Rome's Lost Son(73)

As the prefects began to talk amongst themselves, discussing their options, the bucinae began a fresh bout of blaring; again it was the alarm. Vespasian headed out of the tent with the prefects following. ‘What is it, Magnus?’

‘I’ve no idea, sir; but if it really is trouble it’s just as well that the lads are all up and dressed and standing in those lovely ranks and files that the centurions are so keen on.’

Vespasian looked up and down the Via Praetoria, lined with soldiery, no doubt all wondering, as he was, what was going on. A horseman appeared galloping fast completely against the standing orders in any camp; in fact, riding horses in a camp was frowned upon as unlucky.

‘Where’s the procurator?’ the man shouted as he pulled his mount up to a skidding halt.

‘Disappeared,’ Vespasian said. ‘What’s the alarm for?’

‘The Parthians have surprised the garrison on the bridge. They’re now in control of it and are crossing in force.’

‘That’s impossible, there was half a cohort guarding it.’

‘Not our bridge, sir; the other one guarded by the Armenians. They made the broken bridge passable again and crossed the river to come behind Radamistus’ army.’

Vespasian struggled to contain the shock on his face and looked at the assembled prefects. ‘Well, gentlemen, I suggest that you deploy a holding force to the east, in case the Parthians break through Radamistus, to protect us whilst we strike camp as quickly as possible. It looks like the decision has been made for you; the route north is now blocked.’

Vespasian pushed his horse as fast as he dared in the growing dawn half-light; ahead, Radamistus’ unfortified encampment was in uproar, drowning out the sound of the auxiliaries striking their camp and the horns of the cohort deploying as a screen. But although there were hundreds or thousands of raised voices, as yet he had not heard the clash of arms or the screams of the maimed and the dying.

He was unchallenged as he passed through the perimeter of the Armenian camp, which was a mess of cavalrymen mounting and forming up without any clear sense of order. He negotiated his way through the chaos as fast as possible without causing injury to one of the many who seemed to be running about in circles for no good reason other than just to be seen to be doing something. He eventually came to Radamistus’ tent to find the King, resplendent in the tall crown of Armenia and a tunic of scale armour, stepping into a ceremonial four-horse chariot.

‘What are you doing, Radamistus?’ Vespasian shouted, pulling up next to the usurper.

Radamistus ignored the question as his mounted guards closed around him pushing Vespasian away. Then Radamistus paused for a moment and looked at Vespasian, frowning as if in thought; he called out in his own language into the shadows and received a reply that sounded affirmative to Vespasian. The chariot’s driver cracked his whip over the team’s withers and the vehicle moved off, surrounded by bodyguards, towards the bridge that Radamistus’ army had been supposed to hold.

‘The King is going to negotiate,’ Paelignus said, stepping from the shadows leading a horse and accompanied by half a dozen royal bodyguards. ‘Now that my men have deserted me we only have half the numbers that we thought we had and we’re surrounded.’

Vespasian looked down at the procurator. ‘What’s he going to do? Surrender?’

Paelignus scoffed. ‘The King of Armenia surrenders to no man; he’ll fight if necessary.’

‘He’s not the King.’

‘He is; you may have noticed that crown he was wearing on his head. I placed it there in Rome’s name just now to confirm him in his position. That’ll give him authority in his negotiations with the barbarians.’

‘You little idiot. He needs to earn that from us, not be given it without conditions attached.’

One of Paelignus’ guards knitted his hands; the procurator stepped on them and struggled up into the saddle in an ungainly manner. He looked at Vespasian as his guards mounted. ‘Come and join me to see the result of the negotiations; in fact, Radamistus has asked that you should come. I think you’ll be impressed by the wording of his oath of loyalty to Parthia. Of course, the King of Armenia is under no compunction to keep his oath to a man as lowly as the satrap of Nineveh. Parthia will retire, Radamistus will renounce the oath and stay on the throne with a crown presented by Rome, and I will have scored the greatest diplomatic and military victory since Augustus negotiated the return of the Eagles lost by Crassus at Carrhae. I look forward to being amply rewarded by a grateful emperor.’

‘Parthia will never tolerate the breaking of that oath; they’ll be back within a month of Radamistus repudiating it,’ Vespasian replied and turned his horse, happy in the knowledge that if Radamistus were to swear loyalty to Parthia and break the oath then war would be unavoidable and his mission complete. ‘But no thank you; I won’t join you despite Radamistus’ kind invitation. I’m going back to Cappadocia; I’ve seen enough of how things are done in the East.’