Rome Divided

Book one of the “Guardian of Empire” series

By: William Kelso

Visit the author's YouTube site

William Kelso is also the author of:

The Shield of Rome

The Fortune of Carthage

Devotio: The House of Mus

The Veteran of Rome series (9)

Soldier of the Republic series (11)

Published in 2023 by KelsoBooks Ltd. Copyright © William Kelso. First Edition

The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ABOUT ME

Hello, my name is William Kelso. I was born in the Netherlands to British parents. My interest in history and in military history started at a young age, when I was lucky enough to hear my grandfather describing his experiences of serving in the RAF in North Africa and Italy during World War 2. Recently my family has discovered that one of my Scottish/Northern Irish ancestors fought under Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

I love writing and bringing to life the ancient world of Rome, Carthage and the Germanic and Celtic tribes. It is my thing. My aim is to write 100 books in my lifetime. After graduation, I worked for 22 years in financial publishing and event management in the City of London, as a salesman for some big conference organizers. Working in the heart of the original Roman city of Londinium I spent many years walking its streets and visiting the places. The names of which still commemorate the 2,000-year-old ancient Roman capital of Britannia; London Wall, Watling Street, London Bridge and Walbrook. The City of London if you know where to look has many fascinating historical corners.

So, since the 2nd March 2017 I have freed myself from corporate life and become a full-time writer. It is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Stories as a form of entertainment are as old as cave man and telling them is what I want to do. 

My books are all about ancient Rome, especially the early to mid-republic as this was the age of true Roman greatness. My books include, The Shield of Rome, The Fortune of Carthage, Devotio: The House of Mus, the eleven books of the Soldier of the Republic series and the nine books of the Veteran of Rome series - Caledonia (1), Hibernia (2), Britannia (3), Hyperborea (4), Germania (5), The Dacian War (6), Armenia Capta (7), Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (8) and Veterans of Rome (9). So, go on. Give them a go.

I live in London with my wife and support the “Help for Heroes” charity, the Ukrainian military charity “Come Back Alive” and a tiger in India.

Dear Reader,

I hope that you will enjoy this book. ‘Rome Divided’ is the first of the ‘Guardian of Empire’ series. A second book will be published later this year.

As an independently published author, I do not command huge marketing resources so, if you are so inclined, please do leave me a review or a rating.

For those visually inclined have a look at my short historical themed YouTube videos at

Feel free to contact me with any feedback on my books. Email: william@kelsoevents.co.uk

Chapter One – Three Brothers

Summer 244 AD. Colonia Ulpia Traiana, Rhine frontier

Walking behind the sombre funeral procession as it made its way down the country road Corbulo aged fourteen was clad in his toga pulla. His youthful haunted face looked pale and his angry busted and puffed lip was still visible despite all his attempts to hide the evidence. The folds of the dark expensive cloth were covering his body, fixed in place by a smart fibula pinned across his right shoulder. The fibula depicting the image of the Romano-Germanic god Hercules Magusanus. The toga was concealing his short Roman pugio knife. He was a handsome boy with his oil black hair cut short, with long straight sideburns and the first smattering of a beard visible across his chin.

Moving on down the road, on either side of him his younger brothers Veda, twelve and Munatius, just eight, were also dressed in their smart, little black Roman togas. Their boots crunched across the gravel. The brothers were looking tense and uncomfortable. Veda’s boyish cheeks were sporting a permanent blush. Munatius’s lips were firmly pressed together. Their eyes were fixed upon the party of military pallbearers ahead, who were carrying the body of their murdered father. The three boys were walking side by side directly behind the funeral party as they made their way to the spot where they would lay Gamo their father to rest.

It was a balmy summer evening and along the two mile stretch of road that connected the civilian city of Colonia Ulpia Traiana with its ten thousand inhabitants to the legionary base, the sun had long since set - but the light refused to fade as if it wished to remain to witness the funeral. A doomed endeavour against the shadows that steadily crept across the lush green fields. To the north-east the waters of the Rhine gleamed in the dying light. The eternal river was placid and wide. Deserted. Glorious. A formidable barrier with a mind of its own. Dividing the land. The waterlogged meadows with their scattered farm buildings bordering the river were abandoned and derelict. The farmers had gone. While copses of tall trees stood alone in the midst of the river on small sandbanks. Isolated. Cut off from the shore and the improvised wooden revetments and flood defences that did their best to give the impression that man had managed to control the changing course of the mighty river.

Back down the military road from the direction in which the party of mourners had come, the ramparts of the legionary base housing the Thirtieth Legion extended across the fields. The outer perimeter of the fort was arranged in a typical Roman playing-card shape. Watch towers rose above the battlements. Sentries were standing guard duty and a bell was ringing a slow solemn beat from somewhere inside the base. While up ahead in a northwards direction, in the distance, the stone walls protecting the civilian town of Colonia Ulpia Traiana were just about visible. The city was clinging to the banks of the river and had been doing so for nearly three hundred years.

Up ahead a solitary horse drawn goods wagon heading for the legionary base had come to a halt beside the edge of the road to allow the mourners to pass. The wagon driver had removed his round cap in a sign of respect to the pallbearers. The old man giving the three brothers a grave, sympathetic look as they came walking on by clothed in their smart mourning attire. No one speaking a word.

At last, Corbulo turned his attention to the small rise upon which sat a cluster of oak trees. The high ground where his father Gamo would be buried. For a moment his eyes lingered. Then he turned to his brother Veda and as they made eye contact the two boys shared a silent, secret and guilty moment. The permanent blush on Veda’s cheeks deepening. His brother’s restlessness was all too clear. As if he did not want to be here. Hurriedly looking away, Corbulo took a deep breath. Then he turned his head towards his right to his youngest brother Munatius. The little eight year old boy’s lips were stubbornly pressed together, as if he was determined to say nothing. His eyes were fixed on the pallbearers. His small face was bursting with comic determination. His little fists were clenched. The thick shock of corn blond hair on Munatius’s head was wild and uncombed just the way the boy liked it.

Lowering his eyes, Corbulo struggled to master himself. Fighting the temptation to make a run for it. Then as the stiff pallbearers left the road and started out towards the trees on the final stretch of their journey, Corbulo lifted his head and reaching out with both his hands he firmly caught hold of his brother’s hands. Clasping them tightly and strongly in his own he drew them towards himself. The three brothers silent. Holding hands they were irrevocably bound together as Corbulo led them up to the rise and the copse of oaks.

While still holding his brother’s hands, as the pallbearers silently went about preparing the body in the light cast by several flaming and hissing torches, Corbulo remained standing at the edge of the deep rectangular burial pit, staring at the images of the Germano-Roman god Hercules Magusanus; the chief deity of the Batavians and Salian Franks of the lower Rhine, which had been lovingly engraved into the side of the wooden sarcophagus: when he became aware that Hostes was watching him. This huge, formidable man - clad in his Roman officer’s military uniform was observing him with a hard, piercing look as if he could see right through him. As if he knew!

Hostes, his uncle and Gamo’s brother, was a soldier in his late thirties who had risen to become the prefect fabrorum of the Thirtieth Ulpia Traiana - the officer in charge of all the craftsmen who supplied the legion. It was an important and influential position in the Colonia. His uncle, as Corbulo knew only too well, had a terrifying temper when stirred to anger but at heart he was a decent man. Treating the brothers sternly but fairly.

The same could not be said for his wife Holda who was standing beside her husband, clad in a black mourning veil. Her eyes were downcast. Casting a quick glance at the woman Corbulo’s eyes lingered. Holda had never accepted him or his siblings and their mother when they had first arrived in the Colonia on the Rhine a few years ago, from their ancestral birth land - the isle of Vectis in the province of Britannia. She had resented their presence and her dislike for them had influenced her daughter Jutta who was glaring back at Corbulo from across the burial pit.

Jutta, holding her two year old brother, Badurad in her arms was a tall girl with blue eyes and long strands of plaited blond hair that tumbled to below her shoulders. Fearless and utterly annoying, the same age as himself, Jutta had always delighted in telling on him and his brothers. She was constantly sniffing around in their affairs. Delighting in their failures and triumphantly informing everyone when she had discovered one of the boys secrets. The girl was a proper German witch Corbulo had concluded.

“I shall mourn you brother,” Hostes called out at last in a calm dignified voice speaking in German as he began his eulogy and the small group of silent mourners gathered around the open coffin. “You and I - we were born of the same mother. We grew up in the same home in Noviomagus Batavorum. The same true Batavian blood that used to run in your veins runs in mine. You were a warrior like our ancestors were. A centurion in the first cohort. A faithful servant of our gods. Husband to Tadia. A good woman from a good family of equestrian standing. Who came to us from Britain and who was so cruelly taken from you by the plague. May you be together with her now. May you be together with the ancestors. With father and mother. You made something of yourself Gamo - brother - and for that we are all proud of you. We honour you now.”

Abruptly Hostes stopped speaking and as the silence grew Corbulo glanced up at his uncle and saw the great man was struggling to maintain his cool.

“But you were taken before your time Gamo,” Hostes boomed out at last resuming his eulogy. Anger entering into his voice. “Murdered by a coward in the night. Stabbed by an assassin when you least expected it. And I shall not give up until your murderer has been found and brought to justice. Until you have been avenged. Until the blood price has been paid. For that is only right. Go now to Magusanus dear brother and feast in his halls and I shall meet you there one day and we shall speak again and I shall know the truth of everything.”

As Hostes finished his eulogy, silence settled across the funeral party. The only noise the crackle of the flaming torches, the gentle rustle of the wind in the oak trees and the distant barking of a dog in the growing darkness.

“Come boy,” Hostes said sternly, suddenly beckoning to Corbulo, “and look upon your father for the final time. Pay your respects to him.”

Saying nothing, Corbulo obediently took a step towards the coffin and gazed down at the corpse lying inside. Gamo’s body had been cleaned and dressed and arranged in a peaceful and dignified manner but it had been impossible to hide the two stab wounds, one to his chest and the other, the fatal blow, to his throat that had ended his life.

Still saying nothing Corbulo stared at the body, his own body rigid and tense. His face was pale. Carefully placed at the bottom of the wooden sarcophagus beside Gamo’s head was a beautifully carved bronze German trumpet fibula and a Roman strigil - used in the baths to scrape dirt and sweat from the body. The two valued possessions would accompany their owner on his journey into the afterlife. Then as Hostes silently handed him a solitary silver coin, Corbulo carefully bent forwards, feeling the pugio knife that was hidden beneath his toga digging painfully into his body, and placed the coin into his father’s mouth. And as he did so he heard Holda mutter something about Roman customs in a disapproving manner, but Hostes silenced her with one savage look.

Straightening up, Corbulo was once again aware that Hostes was watching him. The great warrior’s face was grave and pained, his loss clear for all to see.

“As the eldest he would want you to have this,” Hostes said as he held out his hand in which lay a beautiful gold engraved ring. “It was your father’s ring. Now it will be yours. Look after it.”

“Yes Sir,” Corbulo said dutifully accepting the ring before sliding it onto his finger and as he did he was aware of Jutta watching him with her cold, fearless blue eyes.

“Veda! Come here boy and pay your final respects to your father,” Hostes called out abruptly shifting his attention to the twelve year old.

Standing beside Corbulo, Veda’s blush was still visible on his cheeks but to everyone’s surprise he refused to move.

“No I will not,” Veda cried out in his shrill boyish voice. “He was not my father and you are not my uncle. My mother was called Tadia and my father was called Vennus and he is a good man. He is a soldier with the XX Legion and one day he is going to come home from the east.”

“Veda!” Hostes boomed angrily but Veda was not listening and before anyone could stop him he had turned and fled into the darkness. For a moment no one spoke, stunned and caught off-guard. Hostes’s mouth was working but producing no sound. Holda gasping in shock. Then violently wrenching his hand free from Corbulo’s grip Munatius had joined Veda - the little boy shooting off into the darkness as fast as his legs could carry him.

“What is this?” Hostes hissed, his face darkening. “What is this disrespect to my brother?”

“Veda. Munatius. Come back here at once!” Hostes bellowed.

But from the darkness there came no reply.

Standing his ground, Corbulo was still staring at the spot in the darkness into which his brothers had vanished when Jutta suddenly spoke up, her cruel words directed towards him.

“See what cowards your brothers are,” the girl cried out, jutting out her chin towards Corbulo from across the burial pit in a challenging manner. “They don’t listen and now they run away. Do you know that the three of you will be leaving soon. Now that your father and mother are dead we have no more use for you here. Mother says that you are just more useless mouths to feed.”

“Jutta!” Hostes barked, angrily rounding on his daughter. “Enough! Silence! All of you. Show your respect to the dead.”

As the mourners stood around in awkward silence, Hostes took a deep frustrated breath as he peered in the direction in which the two boys had vanished. Then accepting that they were not coming back, he turned to the pallbearers with a resigned look and wearily nodded for them to close the sarcophagus and lower it into the ground.

Chapter Two - Separate Ways

Making his way back to his father’s quarters through the legionary base, carrying the heavy water satchel which he had filled up at the well, Corbulo had his head down. His sombre eyes were fixed upon the ground. The back of his short sleeved white woollen tunic was stained with sweat and his army knife was tucked away in his brown leather belt. While on his finger he was wearing Gamo’s gold ring. The metal band cold and unfamiliar as if it hated its new owner.

It was noon, airless and hot. In the blue skies not a single cloud could be seen. Among the stone legionary barrack blocks and army workshops that lined both sides of the narrow street the camp was bustling with activity. The noise of blacksmiths and carpenters at work mingled with the neighing of horses, shouting men, the squealing of pigs and haggling merchants. The whole camp was enveloped by the smell of wood smoke and the stench of excrement coming from the latrines was hanging in the still air.

