‘His Majesty is well within his rights to issue such a threat, Vespasian,’ a nastily familiar voice said from behind him.
Vespasian spun round to see a hunched little man entering the tent. ‘Paelignus! What are you still doing here? The Parthian army is just a mile away and there’s only one river between it and you.’
The procurator smiled malevolently and then made a great show of bowing to Radamistus, further upsetting Vespasian’s stomach with the sight of a Roman paying homage to an eastern upstart. ‘Your Majesty.’
Radamistus acknowledged the abasement with barely a nod. ‘Explain the situation to this deluded man, procurator.’
‘My pleasure, Your Majesty.’ Paelignus bowed again quite unnecessarily, his curved back forcing his head almost vertical, before turning to Vespasian. ‘As procurator of Cappadocia, the Roman province nearest to Armenia, I have confirmed His Majesty in his position of king. I will write to the Emperor informing him of the move, which I know he will support because it’s in Rome’s interest to have a strong king in this kingdom that’s so vital to our security in the East.’
‘And what has this king given Rome in return, Paelignus?’
‘He has pledged to drive the Parthians out of the country, which, since my victories over their infantry and then their cataphracts, will be easily achievable.’
‘Your victories? I can’t remember seeing you since the Parthians first appeared.’
‘I command the army therefore I take the credit, remember?’ Paelignus leered, baring buckled teeth. ‘Tomorrow our combined armies will cross back over the Tigris and defeat Babak’s severely mauled rabble in front of the gates of Tigranocerta.’
‘You won’t defeat Babak; most of his cataphracts survived – as you would know if you’d actually been there.’
‘King Radamistus has brought two thousand Armenian and Iberian heavy horse with him as well as four thousand horse archers and half as many again on foot; with that force combined with my auxiliaries we’ll be undefeatable. I will tell the Emperor of this famous victory, the third in two days, in my letter informing him of my actions concerning the Armenian throne. I fully expect him to award me an Ovation as he did Aulus Plautius for his similar service in Britannia.’
Vespasian stared at the little man in mute amazement having never been in the presence of such a delusional fantasist before – with the possible exception of Caligula on a bad day. With a knotted-browed shake of his head he turned on his heel and, without even a glance at Radamistus, strode from the tent.
‘The trouble is that technically he’s doing the right thing: confirming Radamistus in return for his quick action in repelling the Parthians,’ Vespasian informed Magnus not long later, over a glass of wine in their own tent. ‘So I can’t criticise him for it without it looking suspicious.’
‘So what’s wrong with what he’s doing?’
Vespasian sighed, feeling that he was no longer fully in control of the situation. ‘Well, I suppose nothing really, apart from risking and then probably losing the lives of a good many of his auxiliaries. If he does attack Babak tomorrow he’ll be badly mauled as he crosses the bridge; the Parthian horse archers will disrupt his manoeuvring and he won’t have time to form up into battle order before the cataphracts hit him; as he would know if he had the slightest bit of military experience.’
‘What about Radamistus?’
‘What about him? He’s evidently a glory-seeking idiot with as much sense as his little friend.’
Magnus contemplated the contents of his cup as he digested this. ‘Sounds like it’ll be a shambles.’
‘It’ll be a deadly shambles, but it’ll produce the same result. Radamistus will fall back north with whatever remains of his army and, having garrisoned Tigranocerta and securing his supply lines, Babak will follow, making war unavoidable. I was just trying to achieve the same thing with minimum loss of life.’
Magnus drained his cup as Hormus came in with a steaming pot containing their supper. ‘I hope you’ve got the amount of lovage in that correct this time, Hormus.’
Smiling, Hormus almost met Magnus’ eye. ‘I think so, Magnus.’ He put the pot down on the table. ‘Half a handful for every four handfuls of chickpeas and pork.’
Magnus sniffed the contents of the pot then looked approvingly at Vespasian’s slave. ‘That’s smelling quite good, well done, son.’
Hormus’ smile became even broader. ‘Thank you, Magnus,’ he said, going back to attend to the rest of the dinner on the cooking fire outside.