxiliary soldiers of Rome came on at a steady, silent march as the practically defenceless town lay helpless before them.
Vespasian could see from Magnus’ expression that he was totally confused by the reasoning behind this needless slaughter. ‘We have to fight Parthia sooner or later, we always do, every thirty years or so. But rather than doing so on the defensive, trying to stop them from taking Syria and gaining access to Our Sea, it would be better to have the war on neutral territory as it were. We’ll have less to lose and just as much to gain,’ he explained.
‘But it could take two years or so for Parthia to muster her armies.’
Vespasian watched as the first of the scaling ladders were raised against the walls and troops began to swarm up them. ‘No, they’ll be here in a couple of months; in fact we saw their scouts on that hill just three days ago. Tryphaena really did have King Polemon send a message to Ctesiphon telling the Great King exactly what we were going to do.’
As the first auxiliaries made it onto the wall, the gates opened in a futile attempt to surrender; but peace did not come to the town, only death, and showing it the way was a crooked little man with an unbloodied sword.
Paelignus was having his first taste of glory.
Vespasian and Magnus coaxed their horses past the gates and onwards into a town veiled in smoke and steeped in misery and death. Throughout the narrow streets auxiliaries rampaged, hunting booty, both live and inanimate. Bodies were strewn left and right, broken, pierced, blood-drenched and almost exclusively male. Their womenfolk shrieked and pleaded for mercy as they were tracked down and subjected to the brutal fate that always awaited females in a captured town. Those considered too old to stir carnal passions within the troops were despatched summarily; only babes and infants were considered too young and were likewise doomed.
Huddles of soldiery formed round screaming victims, ripping off their clothes, holding them down and cheering on their comrades as they mounted and rode the spoils of war. Each man hungrily awaited his turn to defile the thrashing wenches who cursed and spat at the persecutors pumping away at them, slapping their faces in vain attempts to quieten their hissing rage.
Those auxiliaries whose lust had been sated guzzled wine and roamed through the town with drawn swords and burning torches, raising fires with heedless recklessness and slaughtering the elderly and the young in the same casual manner.
‘It’ll take a lot to calm the lads down after this,’ Magnus muttered as they passed a group of drunken soldiery urinating into the mouth of a barely conscious teenage girl whose hideous ordeal could be measured by the bruising and welts on her face and naked body, as well as by the pool of blood that had seeped from between her legs.