Recognising Corbulo, as he came trudging by carrying his water satchel and aware of Gamo’s death, some of the legionaries paused to call out to him in friendly, sympathetic voices. Offering him words of encouragement and advise which Corbulo accepted with a silent and polite nod.

As he approached the end of the single story barracks block where Gamo, as a centurion of the first cohort had been quartered and where he and his brothers had lived for the last four years, Corbulo halted. His eyes watching the slaves who were moving in and out of the doorway to the building. The army authorities appeared to be wasting no time for already they were moving his father’s belongings out of their home. Dumping the dead man’s furniture and personal possessions into a two wheeled handcart while nearby a dog barked at them. The slaves were preparing the place for the new centurion who was to replace Gamo. Entering the building Corbulo placed the heavy water sack in a corner before spotting Veda and Munatius sitting together on a camp bed in one of the small back rooms. The two boys were observing the slaves in moody silence. Hurrying over, Corbulo quickly checked the room, but they were alone. Then he turned to his brothers.

“Hostes didn’t punish you?” he asked quickly, lowering his voice.

“He did,” Munatius replied looking up at Corbulo with sulky, defiant eyes. “We are forbidden from going outside or eating for a whole day.”

“That’s it,” Corbulo exclaimed, frowning. “He didn’t beat you? Hostes didn’t get out his belt?”

“No,” Veda replied shaking his head. “Maybe he is waiting to do it later. Maybe tonight. But it can’t be any worse than what we have endured from Gamo. I am not afraid of him.”

“Well you are lucky then,” Corbulo said quickly turning to glance through the doorway as another slave entered the house looking for items to move. “You know Hostes temper. You know what violence he is capable of.”

“Why did you stay behind last night,” Veda asked rounding on Corbulo. His brother’s eyes were flashing with anger. “At the funeral. You should have come with us. Instead you stood there like a sheep, pretending to honour Gamo. What a joke. After everything he did to us. After what we did to him. And look at you now - you are even wearing his ring!”

“I could not run away,” Corbulo retorted, glaring at Veda. “You know why. It would have looked suspicious. I had to stay.”

“Suspicious,” Veda called out.

“Lower your voice,” Corbulo snapped before shooting an urgent glance through the doorway at the slave who was departing the building carrying a wooden chair. “We agreed,” Corbulo whispered at last, turning back to his brothers. “We would never speak about what we did. Ever. To anyone. Do you know what Hostes and the authorities would do to us if they ever found out.”

Looking away Veda’s expression appeared to soften and an uncomfortable guilty silence descended across the room.

“What about what he did to us?” Munatius said at last in a whisper, as he looked up at his elder brother. “What about that?”

“Little brother is right,” Veda hissed. “Mother would never have allowed Gamo to do to us what he did. She would have been horrified if she had known. He abused us. For years! The disgusting things he did to all of us. You know what I am talking about. She would have approved of what we did. Gamo deserved to die and I for one am glad that he is dead.”

“Mother is not here. She is dead,” Corbulo said, trying to sound patient. “But yes you are right. She would have been horrified if she had known the truth.” Leaning forwards Corbulo gazed at his brothers, his expression suddenly resolute. “We did the right thing,” he whispered. “And there is no going back now. The deed is done and the monster is gone for good. But no one can find out. So keep your mouths shut and try not to look suspicious. Hostes and the authorities are still looking for the killer. They must never discover the truth. So we stick to the plan. Munatius,” Corbulo said quickly and softly as he turned to the eight year old. “You are the first to have found the body. When they asked you what you saw or heard what did you tell them?”

Staring up at Corbulo, sitting on the camp bed, Munatius’s eyes grew large. “I told them I saw or heard nothing,” the boy replied. “I kept my mouth shut Corbulo. I am not a rat. I am not scared.”

“My brave and loyal brother,” Corbulo said with a pleased smile before reaching out to ruffle his little brother’s hair.

“So what do we do now?” Veda said, shooting Corbulo an uncertain, restless look.

Straightening up, Corbulo took a deep breath. “I don’t know what is going to happen to us now,” he replied quietly. “But I know that mother would want the three of us to stick together. To look after each other. Those were her last words to me. Before the plague took her. To look after you both and that is what I am going to do. We stick together, the three of us!”

Suddenly Corbulo froze. In the doorway a figure had appeared.

“What are you three talking about?” Jutta exclaimed, observing the three boys with a curious, inquisitive look as she held her brother Badurad’s hand. The little two year old boy with his bulging rosy and innocent cheeks was gazing back at his cousins with a jovial, happy expression, oblivious to his sister’s dislike.

“None of your business witch - go away,” Veda called out, making a face at the girl.

“Oh now I am intrigued,” Jutta replied stepping into the room. “You know I find out all your secrets in the end Veda. You can’t hide anything from me.”

“Is it true?” Corbulo called out as he quickly stepped in between Jutta and his brothers to stand up to the tall girl. “That we are to be sent away now that Gamo is dead.”

“Probably,” Jutta replied with a shrug as she eyed Veda and Munatius sitting on the bed. “You are useless mouths now.”

“You are a useless mouth - witch,” Veda shot back.

“Munatius,” Jutta said in a sweet voice ignoring Veda, “tell me what you three were talking about just now and I will be nice to you.”

“No,” Munatius said stubbornly and defiantly folding his arms across his small chest. His little face a mask of determination. “Go away.”

“I am not going away,” Jutta purred as she tried to push past Corbulo to get to the little boy.

Suddenly Corbulo had pulled his knife from his belt and was holding it up in a threatening manner.

“Go away. Leave us alone!” he bellowed at Jutta.

Caught by surprise Jutta hesitated but she must have seen something in Corbulo’s eyes for suddenly she looked scared. The first time he had ever seen Jutta frightened by something. For an insane moment the two of them stood confronting each other as the blood drained from her cheeks. Then without another word Jutta turned and dragging Badurad with her she rushed out of the building.

Sucking air into his lungs, his chest heaving, Corbulo watched her go before replacing his knife in his belt. The room silent. Then at last Veda slowly rose to his feet staring at the doorway through which Jutta had fled before glancing at his brother.

“And that wasn’t suspicious?” Veda muttered.

“Fucking witch!” Corbulo swore savagely as he struggled to control himself. “She just wouldn’t accept no for an answer.”

“You know that she will run to her mother now and tell her everything,” Veda continued in a resigned voice. “About how you threatened her with a knife and Holda is going to tell Hostes and then you are going to get a beating - brother.”

“No one is beating me any more,” Corbulo growled. “I am fourteen. I am a man. I can take of myself.”

​***

It was evening and the Roman camp was settling down for the night. Lights were glowing inside the stone barrack blocks. A few raised voices and laughter rang out down the street while a gentle breeze dispersed the midday stench and brought some welcome relief and coolness. Waiting dutifully in the hall of Hostes’s quarters, having answered his summons, Corbulo was staring at the fine wall paintings that decorated his uncle’s house. The wild hunting scenes were lit up by a couple of burning oil lamps whose light was casting flickering shadows across the walls. Suddenly the door to Hostes’s private office opened and a centurion appeared. The tall officer was clad in his short sleeved white tunic and was sporting a gold ring on his finger and a vine staff stuffed into his belt. And as he recognised the soldier, Corbulo’s face went pale. It was the officer who was investigating Gamo’s murder. The same man who had interrogated him and his brothers right after the body had been found. Spotting Corbulo, the Roman glared at him, his expression harsh and unfriendly. Then without saying anything the officer strode from the building.

“Corbulo,” Hostes called out from his office, beckoning to him, “come in boy. I need to speak to you.”

Stepping into the small office, Corbulo saw that they were alone. Sitting on a chair behind his desk, on which lay a stack of wooden documents, Hostes was eyeing him with a grave and stern expression. Standing before the desk, Corbulo said nothing and for a moment the awkward silence went undisturbed.

“You may be wondering how we are doing on the investigation into my brother’s murder,” Hostes said at last.

“I saw the centurion just now Sir,” Corbulo said quickly. “Is there any further news. Do they have a suspect?”

“No,” Hostes replied. “Not yet. The investigation continues unfortunately. You may not know this but Gamo was in line to be promoted to become the first spear centurion of the first cohort. A very prestigious post. It’s possible,” Hostes continued with a sigh, “that he was murdered by one of his rivals for that position. We just don’t have any evidence yet. But we will catch him. Rest assured. I will find the man who killed my brother.”

Standing before the desk Corbulo nodded but remained silent, his eyes avoiding his uncle.

“Anyway I need to talk to you. Do you know why I summoned you here boy?” Hostes continued leaning back in his chair.

“If it is to do with Jutta - then I can explain,” Corbulo shot back.

“No,” Hostes replied shaking his head, “this is not about my daughter. I need to speak to you about the funeral.”

“Thank you Sir,” Corbulo said speaking before Hostes had a chance to continue. “For honouring my mother in your eulogy at the funeral. She would have appreciated that. And as for my brothers. I will make sure they behave themselves from now on and that they do not dishonour you again.”

Hesitating Hostes gazed at Corbulo, taken aback by the boys deft words. Then at last he nodded, looking grave. “Thank you Corbulo,” the big man said. “Your mother would be proud of you as would your father. Now I know,” Hostes said before pausing to clear his throat. “I know that these last few years have not been easy on you and your brothers. Uprooted from your ancestral home. Brought to this foreign station and after all that just to witness your mother dying from the plague and now having your father murdered. It’s a lot. You are orphans now. Orphans in a foreign country. That must be very hard on you.”

“My father, Vennus, my real father Sir,” Corbulo shot back. “He is only listed as missing in the east. He may still come back one day. So maybe we are not yet orphans.”

“Yes,” Hostes said carefully gazing at Corbulo from across his desk with an appraising look before lowering his eyes. “I suppose you are right. Maybe one day he will return although it is more likely he will not. It has been many years since he vanished. Your mother did not believe he would come back which is why she decided to take my brother as her new husband and move from Britannia to come to live here with him.”

As an awkward silence descended across the room Corbulo lowered his gaze.

“It is difficult for me to talk about this,” Hostes continued. “For its shames me greatly. Gamo was my brother - my blood - but I also know that he was not always a good man. That he was violent. I know about the abuse. But I could not stop it - for that was his right as your father.”

Standing on his feet, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground, Corbulo remained silent.

“But now that he is dead,” Hostes went on. “Now that you have lost both him and your mother I am your legal guardian. I am now responsible for what is going to become of you and your brothers and that means I have to make some decisions. Do you understand? Important decisions concerning your future. It has not been easy but I have made up my mind.”

“Decisions Sir?”

“Yes,” Hostes nodded looking grave. “I have decided to split you three up. Your brothers will return to the isle of Vectis in Britain to go and live there with your aunt Helena and your sister Cata. They are to leave within the week. But you,” Hostes said pointing at Corbulo as he rose to his feet - towering over him. “You boy are going to remain here under my guardianship. You are a leader Corbulo. I recognise that in you boy. So you will remain here with me in the Colonia and train to become a professional soldier. That is what you will become. And as your family are of the equestrian class that means that one day you will become an officer like me. If you do well and you are lucky you will have career prospects. A good life. That is my wish.”

“My brothers and I - we are to be split up Sir?” Corbulo replied as a startled blush crept across his cheeks.

“That’s right,” Hostes replied. “It is for the best. Your aunt on Vectis will take care of Veda and Munatius. They are going home to where they were born. Your aunt Helena will be better able to look after them over there than I can. She will be responsible for turning them into young men.”

“Right,” Corbulo said weakly.

“Does my decision disappoint you?” Hostes said eyeing him.

“No Sir,” Corbulo said quickly shaking his head. “I want to be a soldier more than anything. Like my father and his forefathers before him.”

“Who are you boy?” Hostes growled as he came around the desk to look down at Corbulo. “Tell me who you are?”

“You know who I am,” Corbulo protested looking confused.

“No,” Hostes boomed as he abruptly slammed his fist down on the wooden surface of the desk making the documents jump. “I don’t! I don’t know who you really are Corbulo. You showed up here four years ago wet as a pup with your two little annoying brothers in tow and a mother who couldn’t keep her legs together. A father who abandoned his family. You are nothing. You are not a fighter. Your ancestors achieved nothing. They were cowards. Are you a coward?”

“It’s not true!” Corbulo yelled back at Hostes as stung by the man’s accusations anger flared across his face. His eyes were widening. “It’s not true! Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that or my father. I am Corbulo. Son of Vennus. Descendant of Corbulo, Marcus and Fergus. Flavius, my first ancestor, fought against Hannibal himself. They were not cowards and neither am I! Their blood flows through my veins. Good, noble and strong blood!”

“Words! Words!” Hostes retorted. “It’s not good enough. I think you don’t have the balls to be a soldier.”

“Say that again and I will punch you,” Corbulo hissed. “You are wrong! One day I am going to make my ancestors proud. They are going to be proud of me. They are watching. They are always watching!”

As Corbulo fell silent glaring up at the big man, he shook with fury. His hands clenched into fists. Confronting and towering over him Hostes did not speak. Then abruptly a little pleased and amused smile crept on to the big man’s lips and he relaxed. And as he saw the change Corbulo realised that his uncle had been feigning his anger in order to get a reaction out of him. Hostes had provoked him on purpose and he’d fallen for it.

“Now there is the steel that I was looking for,” Hostes said in an approving tone as he reached out and playfully slapped Corbulo across his cheek. “Good - boy. You have pride and guts. You are going to need it when you start your training. Never surrender your pride boy.”

Looking away, Corbulo was still too angry to speak and now he was feeling foolish too.

“Will you obey me then,” Hostes said staring at him with a sudden appraising gleam in his eye. “If I were to train you and give you a career in the army. Will you let me be a father to you?”

“I will Sir,” Corbulo said nodding and lowering his eyes.

“Good,” Hostes replied looking pleased as he abruptly returned to his chair behind his desk. “Then it is settled. You have just learned your first lesson about soldiering - boy. Learn to obey before you command. That will be all. You may go. Get some rest Corbulo. Your training will start tomorrow.”

Chapter Three - Catastrophe

June 260 AD. Near the garrison town of Samosata, Roman Syria

Leading his cavalry patrol across the open treeless terrain, the horses’ hooves rapidly striking the ground, Corbulo gazed southwards across the Syrian steppes that stretched away to the horizon. Clutching his long thrusting spear. Gamo’s gold ring attached to his finger. The tight Bedouin style scarf was wrapped around his lower face protecting him from the growing heat and clouds of dust. The cloth hiding his concern and only his eyes were showing.

Clad in a coat of Roman mail armour that gleamed in the fierce morning sun, a long spatha cavalry sword hung from his belt and an ovoid shaped shield was strapped across his sweat stained back. The white emblem imprinted upon the dark shield that of a wolf’s head. While his plumed cavalry helmet, with its tight-fitting broad bronze cheek guards and neck-guard and a curved horn made of bone, dangled across his chest, suspended on a leather strap.

To the south in the shimmering heat he could see nothing unusual. The besieged city of Edessa was too far away. The open steppe country was deserted and silent except for a shepherd boy and his flock of goats resting in the shade of a nearby wadi. The bells attached to the goats tinkling as the Roman cavalry patrol moved on by; the horses snorting, their hooves stamping the ground. The scrawny boy was squatting as he observed the horsemen.

Turning his attention back to the north and the direction of the Roman army base at Samosata from whence he had come that morning, Corbulo raised his fist and reining in his horse he brought his patrol to a halt. The one hundred and six cavalry troopers of the Third company of the First separate cohort of Salian Franks came to an obedient halt behind him. The faces of the German cavalrymen were hidden behind their tightly wrapped keffiyeh.

For a moment Corbulo appeared undecided as he eyed the mighty Euphrates in the distance. Fidgeting with Gamo’s gold ring. The wide and placid river cut a pleasing green border through the arid and lonely landscape. The narrow strip of lush green vegetation along its banks was a maze of twisting, jumbled water ways, tall reeds and stunted trees with wide canopies. The steep banks of the river canyon were riven with gullies leading up to a table top plateau. While on the horizon a line of hazy grey mountains were just visible to the north and west. Turning at last to his troopers Corbulo eyed them with a patient look before he shifted his attention back to the southern steppe with its patches of sparse vegetation.

At thirty Corbulo had grown into a mature handsome man. An experienced and battle-hardened centurion in command of a company of foederati - treaty bound German tribesmen from the lower Rhine. Tall. Lean. Clean-shaven - he was in the prime of his life. His oil black hair was still cut short with long, straight sideburns, while a green tattoo of a wolf’s head adorned his neck and the scars of battle could be seen stitched across his left hand.

“I don’t like it. Something feels wrong,” Corbulo exclaimed in German, lowering his keffiyeh, his concern showing, as his deputy and second in command rode up to him with a questioning look. “Notice anything odd?”

“It all looks the same to me Sir,” the deputy replied in German with an indifferent shrug - casting his eyes about. “Can’t say I see anything different from the last patrol. A whole lot of nothing. What is bothering you?”

For a moment Corbulo continued to study the empty landscape to the south. Then he frowned.

“No,” he said at last. “Something is wrong. It’s too fucking quiet. Look. Over in that direction,” he added pointing with his spear to the south, “over there towards Edessa is where the Emperor should be with our main army - right. Sixty thousand men! Confronting the Sasanian King of Kings - Shapur. That was the plan. Macrianus guards the north and the Emperor relieves the siege of Edessa. But if that is still the case then where are Valerian’s patrols? Where are the despatch riders and the supply convoys? The transports carrying the wounded and sick back to the rear. This country should be full of activity. Crawling with our men. Instead we have not seen a single Roman since leaving Samosata.”

“You think something has happened?” the deputy replied turning his eyes to the south. “Maybe Valerian has been forced to retreat?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Corbulo said - shaking his head. “But it’s odd and I don’t like it.”

“Everything is odd about this country,” the German replied with a sour, resigned look. “I hate the place. The heat. The people and why does everything have to be so god-damn expensive?”

“Come,” Corbulo replied quickly glancing up to check the position of the sun. “Let’s keep moving. I need to speak to Atlas.”

It was afternoon when Corbulo slowed his horse to a walk and the company of German foederati approached the oasis, set in the steppe. The patches of vegetation and the few stunted trees a little dash of green amid the dreary flat wilderness. Resting at the well, his back leaning against the stone, a solitary man was sitting on the ground, his legs stretched out in front of him. His head turned towards the approaching cavalrymen. While nearby a donkey was standing about - motionless and silent, with its head lowered. The man looked old. A long white beard plastered to his chin and he was dressed in the long flowing clothes of the desert Arabs. A filthy keffiyeh wrapped around part of his head, obscuring his face. And as Corbulo rode up he saw that the Arab’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep or dead. Suddenly - just as his deputy was about to move forwards and prod the old man Corbulo hurriedly gestured for him to stay back.

“Plague!” Corbulo cried out, pointing at a dirty, blood soaked rag that lay on the ground a few yards in front of the Arab and which appeared to have been deliberately placed there as a warning. “Stay back. He’s dead! He has marked himself. He has the plague. He’s infected. Tell the men to keep their distance. I don’t want anyone going near him.”

Swearing softly, Corbulo’s deputy backed away, his face growing pale as he took in the dark spots on the Arab’s exposed arm and the puss that appeared to be oozing from them.

“Shit,” one of the mounted Franks cursed in German as he stared at the Arab in dismay. “Does that mean we cannot drink the water from the well Sir? But the horses need a drink and I too am thirsty and it’s a long ride back to Samosata. And this heat…”

Staring at the motionless Arab, Corbulo took a deep breath. “Let the horses drink,” he called out at last, “but stay as far away from the body as you can. You know how fast the plague can spread. How deadly it can be. Be careful lads. The garrison at Samosata will not let us back into the base if they suspect we have become infected.”

“And what about the men Sir,” Corbulo’s deputy said. “We need to have a drink too. The river is faraway.”

“Get the men to start a fire,” Corbulo replied patiently. “They are to take the water from the well and boil it before drinking. It should be safer that way.”

“That won’t stop the plague,” a German rider muttered darkly. “The infection is a curse from the Gods.”

“What about the Sasanians?” Corbulo’s deputy replied, turning to the south with a sudden uneasy look. “Is it possible that they poisoned the well and it is that which did for this old Arab?”

“I don’t know,” Corbulo said. “Do you want a drink or not? Doesn’t look like we have much of a choice does it. See that the men obey my instructions. If anyone touches that corpse. If anyone tries to steal his possessions I am leaving them behind here. Understood. No exceptions! We cannot get infected.”

“Very well Sir,” the deputy said dutifully turning to the mass of mounted Franks gathered around the well.

Glaring at the Arab, Corbulo gave the corpse an annoyed look before turning his attention back to the oasis. But among the vegetation there was no one else about. They were the only ones here.

“Where the hell is Atlas,” Corbulo exclaimed as he scanned the countryside before looking up to check the position of the sun. “He should have been here by now. He’s late.”

“I am right here,” a sour voice suddenly called out from close by and as Corbulo’s head whipped round and his eyes widened in shock the dead Arab stiffly got to his feet and carefully began to remove the scarf and fake beard revealing the face of a young man in his mid-twenties. And as the mounted Franks backed away in alarm as if they had just witnessed a man come back from the dead, Corbulo was suddenly conscious of a pair of crafty eyes watching him. “And you Corbulo,” Atlas continued raising a finger and pointing at him, “let your guard down. That’s not like you. You are getting sloppy.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Corbulo exclaimed in an annoyed voice as he recovered from his surprise. “What is wrong with just sitting here waiting for us like any other man would do?”

“I was testing out my disguise,” Atlas replied calmly as he started to brush the dirt from his arms. “Fake beard to make me look old. Desert clothes to make me look like any other Arab. I used charcoal and spit to make myself look infected so people would not come too close. And it worked. At least you dick heads fell for it. If I were an assassin you would be dead by now Corbulo.”

“Yeah and you would be lying at the bottom of that well,” Corbulo retorted. “No more surprises Atlas.”

“But that is my job,” Atlas sniffed. “To blend in and to discover things. Not all of us get to dress up and pretend to be important like you.”

Staring at Atlas, Corbulo took a deep breath biting back a retort. Refusing to rise to the bait. Atlas was an oddity. A loner. A difficult, unconventional man. The issue of a German father and a Greek mother - he spoke fluent German, Latin and Greek. A weirdo who liked to work alone and who would disappear into the country for weeks on end popping up only when he needed something or wished to make contact. As the sole Roman speculatore attached to the first cohort of the Thirtieth Legion his official job was to act as a scout and intelligence officer. To work covertly. But no one appeared to know what he was really up to most of the time. The man would do his own thing in his own time and in his own way. That Atlas was good at his job was not in doubt. However he took a dim view of authority and the rules - a habit that had not endeared him to the vexillation high command.

“Alright, I admit. It was a good disguise,” Corbulo said with a tight patient look. “You fooled me. But one of these days your luck is going to run out Atlas. So no more surprises.”

“Maybe,” Atlas replied, shrugging as he finished cleaning the charcoal stains from his arms.

“Any problems? Do you need anything?” Corbulo asked.

“I am alright,” Atlas said as he came up to Corbulo and reached out to gently stroke the nose of Corbulo’s horse. “I am learning to speak the language of the desert Arabs. I have been living with them for a while. But I need some more money. At least a hundred denarii and the coins must be from the rule of Marcus Aurelius or earlier. Nothing from after his rule. You understand. The silver content of these modern coins is just too low. Even the desert dwellers know that by now. So, can you get me the money?”

“I thought you would ask for money,” Corbulo said nodding as he reached into his saddle bag and produced a small sealed leather-pouch. “I have them here in fact. See - you are so predictable. I can read you like a book Atlas and yes before you ask,” Corbulo continued with a little pleased smile, “the coins are all good quality from the reign of Pius. I made sure of that myself.”

But as Atlas reached out to take the pouch Corbulo moved his hand away.

“Oh I see,” Atlas responded - withdrawing his hand. “Alright you want to play games with me Corbulo. What do you want?”

“I like you Atlas,” Corbulo said, gazing down at the scout from his horse, “you do a good job. Its not your fault that you are a bit weird and you smell of goat. But you can’t keep on ignoring Mobius. He’s hopping mad with you and he is still the prefect in command of our vexillation. Our commanding officer. So a word of advice. Show Mobius some public respect, even if you don’t mean it. Come on - you can do that,” Corbulo continued, fixing Atlas with a sincere look. “It would be wise. It’s for your own good. Otherwise if you keep giving him the finger, one day Mobius is going to order me to bring you in and place your head on a spike. And I really don’t want to have to do that.”

Staring up at Corbulo, Atlas remained silent. His cool pale blue eyes giving nothing away. Then at last he looked away.

“You are a good soldier Corbulo,” Atlas replied. “Better than Mobius. They should have placed you in command of the vexillation and not him.”

“So will you show him some respect?”

“I will think about it,” Atlas replied. “And that is the only answer you are going to get from me.”

Gazing at Atlas, Corbulo sighed. Atlas was renowned for being difficult to work with. The scout had made many enemies among the higher command staff through his lack of respect for the senior officers. As if he were above the rules and army discipline did not apply to him. But somehow he and Atlas had managed to strike up a tenuous friendship Corbulo thought. A friendship that required a lot of work but which had its uses.

“Alright what have you got for me?” Corbulo asked as he handed the money pouch over to the scout. “Please tell me that you have not been wasting your time out there.”

Accepting the pouch Atlas said nothing as he quickly opened it and started to examine the small silver coins. Then at last appearing satisfied he turned to look southwards.

“Plague and famine have struck the Emperor’s army,” he said. “Casualties are high even before a battle has been fought. Valerian is still camped before Edessa preparing to break the Sasanian siege. But he is losing thousands a day to the plague. There are problems with food and water supplies too. The situation is not good. Still Valerian hopes to drive the Sasanians back from Edessa and if he offers battle King Shapur will accept. There will be a major clash.”

“There are problems with the supplies?” Corbulo said frowning. “I was not aware of that.”

“Yes,” Atlas nodded. “And we’re not just talking about Sasanian raiding parties attacking our supply convoys either. There is talk that the supplies that are being sent to our army at Edessa are sub-standard. There is a lot of stealing going on and there are persistent rumours of sabotage.”

“Sabotage,” Corbulo exclaimed.

“The Emperor has enemies,” Atlas replied glancing up at Corbulo with a shrug. “And not all of them are Sasanian invaders. There are many who wish to see him fail. Is that not the story of our times.”

Sat upon his horse Corbulo remained silent for a moment as he took in what Atlas had just told him. His expression suddenly grave.

“And what about the Sasanian King of Kings - Shapur?”

“Still besieging Edessa,” Atlas replied. “At least he was a few days ago when I left their camp. They say that the ‘King of Kings’ has a plan. But I have not been able to find out yet what his intentions are. Whether this attack is a full scale invasion and war of conquest or just a large raid.” Pausing, Atlas screwed up his face. “The Sasanians, Corbulo, he continued. “From what I have discovered. Their morale is high. And if the high command thinks the enemy is going to run out of arrows for their horse archers or supplies then they are mistaken. I have seen the Sasanian supply convoys myself. They are well organised. We would do well not to underestimate Shapur. He is a clever, resourceful general and he is ambitious. He has let it be publicly known that he wants to restore the borders of the ancient Persian empire and drive Rome completely out of the east.”

Nodding - as if he had heard it all before - Corbulo eyed the scout with a careful appraising look and for a moment he held back.

“Listen,” Corbulo said at last. “Mobius gave me instructions. I am to convey new orders to you. The prefect wants you to concentrate your efforts on infiltrating the Sasanian camp. To find out all you can on the enemy army and the king’s plans. You are to focus on that.”

Falling silent, Corbulo dismounted and holding the reins of his horse he came to stand beside Atlas, joining him as the two men gazed southwards across the flat steppe. “So now that I have done as Mobius instructed me to do and informed you of your new orders,” Corbulo said, lowering his voice, “I want you to ignore what I have just said.”

Slowly Atlas turned to gaze at Corbulo and as he did a sudden amused look crept onto the scout’s face.

“You have something else in mind, Corbulo?” Atlas said softly.

“Yes,” Corbulo nodded quietly. “Find out who is behind the sabotage of our supplies. If we have enemies in our own camp I want to know who they are. Find out who is responsible.”

​***

It was early evening and the temperature was falling. Leading his men across the plain at a brisk trot, Corbulo was considering turning back, having reached the limit of his patrol area, when one of his soldiers suddenly raised a shout and pointed at something in the distance with his thrusting spear.

“Riders approaching Sir!”

Squinting, his expression darkening, Corbulo slowed his horse to a walk as he turned to gaze southwards. Then he grunted in surprise as in the distance he made out two figures charging across the steppe straight towards him. The riders were going flat out. Bent over their steeds. Their black cloaks flying behind them. Riding for all they were worth and it was clear why - for racing after them in hot pursuit were twenty or so men on horseback. The pursuers throwing up little clouds of dust in their wake as they thundered across the country.

“Sasanians Sir!” a decurion cried in a shrill voice. “It’s the enemy!”

Staring at the approaching riders Corbulo quickly took in the pursuit and the composition of the enemy force. The Sasanians appeared not to be the feared cataphracts, the heavily armoured enemy knights or horse archers, but instead lightly armed Kushans. Mercenaries from the Persian border lands far to the east. And there were only twenty of them.

“Battle formation!” Corbulo roared in German as he hurriedly placed his helmet on his head and reached for his ovoid shaped shield that was slung across his back. “Form up in a wedge!”

As his deputy and his two decurion’s, cavalry officers, started to yell orders at their men the well-trained and disciplined Germanic horsemen rushed into their unit formations. Each of the company’s four turmae, squadrons, forming a tightly-packed V shaped wedge with their officer’s positioned right at the front - ready to lead the charge. The men were clutching their shields and spears. Their helmets were gleaming savagely in the cool evening light.

To the south out in the steppe the two fugitives were still riding for their lives. Their horses hooves pounding the earth, throwing up clumps of dirt. The two horsemen seemed still not to have seen the Roman patrol. But the distance between them and their pursuers appeared to be narrowing and their beasts were tiring. They were not going to last much longer.

“Third company. Follow me!” Corbulo bellowed.

Then he was off, leading the attack at the head of his own squadron of thirty riders. His horse breaking into a trot. Then a canter. Advancing on a full frontal collision course towards the Sasanian horsemen and the two fugitives. Grimacing Corbulo hurriedly turned to check to his left and then to his right, but his men were in their correct positions. Spread out in their battle-line. Four cavalry squadrons racing across the steppe in their tight V-shaped wedges. Rapidly and enthusiastically closing with the enemy. The German spears lowered. The soldiers voices and shields raised. Their guttural barbarian war-cries rang out across the wilderness.

Breaking into a furious gallop Corbulo too, cried out as he and his men went storming straight past the two startled and bewildered fugitives. Ignoring the pair of riders as they sought a fight with the enemy. But the party of Kushans had spotted the danger and as one the swift, lightly armed barbarian horsemen veered sharply away and fled. Unwilling to fight such a one sided battle. Cursing his enemy and seeing he would never catch up with them, Corbulo at last slowed his pace before coming to a disappointed halt.

For a moment he stared at the retreating Kushans before turning his attention back to the two fugitives. The riders behind him had come to an exhausted halt upon the steppe. Unable to go any further. Their gasping horses stood about, streaming with sweat. The horsemen were clinging to their beasts as if they were about to fall off. Their chests were heaving from exertion. Their faces masked by tightly-wound white desert keffiyeh. Their long cloaks were stained with dust. But, as Corbulo approached at a trot, one of the riders undid their keffiyeh and to his astonishment he saw that it was a young woman with blond hair.

“Are you Romans?” her companion, a man with a large stomach, shouted in Latin as Corbulo and his men rode up, surrounding the two riders, the Germans eyeing the strangers with sudden silent curiosity.

“Third company of the First cohort of Salian Franks,” Corbulo called out in Latin. “Who are you and what are you doing out here?”

“Salii! Oh thank Sol!” the man cried out with unbridled relief. “Romans! What luck. Those Kushans nearly had us. You have saved us Sir from a fate worse than death. Friend. You do not know how happy we are to see you. Great Sol Invictus blesses us. It is not yet our time.”

The overweight man was short, dark haired and bearded and he appeared to be a civilian. And as he lowered his keffiyeh, Corbulo saw that the man looked around forty while his companion, the woman, appeared to be much younger - in her mid-twenties. Her blond hair exotic and out of place. Reminding him of the local girls who inhabited the Roman city of Colonia Ulpia Traiana on the Rhine. Her cheeks blushing from exertion as she gasped for breath. Her large eyes darted about nervously as she took in the German horsemen who surrounded her.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Corbulo growled in Latin as he came to a halt before the man. “Who are you and what are you doing out here?”

“My apologies - centurion,” the man said, lowering his head in a deft and respectful manner. “My name is Uranius Antoninus and this here is my wife Claudia. I am a nobleman from the city of Emesa. We have come from Edessa. We were on our way to Samosata when we were set upon by the enemy. We tried…”

“You have come from Edessa?” Corbulo said sharply - interrupting, his expression darkening.

“Yes centurion, we have,” the woman suddenly spoke up in a posh voice, lifting her head from where she was sitting upon her horse. Her Latin good and clear as if she were a native speaker. Her chest still heaving from exertion and emotion. Her dark eyes fixed on him. “We were one of the last to get out of the city. There has been a battle. Disaster has befallen the Roman cause. The Emperor’s army has surrendered in its entirety. The city has fallen and the Sasanians have taken the Emperor prisoner. It is a catastrophe!”

“Valerian has been taken prisoner by the Sasanians?” Corbulo exclaimed as the blood slowly drained from his face. “But how can this be so? No Roman Emperor has ever been captured alive by the enemy before. He was guarded by sixty thousand men.”

“It is true,” Antoninus said looking grave. “The Emperor was seized by trickery and deceit when he rode out to negotiate terms with the King of Kings. Shapur has thrown Valerian into chains and after that our army surrendered. The surviving Roman soldiers,” Antoninus said taking a deep breath, “they have had their lives spared but none of them will ever see Roman territory again. Claudia is right. A catastrophe has befallen us.”

“I don’t believe you,” Corbulo’s deputy cried out. “You are making this up to save your own skin. Valerian had command of sixty thousand men. How can he have been defeated?”

“And yet it is the truth,” Antoninus replied in a patient voice turning to the German officer. “However unbelievable it may sound. I swear it on the souls of my ancestors. My wife and I were trying to reach Samosata to warn my friend Macrianus what has happened. For he is now the only Roman leader left who can halt the Sasanian invasion. I must warn my friend as to what has happened at Edessa. Don’t you see,” Antoninus said hurriedly turning back to Corbulo. “Shapur is not going to remain idle after his victory. He is not going home. With the Emperor’s army destroyed the whole of Syria and the east is now at his mercy. There are no forces left to oppose him. So he is going to advance westwards and put everything to the sword. The Sasanians are going to torch everything. They are going to steal and enslave everything and anybody they can get their hands on. I know their heart and what brutality they are capable of. They are true barbarians!”

“You know Macrianus?” Corbulo called out staring at Antoninus with a sudden frown.

“I do,” Antoninus replied nodding, mustering some dignity. “He and I are friends. I have known Macrianus for a long time. He is no stranger. Look. As I told you before centurion. I am an important man, worth my weight in gold as my wife likes to remind me. I am the leading nobleman in my city of Emesa. I have land and money and I have influence here in Syria. Valerian made me a member of the imperial administration.”

For a moment Antoninus paused as he observed Corbulo’s reaction. “Yes. Yes I know,” he exclaimed at last in a resigned voice. “Because I am a little bit fat you think a man like me can’t fight. Well you are wrong centurion. This is not my first time fighting against the Sasanians. I am a veteran of these invasions. When Shapur raided Syria several years ago and came to Emesa, it was I and I alone who managed to defeat him. I and my people drove him back. We hit the Sasanians hard and we drove the scum out of Syria.”

Staring back at Antoninus Corbulo remained silent but it was clear that the overweight man was not lying. And as he shifted his attention to the nobleman’s young wife he saw that she too was not lying. The truth was blazing from her dark eyes. For a moment no one spoke. Then Corbulo turned to look southwards across the steppe in the direction from which the two riders had come.

“We ride north. Back to Samosata,” he called out at last in German turning to his troops. Then to Antoninus in Latin. “And you two are coming with us,” Corbulo snapped. “If what you say is true and the Emperor has become a prisoner, then the high command will need to hear your story. You can explain yourself to the commanders when we get to the city.”

Chapter Four - Friendship

Nestling on the high ground above the northern bank of the Euphrates the Roman city of Samosata appeared to be nothing more than a lone speck of civilisation in the midst of the Syrian wilderness. The moon was casting its pale, bluish light across the placid sliver of gleaming river water. The darkness was hiding the town’s dense, tightly-packed stone buildings, narrow twisting alleys and the exoticness of the east, which reflected the long history of the settlement’s mixed Greek and Persian past. The town’s lights acting like a lone beacon in the darkness, welcoming weary travellers home. Leading his patrol towards the temporary Roman battle-group’s encampment, that lay outside and below the city, Corbulo looked grim. The mass of white army tents were illuminated by flickering torches. The horses were snorting and tossing their heads as if something had unsettled them.

“Third company reporting back from patrol,” Corbulo cried out in a loud voice as he dismounted outside the tent housing the HQ of his vexillation that had come from the Rhine. The army detachment - seconded for duty in the east - comprising of the 1st infantry cohort of the Thirtieth Legion and the two mounted companies from his own 1st cohort of Salian Franks.

“Where is Mobius? I need to speak to him at once,” Corbulo called out as a slave appeared and came hurrying over to him. “I have urgent news. I must speak with the prefect.”

But from the darkness no one replied, the slave simply lowered his eyes as he took the reins of Corbulo’s horse and led the beast away.

“See that the men return to their quarters. The company is to get some rest,” Corbulo said in German quickly, turning to his deputy, “but make sure that they take care of their horses and equipment first before they call it a night. The beasts are to be fed and watered and I will be checking up on whether this has been done later. It’s possible that we may have to ride out again at dawn tomorrow, so all the usual leave to enter the town tonight is cancelled. No drinking. No visiting the whores. I want the men in their tents. With the situation what it is, this may be our last chance to get some proper rest for a while.”

“Yes Sir,” his deputy said, nodding dutifully.

“And you two,” Corbulo said switching to Latin and swiftly moving on to Antoninus and Claudia who were still sitting upon their horses. “You will stay here. Mobius will want to speak to you.”

“Oh no doubt centurion,” Antoninus replied in a resigned voice. “But would it not be better to go straight to Macrianus instead. He is after all the commander of this whole battle-group and the most senior officer here. We are wasting precious time going through all these army formalities.”

“I am afraid not,” Corbulo replied sharply. “I report to Mobius and he reports to Macrianus. That is how the chain of command operates. I have my orders. It is up to Mobius to decide what to do with you.”

From his horse Antoninus however did not appear to be impressed and the overweight civilian was about to offer another reply, when his young wife suddenly spoke up.

“It’s all-right - dear,” Claudia said quickly in her posh voice, turning to her husband. “Allow the centurion his formalities. The army values its chain of command and we should not interfere with that. Let him do his job and stop being an arse. Macrianus will no doubt be informed in due course. In the meantime we should just be grateful to this officer for saving us. We are in his debt.”

In response Antoninus opened and then closed his mouth before gracefully admitting defeat and remaining silent.

“Where the hell is Mobius?” Corbulo called out turning his attention back to the HQ tent. “I said I need to speak to him. It’s urgent!”

“Corbulo, is that you?” a deep Roman voice suddenly called out in Latin and a moment later a centurion appeared from out of the darkness, striding towards him. The man was big and in his forties. Clad in his military uniform. A hard and tough looking soldier with the eyes of a man who had witnessed much and the hands of a man who had killed many.

“Yes its me,” Corbulo replied as he recognised Crastus in the torch light, one of the centurion’s of the First cohort of the Thirtieth Legion. “I just got back from patrol. I have urgent news. Where is Mobius?”

“Oh you don’t know,” Crastus replied as he came up to Corbulo with a sudden pensive look. “Mobius has been taken ill this morning. The doctors think he has caught the plague.”

“Fuck,” Corbulo swore - blinking in shock. “How? We took all precautions. He appeared all right when I last saw him.”

“Yeah well Mobius isn’t doing so well any more,” Crastus replied breezily as he turned to give Antoninus and Claudia a curious searching look. “Who knows how this plague spreads. But Mobius has caught it. There is no doubt about that. The doctors say he is going to die. They have moved him into isolation. There is nothing more we can do except pray that it has not infected anyone else. The whole camp is jittery as hell.”

Once again Corbulo swore softly to himself before lowering his eyes. Mobius had been prefect in command of the eleven hundred strong vexillation since the first day when they had set out from their base at Colonia Ulpia Traiana on the Rhine, for the three thousand mile journey to the east. Summoned by the Emperor to reinforce the Roman forces in Syria.

“So who is in command of the vexillation - with Mobius incapacitated?” Corbulo exclaimed raising his head to look at Crastus.

“Well,” Crastus said wrenching his eyes away from Claudia and turning back to Corbulo as if distracted. “It appears that the command now falls to either you or me. We are the senior most officers who are left from those who set out from the Rhine but we are of equal seniority.”

“You or me, I see,” Corbulo muttered.

“Mobius will decide who to appoint as the new prefect,” Crastus continued. “We will need to speak to him before he passes away. That will be his last duty. To nominate his successor. Until he is dead Mobius retains command. However I expect it will not be long now.”

“His last duty,” Corbulo repeated.

“You said you had something urgent to report,” Crastus said with a shrug. “Perhaps something to do with the pretty lady over there? I have not seen a blonde in a very long time.”

“Yes,” Corbulo replied quickly glancing at Antoninus and Claudia. “We found these two out in the wilderness. They were being chased by Sasanian cavalry but we drove those bastards off. They told me,” Corbulo said taking a step towards his colleague and lowering his voice, “that they have come from Edessa. They claim to have disturbing news. That Emperor Valerian has been taken prisoner and that our entire army has surrendered to King Shapur. I thought I would take them to Mobius. If only half of what they say is true then this is a catastrophe. The high command need to be informed.”

“Yes,” Crastus said nodding and to Corbulo’s surprise his brother officer did not look startled or shocked by the news. “I have heard the same. All day we have had refugees arriving from the south bringing the same news. That the Sasanians have captured Valerian and destroyed his army. You are right - it is a catastrophe. A complete cluster fuck. The only positive that I can see is that I was not there to witness it.”

“Thank you centurion,” Antoninus called from his horse nodding in appreciation. “You are most kind in believing us. Now if you don’t mind gentlemen I need to speak to Macrianus as soon as possible. He needs to hear what I have to say. Let’s hope he too has not caught the plague for that would make a catastrophic day even worse if such a thing is actually possible.”

“I didn’t say I believed you. And who the fuck are you anyway?” Crastus called out turning to address himself to Antoninus.

“Oh really! No one recognises me in this camp,” Antoninus burst out. “Do I have to keep repeating myself all the time. I am…”

“Shut up for just one moment,” Corbulo called out rounding on the overweight civilian. “I have not forgotten about you. So wait your turn.” Then to Crastus. “He claims to be a nobleman from the city of Emesa by the name of Uranius Antoninus. The woman is his wife. Says he is a friend of Macrianus and claims to be a member of the imperial administration.”

“I am a member of the imperial administration!” Antoninus cried out.

“Whoa! So you are a big cheese,” Crastus exclaimed turning to examine Antoninus with an appraising look. For a moment he paused. “You certainly do look like a big cheese.” Then to Corbulo as if Antoninus was not present. “You don’t think he is speaking the truth? You think he is lying? There are many liars in this godforsaken province. Its like they are taught to be liars from childhood.”

“No he is a bit of an arrogant arse, but I think he is probably speaking the truth,” Corbulo said glancing across at Antoninus. “If Mobius is unavailable I think I will take him straight to Macrianus. He can explain himself to the prefect.”

“Great,” Antoninus called out clapping his hands together in mock delight, “and so we finally got there in the end. Wonderful, gentlemen. Wonderful.”

​***

Standing alone waiting outside the army tent, Corbulo slowly blew the air from his cheeks as he surveyed the Roman camp. It was late and the night lay across the land like a heavy smothering cloak. The occasional shout disturbed the eerie quietness and the darkness was only punctured by a few camp fires. What a day it had been he thought. Inside the tent behind him Antoninus and Claudia were still with Macrianus and for the moment he had nothing to do but wait for them to reappear and learn what Macrianus had decided to do. The thick hide of the tent prevented him from overhearing their conversation. While nearby, the soldiers assigned to guard Marcrianus’s tent were conversing in quiet hushed voices, their shields stacked against the tent wall.

Suddenly and without warning a soldier carrying a leather despatch satchel slung across his chest, came rushing out of the tent - making for a tethered horse. Releasing the beast the man hurriedly threw himself into the saddle and as Corbulo looked on the rider turned the beast around and raced off into the darkness. The beat of his horses’ hooves fading away into the night. Staring in the direction in which the messenger had vanished, Corbulo sighed. The five thousand strong Roman battle group that had been ordered to guard Samosata and which was under Macrianus’s command was not one single unit. Instead the task force had been put together using multiple vexillations from right across the empire. A veritable hodgepodge and collection of different military units. All of whom appeared to have different customs, levels of training, discipline issues, equipment shortages and whose native troops spoke different languages. Not to mention a host of different religious beliefs. It was a miracle that the whole force was able to function at all Corbulo thought, for most of the men could not understand their colleagues and suspicion and dislike abounded. The battle-group was only being prevented from disintegrating by its Roman officers and the silver and gold coins which were paid to the men.

At the heart of the battle-group were the seven hundred odd survivors of the First cohort of the Thirtieth Legion. Reinforced by his own company of mounted Salian Franks from the lower Rhine and their hundred colleagues from the 2nd company of the same cohort. The Franks and Roman legionaries detached for extended duty from their home base at Colonia Ulpia Traiana. They had been joined by two legionary quinquagenaria infantry vexillations from the Seventh Gemina and the Third Augusta. Both well trained and equipped formations but the Spaniards and Africans were severely understrength having suffered heavy casualties during earlier engagements with the Sasanian invaders. The losses having affected the survivors morale.

Then there were the local militia. Two and half thousand strong. A hastily raised mass of Syrian farmers, artisans and adventurers of dubious military worth with little or no training and second rate equipment. Most of them armed with nothing more than hunting bows and slings. There were in addition several hundred walking wounded from a dozen different units sent back to the field depot at Samosata to recover their strength and health. Finally there was a band of ill disciplined but enthusiastic mercenary Bedouin camel riders from the desert to the south. The Arabs however were viewed with suspicion by the rest of the Roman troops for their habit of stealing from foe and friend alike.

Abruptly the flap covering the entrance to the tent was thrown aside and Antoninus and Claudia came out of the command post. They were swiftly followed by Macrianus himself. The aged commander limping awkwardly on his deformed leg. Catching Corbulo’s eye Macrianus glared at him.

“You the one who brought them in?”

“Yes Sir,” Corbulo replied stiffly.

For a moment Macrianus remained silent as he eyed Corbulo coolly. “Good,” he snapped at last. “Well done centurion. Antoninus is my friend and he and his wife are to be afforded all the respect that they are due while they are here with us. So see that our guests are fed and found some suitable accommodation. It’s late. That will be all.”

“Sir,” Corbulo replied as Macrianus gave Antoninus a quick farewell handshake before vanishing back inside his tent.

Left standing outside in the flickering torch light, an awkward silence suddenly descended upon the three of them. No one moving. Corbulo was just about to speak when Antoninus beat him to it. The overweight man was gingerly pressing his hands together as if he were at prayer. His tone of voice - changed.

“Look centurion,” Antoninus began. “It appears that we have got off on the wrong foot and for that I apologise. I do not wish to sound ungrateful. Nor do I want to be an arse which I can be sometimes. You saved our lives out there today and for that my wife and I would like to thank you. Its been a hell of a day and I think we are still a little in shock. So as to show you our appreciation for your help we would like to offer you some silver coins as a reward. As compensation for your efforts.”

Gazing back at Antoninus, Corbulo did not immediately reply. Then he shook his head.

“No. There is no need,” he replied. “I do not want your money. Keep it. I was just doing my job and you were just lucky that our paths crossed. This does not warrant a reward. Give your money to whatever temple or god you think has protected you today.”

But as Corbulo finished speaking, he heard Claudia gasp in surprise.

“You refuse our money,” she exclaimed, in her posh voice. “But every man cares about silver. Then what do you care about?”

“Listen, you want to know something about me. I did not become a soldier to earn coins,” Corbulo growled. “I joined the army because I am trying to live up to my forefathers reputation. I am trying to make my ancestors proud. That’s all I care about. Now,” Corbulo continued in a more patient voice, “I have been ordered to find you accommodation for tonight so please follow me and I will show you where you can get some food and rest.”

But as Corbulo was about to turn away, Antoninus quickly shook his head. “No. No,” the man exclaimed hurriedly. “This cannot pass. We are in your debt centurion. If you will not accept our silver then at least allow us to buy you a drink in the town. It is not too late. We are keen to show you our gratitude for what you did for us. Please I ask you. One drink on us.”

Hesitating Corbulo glanced up in the direction of Samosata and for a moment he appeared undecided. Then he took a deep breath.

“All right if you insist. One drink then in the tavern,” he replied coolly. “If that will make you feel better.”

“Splendid,” Antoninus exclaimed rubbing his hands together in a pleased manner.

“You are breaking your own rule, centurion,” Claudia’s posh voice cut through the darkness with the faintest hint of disapproval. “For did you not earlier order your men to stay away from the town? Yet here you are doing what you just forbade them to do.”

“The privilege of rank - lady,” Corbulo retorted and as he turned and started out towards the town gate he failed to notice the smile that had suddenly appeared on Claudia’s lips.

“I am all for privilege,” Antoninus sighed as he followed.

​***

The tavern with its low wooden roof was nearly empty and the hour was late. The place lit up by a few hissing oil lamps fixed to the stone walls. A black dog was lying asleep near to the entrance. Sitting at a corner table sharing a jug of wine, Corbulo had his back pressed up against the wall. His expression guarded but the wine was doing its work and as he listened to Antoninus recounting his tales of derring-do fighting against the Sasanians he felt himself starting to relax. At last finishing his story Antoninus raised his cup in a toast.

“To the spirits of the departed then,” he said solemnly. “May they continue to watch over us and inspire us.”

As the three of them pressed their cups together in a toast Claudia turned her eyes towards Corbulo, studying him.

“And what about you Corbulo,” she said. “What is your story? What has brought you here to the east?”

“I am a soldier,” Corbulo replied carefully - glancing back at Claudia before lowering his eyes. “I grew up on the Rhine frontier. That is how I come to speak German but I am not German. Then last year my vexillation was ordered east by the Emperor. To reinforce our positions here in Syria. My ancestors,” Corbulo said pausing. “They were soldiers too. Great men. All of them. Since I can remember I have wanted to be like them.”

“You were born a Roman?” Antoninus asked.

“Yes,” Corbulo nodded. “I have Celtic and Roman blood in my veins. My father Vennus was an officer. Years ago he served with the Twentieth in the east but he never came home. He’s still missing. We do not know what happened to him exactly but it is likely that he is dead. I only have vague memories of him. My mother was Tadia. She was high born - of noble equestrian rank. One of her forefathers had been a senator in Rome and she is a direct descendant of Flavius my first known ancestor. But she died of the plague when I was just eleven.”

For a moment Corbulo paused idly fiddling with Gamo’s gold ring that adorned his finger, uncertain whether to continue but there seemed nothing threatening or deceitful about his two companions. The couple watching him seemed genuinely interested in his story.

“My brothers and I,” Corbulo continued, “we were born on the isle of Vectis in Britannia. On my family’s ancestral farm. The estate has belonged to my mother’s family for over two hundred and sixty years. Since it was first given to my forefather Corbulo by the great general Agricola, himself. Conqueror of Caledonia. It has been a family tradition for a long time now, to name the first born son after that Corbulo. That is how I got my name. But my mother remarried after my father went missing and I was raised on the Rhine frontier at Trajan’s colony.”

“I thought so,” Antoninus replied leaning back and giving his wife a triumphant look. “I told you he looked high born. Equestrian rank. Just like us. Some of our best leaders come from that class.” Then to Corbulo. “These German barbarians who fight for Rome. The men you lead. I have heard about their famous discipline and loyalty. You speak their language like they do?”

“I do,” Corbulo replied.

“Well it is good to hear you say you are trying to make your ancestors proud,” Antoninus said - his expression changing. His eyes growing sombre. “Much has been lost since the empire’s glory days. We have become diminished. Rome is now but just a shadow of what we once were. On every frontier our armies and our reputation are being challenged and put to the test. The barbarians press us from all sides. So how do we make ourselves as great as our ancestors once were. How do we regain what was lost?”

“By having faith in ourselves,” Corbulo replied.

“Yes,” Antoninus said nodding, looking pleased. “I think you are right. We must believe in ourselves despite our current troubles.”

“You seem to know a lot about your ancestors,” Claudia said watching him carefully. “That is unusual. How do you remember them?”

“Well,” Corbulo nodded again starting to enjoy himself. “We were lucky. My ancestors compiled a family history and most generations kept it up to date. They wrote everything down and the books survived. That is how I know them. My aunt Helena keeps the records safe on the farm on Vectis. On my mother’s side I can trace my ancestors all the way back to the time of the war with Hannibal, four hundred and fifty years ago. Twenty two generations! I am the twenty-third generation. And Tadia my mother…,” pausing Corbulo lowered his eyes. “She made me remember the names of my ancestors. She composed a little rhyme and song about them and made me memorise it from heart.”

Shooting her husband a quick, excited look Claudia clapped her hands together.

“A song,” she exclaimed in delight. “That’s wonderful. Will you recite it for us?”

“Are you sure you want to hear it?” Corbulo replied. “You do not know these people. They are all long dead.”

“Please,” Antoninus said with a patient smile.

Leaning back against the wall, Corbulo took a deep breath as he quickly looked up at the ceiling, composing himself. Then he began, quietly speaking the words, not singing.

“Flavius the carpenter was the first. A foundling with a mark. An enemy of Hannibal. A friend of Rome. He gave us our first home.”

“His youngest son Julian went off to fight in Spain. To be a brave soldier. To become a friend of the great Scipio. And at Zama he achieved his aim and did accept the surrender of the Carthaginian and hence gave us our name.”

As Corbulo continued to recite from memory he eyed his companions. Gazing back at him from across the small table, Claudia and Antoninus however appeared to be enjoying the little performance.

“Corbulo was next. A veteran of the legions. First to come to Britannia. First to gain possession of our fair farm on Vectis. A hard man with many loves and a fondness to drink. A man with a taste for violence, to force all to bend, a character who drove his poor wife to her unhappy end. But who redeemed himself by his death and who gave us new breath.

“His son Marcus learned the ways of the Batavi. He went to Hyperborea and back. Then to Rome where he became a senator. The only one of us who ever made it that high, he gave us the sky.”

“Fergus son of Marcus followed. He became a soldier in the Twentieth rising from the bottom to the very top. He saw fair Mesopotamia and Germania and made our family wealthy with Dacian gold. He gave us five beautiful daughters one of whom grew to be very old.”

“Briana eldest daughter of Fergus our guiding star was blessed with wisdom and a mind for business. She outlived all until she was ninety-five and protected our farm from ruin. She kept alive the memory of all those gone before. She was able to mend and it is from her that you and I my dear boy descend.”

As Corbulo finished speaking Claudia and Antoninus were gazing at him in silence and for a moment longer the spell remained unbroken.

“I hear a woman’s voice in those words,” Claudia said at last lowering her eyes. “A strong woman. Your mother lives on in that song.”

Then Antoninus cleared his throat and spoke up.

“A fine story Corbulo,” he said sounding grave. “You mentioned earlier that you had brothers. Are they here with you in the east?”

“No,” Corbulo said shaking his head. “I have two younger brothers. Veda will be twenty-eight by now and Munatius will be twenty-four - if he is still alive.”

“If he is still alive?” Claudia interrupted raising her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Corbulo replied. “When my step father died the three of us were split up. I was to remain at the Colonia to be trained to become a soldier and my brothers were to be sent back to the farm on Vectis. To go and live with my aunt Helena. But on the journey back to Britannia their party was attacked by Frankish raiders. My brother Veda managed to escape but the Germans took Munatius captive. They took him. Probably back across the Rhine to their tribal homelands. No body was ever found. No one knows what became of him. It is possible that the Germans retained Munatius as a slave. He was only eight at the time and he was healthy. Children like him are valuable on the slave markets. But its also possible that he is dead. I have not seen my brothers in over sixteen years.”

“Sixteen years! Good gods,” Antoninus muttered before taking a sip of wine from his cup. “The world can be such a cruel place.”

“I too come from a military family,” Claudia said raising her head with sudden pride. “I too grew up surrounded by soldiers. My father was an officer. A tribune. He died in Egypt when I was still young. That is where I have lived most of my life but my family are originally from the Danube province of Pannonia. That is why I have blond hair. I have a brother about the same age as you. He is the legate in command of the Third Legion in Thrace.”

“He is a legate - and he is my age?” Corbulo replied looking surprised. “Then he has done very well for himself. Not many get to command a legion when they are my age.”

“Yes,” Claudia said, staring at Corbulo without a shred of doubt, “my brother is a very accomplished man. He knows how to fight like no other. He is a great warrior and I am very proud of him.”

“Claudia here is my second wife,” Antoninus said leaning forward and taking his wife’s hand in a fond embrace. “In case you were wondering about the age difference. My first wife died a few years ago during another Sasanian invasion. She was killed by the invaders. Claudia and I - we met at Macrianus’s birthday party two years ago in Antioch. I was there to represent my city Emesa and Claudia was part of the Emperor’s entourage. We discovered that we both liked hunting. It was love at first sight,” Antoninus added with a grin.

“Hunting,” Corbulo said resisting a little smile.

“I am a crack shot with a bow,” Claudia replied grinning. “And all Antoninus here has to do is scare the prey with his bulk and make them bolt from cover. We are a good team, my husband and I.”

“I do not doubt you,” Corbulo said.

“Well,” Antoninus exclaimed, suddenly blowing the air from his cheeks with relief, his mood changing, “it has been a hell of a day. A damned close call for us. It could have been so different if you and your men had not showed up at just the right moment Corbulo. The Sasanians have a particular expertise when it comes to torture. They would not have spared us. They are a cruel race and King Shapur remembers me from when I defeated him before. He has placed a bounty on my head. A thousand silver drachma! Times are tough right now,” Antoninus continued with a weary sigh, “but I am glad that we have met you Corbulo.”

“Thank you for the wine,” Corbulo said nodding politely.

“We shall be friends then,” Claudia said, raising her cup in another toast as she smiled at Corbulo. “We are grateful to you for saving us today. So if you need anything from us. Anything. Just ask and we will try and do what we can. You will find that we are good and loyal friends.”

Chapter Five - Responsibility

Looking tired - having completed his prayers, Corbulo got back to his feet from where he had been kneeling on the ground before the small statuette of Hercules Magusanus, the image of the soldier’s god carved into the wood. Outside his tent, the Roman base was quiet and asleep. Turning to his camp bed, Corbulo rubbed his face and was about to undo his boots and prepare to get some rest when he sensed movement just outside his tent.

“Corbulo,” a voice called out softly but urgently. “Are you awake? I need to speak to you now. It’s about Badurad, your cousin.”

Cursing softly, Corbulo turned away from the bed and pushed aside the tent flap and in the darkness beyond he recognised one of the watch commanders from the 1st legionary Cohort. The junior officer was holding up a burning torch and in its flickering light he saw that the man looked grave.

“Is he all right?” Corbulo growled. “I was just about to get some sleep.”

“No he is not. I’m afraid my men and I have just arrested him,” the watch commander replied.

“Oh for fucks sake, not again,” Corbulo swore shaking his head in dismay. “What has he done this time?”

“The night watch caught him brawling in one of the whorehouses in the town,” the tesserarius replied. “He’s physically all right. Nothing more than a few scratches and bruises. But my men have arrested him. I thought I would come to you first Corbulo before I issue an official charge against him. Before I throw him in the pit and let him cool off. You had better come now.”

“Thank you,” Corbulo said quickly nodding in gratitude. “All right I will go and speak to him now.”

“You know,” the watch commander said eyeing Corbulo with a tired, unhappy look. “I do this because I respect you Sir but I cannot keep on bending the rules like this. At some point Badurad is going to have to take his proper punishment like any other soldier. To learn the discipline the hard way. This is after all not the first time he has been in trouble. I cannot keep making exceptions for him just because you two are related.”

“I know. I know,” Corbulo said hastily. “And I appreciate that you came to me first. He won’t give you any more trouble. I promise. I will take care of it.”

Striding through the darkened and sleeping streets of Samosata with the watch commander leading the way Corbulo’s face looked like thunder. It had been six months now since his teenage cousin Badurad had suddenly and without warning arrived in Samosata, at the camp housing the vexillation troops from the Thirtieth Legion and the two companies of Frankish cavalry. His cousin, Hostes’s eighteen year old son, had immediately sought him out. The boy claimed that upon his eighteenth birthday his father’s birthday present to him had been an instruction to join the army. To “volunteer” to join the men being sent east from the legion’s home base at Trajan’s colony to join the vexillation fighting in the Sasanian war. With Badurad had come a letter from Hostes himself, addressed to Corbulo and containing the curt instructions, to look after his boy and turn him into a proper soldier. To make a man out of him. And that was when his troubles had properly started Corbulo thought sourly. For it had quickly become apparent that Badurad was far more interested in enjoying the good life than in soldiering. A jovial, happy character it was not that he was a bad kid - but Badurad’s weakness was that he was easily distracted. Easily lured away by women, by gambling. Easily provoked and tempted. It had meant he was always getting into trouble from which he would need to be rescued.

The whorehouse was tucked away in a back street alley of Samosata and as Corbulo approached he could hear a woman screaming in a foreign language he could not understand. But the rage and aggression in her voice was clear to all. Her fury was piercing the night and making dogs bark in response. Standing guard outside the doorway to the simple two storey terraced building, were a posse of Roman soldiers from the night watch holding flaming torches in their hands. The rest of the street was deserted, the doors to the homes firmly closed as if no one wanted to get involved. The night hiding any spying eyes.

Following the watch commander into the establishment, Corbulo took a deep and weary breath. Standing beside a desk in the entrance hall, both her hands clasped to her cheeks in a look of horror, the owner of the brothel was staring at four young men who were kneeling in a row. The punters had their heads bowed to the ground and their hands bound behind their backs and were being guarded by more men from the night watch. While gathered together in a nearby room a gaggle of female and male prostitutes in varying degrees of shock and undress were doing their best to try and calm down one of their own.

Pausing to survey the noisy, chaotic scene as one of the prostitutes continued to scream in her foreign language, Corbulo said nothing as he quickly took in the broken and smashed furniture, the small pile of seized weapons and the solitary blood stain that marked one of the walls.

“Shut her up,” he growled at last, turning to the watch commander as the woman’s furious cries showed no sign of ending.

Saying nothing the watch commander strode into the back room, shoving the whores aside and before anyone could protest he had seized hold of the yelling woman and had slapped her hard across the face. The brutal aggression cut off the woman in mid flow, stunning her colleagues and suddenly the brothel was quiet. The welcome silence only disturbed by the crackling of torches, deep heavy breathing and a woman’s soft weeping.

Reaching up to tiredly rub his face with his hand, Corbulo sighed as he turned his attention to Badurad who was among the four kneeling and bound detainees. Lifting his head a little to see who it was and recognising his uncle, a little embarrassed colour shot into Badurad’s youthful cheeks. The teenager was bleeding from a cut to his forehead.

Ignoring his eighteen year old cousin, Corbulo turned to the brothel owner.

“Who started the fight?” he said patiently.

“He did,” the madam replied without hesitation as she pointed a finger straight at Badurad. “He went into the room where the Arab was busy with one of my girls. He was the first to land a punch. After that the other two got involved. They smashed up the place and that one cut one of my girls. The other threatened to slice open my throat if I reported him.”

“We managed to get there in time before that happened Sir,” the watch commander added as he moved over to the four kneeling men and prodded one in the side with his heavy army boot. “There was a fifth man but he apparently ran off before we got here. All four men here are serving soldiers and are under military discipline. The Arab is a mercenary. The German here started the fight and the other two are local Syrian conscripts. Too much wine. Too much excitement. Too much stupidity if you ask me.”

“That one,” the madam said thrusting a furious finger at Badurad, “claims he went to the aid of my girl. Says he thought she was being abused. That is how this all started.”

“I see,” Corbulo said glancing at the madam. “And was she being abused?”

Folding her arms across her large chest the madam suddenly puffed out her cheeks in a defensive manner. “My girl says she was not abused,” the madam replied, “and she will not press charges but I will. For all the damage that was caused to my establishment. I will go right to Macrianus if I have too.”

“Right,” Corbulo said studying the madam for a brief moment. Then to Badurad in German. “Is it true? You entered another room and picked a fight with the Arab? You started this brawl?”

“Yes it’s true I landed the first blow, uncle,” Badurad replied in German, smarting as the eighteen year old kept his eyes turned towards the ground. “I went into his room but only because he was abusing the girl and she did not like it. I could not just do nothing. She was yelling, uncle.”

“So you tried to be the hero, the girl’s saviour,” Corbulo snapped speaking in German.

“That’s exactly right, uncle,” Badurad called out.

“You are a fucking idiot!” Corbulo shot back at Badurad in German. “This isn’t some game. Look at the carnage you have caused. There is only one way out of this. You are going to have to pay compensation.” Then to the madam in Latin. “The boy admits his guilt.”

“Well then I want compensation for all the damage the German has caused,” the madam said swiftly.

“I am not paying you anything,” Badurad retorted in Latin. “This dirty, lying Arab was abusing one of the girls. All I did was go to her defence. If anyone should pay then it should be this desert scum. You cannot trust these people. They steal everything they see and they beat up women.”

“You call me that one more time little pale boy,” the Arab hissed in broken and heavily accented Latin as he knelt nearby, “and I will rip out your heart German. You come here and think you can do as you please. Your people are arrogant swine. You stink. I was not abusing the girl. You just can’t take the fact that she preferred me over you.”

“Your people are all filthy cocksuckers and camel humpers,” Badurad cursed. “Go back to your desert from whence you came!”

“And your people stink. You are as pale as virgins on their wedding night,” the Arab retorted. “We don’t want you here. We did not invite you to come here. So fuck off back to your forest.”

“Enough,” Corbulo barked. “That’s enough! The hour is late and because of you I am now missing out on some valuable sleep. So all of you shut the fuck up. You are all soldiers in the Roman army and military discipline applies in this case. Watch commander,” he added, “what is the punishment for brawling in a public place. For causing damage. For making threats to civilians?”

“Oh for that I would have to consult army regulations Sir,” the watch commander said smoothly as he eyed the four prisoners. “But I think it includes a fair amount of being whipped and maybe some reduction in pay. The punishment increases when I don’t like someone.”

Staring at the arrested men, Corbulo said nothing as he allowed those words to sink in. Then at last he turned to the madam.

“All right. This is how this sorry story is going to end. No blame will be attached to any one individual,” he said. “Instead all four of these brawlers will equally share the blame for participating in the fight and all four men will pay you equally for the damage they have caused. The fine to be set at a week’s wages and to be paid to you directly. Furthermore all four of these soldiers shall be barred from ever visiting your establishment again. If they break that order then the punishment will be far more severe. In exchange you will drop the matter and say no more about this incident. Agreed?”

“A week’s wages,” the madam sniffed unhappily as she turned to look around her wrecked and ruined brothel. Then at last she turned to Corbulo and nodded her acceptance.

“But this is not right,” the Arab cried out in protest. “I did nothing wrong. I was attacked by that German swine. Why should I have to pay a fine?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the watch commander snapped leaning over the kneeling prisoner and cuffing him hard over his head. “You will do as you are told.”

But the Arab refused to be cowed. “You have no authority over me,” he cried out turning to stare up at Corbulo. “You cannot order me about as if I am one of your slaves. I am not a Roman soldier. I agreed to a mercenary contract. I only fight for Rome because you hired me. Arif my commander is going to hear about this. I am going to complain about you!”

“Get them out of here,” Corbulo said ignoring the Arab as he turned to the watch commander. “I don’t want to see their faces again.”

But as the Roman soldiers started to haul their prisoners to their feet Corbulo’s hand descended onto Badurad’s shoulder, the force of the blow making the youth wince in shock and pain.

“I will take care of this one,” Corbulo said and gripping the youth firmly by his neck he marched Badurad back out into the street.

For a while the two of them did not speak as alone they made their way back to the Roman camp through the dark, deserted city streets.

“I am sorry uncle,” Badurad muttered at last, the darkness hiding his crestfallen face. “I have disappointed you again.”

“That you have,” Corbulo growled unhappily from the darkness, switching to German. “Do you think I enjoy this? Hauling you out of trouble. Do you not think that I have better things to do? There is a fucking war on and we are losing. How many times have I now been forced to intervene to keep you out of trouble? You promised me that you would mend your ways. But you just won’t listen. You lied to me. Well no more. You are a spoilt brat - Badurad. We are not in Trajan’s colony any more. You wear a uniform and you get paid to be a soldier but you are still just a boy. You are not a real man.”

“I said I was sorry didn’t I,” came back the sour reply. “Can’t we just leave it that?”

“No we can’t,” Corbulo retorted. “Your father in his letter, he instructed me to look after you. But he also said that I should turn you into a proper soldier and that is what I have been trying to do. But you just won’t listen. So instead of a week’s fine you are going to be paying a month’s worth of your salary. I am beyond believing your promises that this will not happen again. So you will pay the money directly to me and I will hand it over to that traumatised woman back there. And I swear if you ever go near that brothel again. If you break your promise to me one more time, then I will send you back to Hostes in disgrace. Let’s see what your father will make of you then.”

“You would send be back home in disgrace?” Badurad exclaimed in alarm. “Hostes would kill me. The shame alone…”

“I don’t care,” Corbulo continued. “When you get into trouble, you get me into trouble! What were you thinking? Assaulting a man like that on a whim. And him being an Arab. That makes it even worse. You know how difficult relations are with that lot right now. Now that man you attacked is going to complain to Arif and Arif will take this matter to Macrianus who in turn is going to take it back out on me or Mobius. He is going to accuse us of tolerating lax discipline among our troops. So think next time. And by the way where is that useless friend of yours, Linus. Was he the fifth man who ran away at the start of the fight?”

“He was there,” Badurad sniffed from the darkness, “and yes you are right. He ran away when it all started to kick off.”

“I don’t know why you are friends with that useless boy,” Corbulo said in a disapproving tone. “Don’t you see. Linus is not your friend. He is always getting you into trouble. Then avoiding the blame. He’s a weasel.”

“He’s my friend,” Badurad replied in a more resolute voice. “And he is not a weasel. I have known him since we were very young. We grew up together.”

“Listen,” Corbulo continued as the two of them strode on down the street. “I have had enough of your foolish behaviour. You cannot keep getting into trouble like this. This is the army and we are in a fucking war. Nor can you just insult and make racist comments about our allies. You need to grow up Badurad. And fast! And I cannot keep protecting you. People are starting to notice and if they suspect that I am giving you preferential treatment then that will undermine my authority. Do you understand? Do you know how lucky you are that that watch commander came to me first and didn’t just dole out a beating or worse.”

“I am sorry uncle,” Badurad replied. “I really am and I promise it won’t happen again. We had been drinking Linus and I and then we decided to visit the girls.” For a moment the youth paused. “And then it all got a bit out of hand,” he added with a sigh. “But I am not sorry for striking that filthy Arab. That bastard deserved everything he got.”

“I am giving you a choice,” Corbulo shot back as the two of them left the city and started to descend the gentle slope to the Roman army camp. “You can either start taking your duties seriously or you can continue as you have been doing since you first arrived here. It’s up to you Badurad. But if this foolishness continues then I am sending you back home in disgrace. This is your last warning. I have already used up too many favours protecting your ass. And stay away from Linus. He’s a bad influence.”

Chapter Six - Command

It was afternoon and inside the Roman command post the heat was stifling. The air still and motionless like a nocturnal scurrying animal caught in a bright light. The junior Roman army officers had their arms pressed stiffly against their sides. The young men were silent. Their faces betraying their bewilderment at the unexpected and disastrous situation they were facing. Clad in his coat of mail body armour, his plumed cavalry helmet dangling across his chest, Corbulo cut a dapper but grave figure as he stood in the middle of the tent conferring with his colleague, Harald, the centurion in command of the 2nd mounted company of the 1st separate Cohort of Salian Franks.

“So your men have not seen any signs that King Shapur is preparing to move north?” Corbulo asked eyeing his colleague.

“No,” Harald, an older man in his forties with short cut spiky grey hair, replied in German, shaking his head. “It’s quiet to the south. I have a patrol out beyond the Euphrates right now. They are expected back before dark. We may know more when they return, but for now there is no sign that the Sasanians have resumed their advance. They must still be camped outside Edessa. What about you? Any news from Atlas?”

“No, not yet,” Corbulo replied. “All right. I will lead tomorrow’s patrol. We stick to the schedule that we agreed upon. One day on, one day off. But maybe I will try and take my men further south this time.”

“Suit yourself Corbulo,” the centurion said. “But be careful. If you run into Sasanian cavalry you are going to be on your own.”

Nodding looking grim Corbulo took a deep breath.

“We’re in the eye of the storm,” he said. “And I do not expect this quiet to last much longer. King Shapur is going to move and when he does he is coming here to Samosata. We should expect the Sasanian advance guard to appear soon - within days.”

“Are you sure? Our main cities are all along the coast to the west - Corbulo,” Harald replied frowning. “Would the King of Kings not prefer to strike in that direction? West straight towards the sea. Surely Antioch and the other great cities of Syria are the main objective of this invasion?”

“No he will come here first,” Corbulo said sourly. “The King will want to secure his northern flank before he pushes on west into Syria. It is what I would do.”

“Maybe,” Harald replied. For a moment the man paused, suddenly looking despondent.

“I still cannot fully believe that the Emperor and his army have been taken prisoner,” he exclaimed. “I mean - has that ever happened before? And with Valerian gone who now really rules the Empire?”

“I think it’s the first time it has ever happened. I don’t think a Roman Emperor has ever been captured alive on a battlefield,” Corbulo responded.

“So what can we do to stop these Sasanians,” Harald continued. “We are just five thousand strong and Shapur has a whole victorious army. And now that Valerian and our main forces have surrendered there is no one left to halt the Sasanian advance. The situation is hopeless. With the Emperor gone we do not even have an agreed chain of command.” Lowering his gaze - defeat crept into the centurion’s eyes. “Maybe - Corbulo,” the soldier said at last,” the time has come for us to cut our losses and return home to Trajan’s colony. This war is over and we have lost.”

Taking another deep breath Corbulo hesitated as he turned to look away. His expression was suddenly distant.

“We are not done yet,” he said at last. “No. We are soldiers and we have a duty. To fight. You will have to make up your own mind but my men and I will stay. We cannot just abandon the civil population to these Sasanians. That would be a dishonourable thing to do.”

For a moment Corbulo’s colleague offered no response. The older officer was looking pensive. Then at last he looked up at Corbulo.

“You forget that I knew Hostes, your uncle,” Harald said. “A great man. A fine warrior. Sometimes I swear I hear his voice in your words when you speak, Corbulo. I know he trained you and you are right. Hostes would not want us to abandon our duty. He too would stay and fight.”

“The civilians need to be protected,” Corbulo said. “We may not have the numbers to defeat Shapur but we can do something for the townsfolk. We can help get them get to safety.”

“I know,” his colleague said, slowly nodding. “We have all heard the tales of what these barbarians are doing in the captured settlements. All right Corbulo,” Harald added sighing. “We will see what we can do to stop these bastards, but if you want my honest opinion - I don’t think we have a god-damn chance in hell of succeeding. We are outnumbered. We have lost our Emperor and we have been out manoeuvred.”

“Listen,” Corbulo said, taking a step towards his colleague, “we are soldiers. This is what we have prepared all our lives for. Set backs are to be expected but we have only ever truly lost when we lose the will to fight. Let King Shapur do his worst and we will do our best. There is still hope. Valerian’s son - Gallienus still rules in the west. He will not let his father’s defeat go unpunished.”

“Gallienus,” Harald snapped, his tone dismissive. “If we have to rely on that liberal minded prick then we are truly doomed.”

“Look. We are the only two mounted companies in this task force,” Corbulo continued unperturbed. “That means that you and I,” he said pointing at his colleague, “share a special responsibility. The 2nd and 3rd companies are the only scouts and the only mobile force that can match the Sassanid cavalry. And even though we are grossly outnumbered we must continue to try and give Macrianus and the higher ups all the advance warning we can. That is our task. So lets focus on doing our job and let the higher command worry about strategy. Just because Valerian lost his head does not mean we have too.”

“Sure,” Harald replied, refusing to meet Corbulo’s eye. “So you are not including Arif’s contingent of Arab camel riders then?”

“They and Arif are hired mercenaries,” Corbulo shot back. “And I do not fully trust them. King Shapur has been known to buy the loyalty of our mercenaries with the promise of higher wages. Those Arabs owe no loyalty to Rome. They can be bought. No, right now the only troops we can rely on are the 1st legionary cohort and our own mounted troopers. All the men who came with us from Trajan’s colony. I know for sure that I can trust them.”

“Those Arabs sure like to steal from their own,” the centurion said darkly. “And they are untested in battle.”

Looking grave, Corbulo was about to say something when there was a sudden stir at the entrance to the command post. A moment later a soldier was pushing his way towards him.

“Sir,” the soldier said hurriedly rapping out a salute. “The prefect Mobius is calling for you. He wants to speak to you. Says it is urgent and that you are to come at once. I am to take you to him.”

​***

Approaching the isolated army tent in the area of the Roman camp reserved for the sick and wounded, Corbulo saw that Crastus too, appeared to have been summoned. The big centurion of the 1st Cohort of the Thirtieth Legion was standing outside the tent and appeared to be waiting for him and as he came up, Corbulo saw that Crastus looked excited.

“He’s going to name his successor,” Crastus growled. “I told you. It’s either me or you. I don’t think Mobius is going to last much longer.”

Nodding but saying nothing Corbulo turned as one of the camp doctors, a Greek civilian emerged from the tent. The masked medic was wearing a cloth bound around his mouth and nose. Saying nothing the doctor carefully washed his hands in a bowl of water and vinegar before lowering his mask and turning to the two Roman officers. His expression was sombre.

“How is he doing doctor?” Crastus said hurriedly.

“There is no hope for him,” the Greek replied in an even voice. “The plague cannot be treated. He will be dead within the week.”

“He asked to see me,” Corbulo replied. “Can we speak with him?”

“Yes,” the doctor said nodding. “He is still capable of speaking. When you go inside cover your mouth and nose with cloth and do not touch him or else you will get infected too. The plague does not care about rank or privilege. There is a screen beside his bed. If you wish you can stand behind it and speak to him like that. It will give you some additional protection. And make it quick. I don’t want any more to become infected. The medical situation is already catastrophic. I will be outside if you need me.”

Without speaking Corbulo was the first to enter the tent, his Bedouin Keffiyeh pushed up to cover his mouth and nose. For a moment he paused, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the reduced light. Lying on a camp bed, his body covered by a simple army blanket Mobius the prefect looked in a dreadful condition. His face was pale and feverish. His eyes closed. While next to his bed stood a large cloth screen. Taking a step towards his commanding officer, ignoring the protective screen, Corbulo hesitated as he heard Crastus enter the tent behind him.

“Sir,” he exclaimed at last snapping out a smart salute. “It’s Corbulo. You wished to speak to me.”

For a moment Mobius did not respond, his breathing slow and weak. Then at last the prefect opened his eyes and turned to stare at him.

“Corbulo,” the prefect whispered.

“I am here too Sir,” Crastus called out as he moved to stand behind the protective screen. “You summoned us remember.”

“Crastus,” the prefect murmured. “Yes, you too.”

“Sir,” Corbulo said patiently as he gazed down at his commanding officer - waiting for the man to continue.

“I am dying,” Mobius said at last as his gaze slid away from Corbulo and came to rest on the tent roof. “I do not have much time left. But before I go I must nominate my successor. I must hand over my command.”

For a moment Mobius fell silent as Corbulo sensed Crastus’s growing excitement.

“I promise to lead our men to victory Sir,” Crastus growled from where he stood behind the protective screen. “I promise that I will not let you down. I am not afraid of anything. I am the right man to be named prefect. It must be me.”

“You are a good soldier Crastus,” Mobius replied in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “You have the courage of a lion. But you Corbulo,” the prefect said slowly turning to him and raising his arm and pointing a trembling finger at him, “will take over command of the vexillation. I am naming you as the next prefect. It must be you.”

“Sir,” Corbulo said lowering his gaze as a little colour shot into his cheeks. “I am most honoured Sir.”

Standing behind the protective screen Crastus however had suddenly gone very quiet.

“And for what it is worth Sir,” Corbulo said sounding grave. “I will do my best to keep all our men alive and to bring them all back home. I promise.”

“Yes,” Mobius murmured as a little pleased smile appeared on his lips. “And that is why it must be you.” Then weakly he turned his head towards the screen behind which Crastus was standing. “Crastus,” Mobius called out to him in a weak voice, “I know my decision will disappoint you. But your time will come one day. You must remain patient and in the meantime I need you to swear to me that you will support Corbulo and do your best to help him get our men back home. Swear to me now that it will be so.”

From behind the protective screen there was however no immediate answer, only a sullen silence.

“I swear it Sir,” Crastus replied at last.

“Good,” Mobius whispered. “Then I have carried out my last duty. May the gods smile on you both and our men.”

“I shall pray for you tonight Sir,” Corbulo said rapping out a stiff salute before lowering his gaze in a respectful manner. “I shall try to lead like you have led us these past eighteen months.”

Emerging from the tent together with Crastus, Corbulo lowered his keffiyeh, took a deep breath and turned to look around at the Roman camp. Then at last he glanced at Crastus. The centurion of the 1st Cohort did not look happy. His face was seething with resentment and disappointment.

“Well Mobius has made his decision. I am the new prefect,” Corbulo said.

“So you are,” Crastus replied forcing the words from his mouth. “And I will obey you Corbulo but just remember this. If you fuck this up then you will find me breathing down your neck. Make one mistake and I will be all over you. This command should have been mine.”

And with that Crastus turned on his heels and stomped off.

​***

The underground temple of the cult of Mithras was deserted except for a solitary priest busying himself sweeping the floor. The dark chamber beneath the city of Samosata was hacked out of the rock, dimly lit by a few flickering oil lamps, the place awash with the heavy scent of incense. Stiffly Corbulo rose to his feet from where he had been kneeling on the ground, offering prayers for Mobius’s soul and for a moment he gazed at the central frieze carved out of the rock depicting the great God Mithras slaughtering a bull.

“I need to talk,” he said at last turning to the priest.

Pausing in his labours the priest of Mithras eyed him for a moment before coming over to him.

“I am far from home,” Corbulo said looking strangely composed. “Where I grew up my god is called Hercules Magusanus. But here in Syria there are no temples to my god. However Magusanus is a soldier’s god. Like Mithras. So your god will understand when a soldier speaks to him.”

“You are always free to talk to Mithras,” the priest said with a shrug as he stooped and carefully placed a small earthen-ware bowl on the ground before the frieze depicting Mitras slaying the bull. “But if you want Mithras to listen - you must pay the correct fee.”

Eyeing the empty bowl Corbulo remained silent for a moment.

“You wish to make a confession for something you have done?” the priest asked in a high nasal voice. “Perhaps you wish to ask Mithras for forgiveness?”

“No,” Corbulo said sharply. “I am not here to confess. Nevertheless I need to pay what is due.”

“I don’t understand,” the priest replied.

“I did something,” Corbulo continued lowering his eyes. “A long time ago now. When I was still a boy. It troubles me still.”

“I see,” the priest replied. “What did you do?”

“No,” Corbulo said firmly shaking his head. “Magusanus knows what I did. I will not repeat it here.”

“And yet here you are,” the priest said. “Something must be bothering you soldier. Maybe you suffer from guilt. Perhaps you did something wrong. Lord Mithras sees into all our hearts. He sees all our secrets but you must make him care about you if you want his help.”

“I do not seek the god’s intervention,” Corbulo said. “I only ask that he hears me. Have you not been listening old man. I am not here to confess. I do not regret what I did. Nevertheless I must pay what is due. There is a cost.”

“I still don’t understand,” the priest said gently. “What conflicts you? Why must you pay if you feel no guilt?”

Without speaking Corbulo knelt down beside the empty bowl that sat on the ground before the stone carving and fished for something in his tunic. Then he solemnly placed a money pouch filled with gleaming coins in the bowl. Rising back to his feet he took a step back and turned his eyes to the frieze.

“Because it is the right thing to do,” he said. “Because what I did comes with a price and it must be paid.”

Chapter Seven - The Council of War

“Gentlemen, the situation is grave in the extreme,” Macrianus began as Valerian’s chief treasurer turned to eye the clutch of senior Roman army officers who had gathered inside the large tent. It was evening. The mood glum with foreboding and defeat. Standing among the officers around the large table Corbulo was observing his new commanding officer with a careful appraising gaze. As the newly-promoted prefect and commander of the Rhine vexillation, comprising of the 1st infantry cohort of the Thirtieth Legion and the two companies of mounted Salian Franks, he had only been in post for a day, before Macrianus had called his senior officers together. The O group hurriedly convened. The growing despondency and plummeting morale in the Roman camp all too clear to those whose job it was to lead. Among the council attendees too was Antoninus, still clad in his civilian garb. The overweight noble from Emesa trying his best to show some quiet dignity. While the rest of the attendees were the principal leaders of the various other vexillations and national contingents that made up the five thousand strong Roman battle-group.

Macrianus was old - in his late fifties and his deformed foot made him hobble and sway as if he were drunk when he moved. But gazing out at his subordinates were a pair of shrewd, intelligent eyes and he bore the attitude of an experienced man who knew his business and was not shy about showing it. While flanking him, his two sons Macrianus Junior and Quietus were men in their early thirties, in the prime of their lives, bearded and clad in splendid military uniforms, their fingers bedecked with expensive, gleaming rings.

“As you have all heard by now,” Macrianus continued, “it has been confirmed beyond doubt that Valerian has been taken prisoner. By Sasanian trickery no less. Whether he still lives is unknown. His army however, our main battle force, has surrendered and Edessa has fallen to the enemy. The plan to defend Syria lies in ruins. Tens of thousands have been taken prisoner. More have fallen victim to the plague. Right now,” Macrianus snapped, “there are less than ten thousand Roman troops left to defend the whole east and most of these are leaderless and scattered across the whole province.”

For a moment Macrianus paused to let his words sink in as his eyes swept around the tent.

“Our battle-group here at Samosata, under my command,” he continued, “is the only organised force left that can defend Syria and the east. At the last Imperial council it was agreed that it would be our job to guard the northern invasion route while Valerian covered the centre and king Odaenathus watched the southern route and the approaches to the city of Palmyra. But now gentlemen, now after the catastrophe that has befallen Valerian, we have been left with a gigantic hole in our centre. Our army is no more. Our defence has been ruined. Right now there is nothing to stop King Shapur from marching westwards towards the sea. My scouts tell me that his forces are expected to reach the Euphrates within the next two days. Their first target will be Samosata. They are already on their way here. So,” Macrianus’s voice rang out, “we must decide what to do. We must decide how we are going to respond and we must do so quickly. Time presses.”

“Well we cannot stay here at Samosata - father. That is clear,” Macrianus Junior said leaning over the table and peering at the map that had been stretched across its surface. “We have just five thousand men and many of them are untrained and ill-equipped conscripts. The Sasanian cavalry will go straight through them like a sandstorm. If we stay here. If we try and defend Samosata then we too will be annihilated.”

“Agreed,” the centurion and commander of the vexillation from the Seventh Gemina legion called out. “My men are in no position to put up a fight. We have already lost nearly half our number since setting out from Spain.”

“I concur with my colleague,” the senior centurion in command of the detachment of troops from the Third Augusta added quickly. “We should retreat. What can we hope to achieve against such overwhelming odds?”

“I too would argue that we must retreat,” Quietus nodded turning to his father. “We have no choice.”

Standing beside the table, looking grim, Macrianus did not immediately offer a reply, his eyes fixed on the map. Then at last he looked up and his iron gaze settled upon Corbulo.

“Corbulo, what say you?” Macrianus growled.

For a moment Corbulo said nothing. Then he took a step towards the table and carefully reached up to rub his chin.

“If we retreat Sir,” Corbulo said, “it is likely that we will lose half or more of our local conscripts. These men’s homes are in Samosata and the neighbouring villages. They will not want to leave their families unprotected. Once they hear that we are to retreat and abandon Samosata - they will desert. Then we will need to organise transport for our wounded and the civilians who do not want to remain behind. Most of our force are infantry Sir and the wagons and men will be slow. The Sasanians have a lot of cavalry. It is their principal strength. Once they have crossed the Euphrates it will not take them long to locate us and attack our slow moving columns. Their horse archers will be able to pick us off at will from a distance. If they have brought up cataphracts they can use these heavy cavalry to chop our columns into small isolated groups and finish us off. The point I am trying to make Sir is that even if we decide to retreat tonight, we are not going to be safe until we reach the mountains.”

“So what is your plan then - prefect,” Quietus sneered glaring at Corbulo. “Stay here and wait to be annihilated?”

“No,” Corbulo said, shaking his head. “I didn’t say that we should not retreat. All I am saying is that we have no good options.”

And as he finished speaking a heavy sombre silence descended across the council. Standing beside the table, Macrianus had turned his eyes back to the map - looking resigned.

“Corbulo is right,” Valerian’s chief treasurer exclaimed at last. “We do not have any good options. But we must do something. We must respond. We are all that is left of the eastern army. Some of you have counselled me to try and make peace with the barbarians. Others advise me to bribe the enemy into returning to their homelands but none of this will do. I doubt King Shapur has come here to be bought off by some fancy words and trinkets. No. He intends to crush us and take our land. That is what he has been trying to do for the last twenty years. And now that he has us by the balls he is not going to stop.”

Pausing Macrianus turned to look around at his officers. “We were tasked with defending the east, Syria, Cilicia and Cappadocia,” he continued in a grave voice. “Our land. Roman land for more than three hundred years. We were tasked with defending our people and that is what I am resolved on doing. Valerian may be gone but our duty has not. In that sense nothing has changed. So we are not going to surrender or conclude a dishonourable peace. We are going to fight. We are going to protect our people. We are going to try and turn back the Sasanian invasion. That is our duty as soldiers and magistrates of Rome.”

“How?” one of the officers exclaiming throwing up his hand in a little hopeless gesture. “How do you intend to fight back against this horde?”

“By being smart,” Macrianus said lifting his head with a sudden steely determination. “Circumstances force us to be cunning. So I have come to a decision. Our first priority must be to keep our battle-group intact. For without us and our leadership there can be no hope of victory. So we will retreat westwards into the mountains of Cilicia and Cappadocia. The townsfolk of Samosata will just have to look after themselves. There is nothing more we can do for them. My son is right. For now we do not have the strength to take on King Shapur in a pitched battle. Those townsfolk who wish to leave will come with us. Those that do not want to leave will have to look to their own defence. It’s a shit situation I know - but there it is. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

“So we abandon Samosata Sir,” the commander of the local militia cried out, looking visibly upset. “That is not going to go down well with my men Sir. This is our home. You know what those Sasanian bastards are going to do. You know what they did to Nisibis last year.”

“We cannot stay here,” Macrianus said turning to the officer with a patient, sympathetic look. “But we are not giving up the fight. We will retreat westwards into the mountains and from there we will start to harass the enemy. Tell your soldiers that Rome will return and all will be well in the end.”

For a moment Macrianus paused as he turned his eyes towards Antoninus. The old man looking thoughtful in the dim, reddish flickering light.

“I am going to try and do what you so successfully did a few years ago Antoninus, during the second Sasanian invasion,” Macrianus exclaimed. “When you defeated King Shapur outside Emesa.”

Staring back at his friend, Antoninus paused. Then at last he inclined his head in a little respectful gesture.

“It is a noble strategy,” Antoninus said, “and I commend you for deciding to continue the fight, Macrianus. You show courage and strength. But in my home town of Emesa, when I led the popular resistance there against the King of Kings, I was fortunate to have the backing of a populace who had been prepared for this situation. I doubt you will find many other cities in Syria or Cilicia have taken the same precautions as the good people of Emesa did back then. Consequently I would not place too much hope on the general populace of the province coming to our aid. Antioch for instance is still recovering from the last time King Shapur sacked the place. And as you are aware our cities may speak Greek but they are teeming with different ethnic groups who don’t like each other much. From my experience dealing with the Sasanians they are adept at playing off one group against another to cause us trouble. They are masters at this game.”

“Nevertheless,” Macrianus said coolly studying his friend. “I am going to rally our people and organise resistance to the invaders while we gather new forces to strike back at the enemy. For as long as we still stand. While our authority still exists,” he added turning to his officers, “King Shapur will not be able to rest. His conquest will be illegitimate. Nor will he be able to consolidate his position. The people in our cities, Antoninus,” Macrianus said pausing briefly as he turned back to eye him, “may not all like each other, they have their grievances, but they certainly don’t like having their property destroyed and their families enslaved either. They will respond to my call to fight.”

“We must suspend civil law and declare a state of emergency,” Quietus hissed quickly turning to his father.

“Yes and we will. Instructions have already gone out to the governors of Syria, Cilicia and Cappadocia. They are already being informed,” Macrianus said nodding. “Martial law will continue as long as we are in a state of emergency. My instructions to the civil authorities are clear. One,” Macrianus snapped. “Surrender to the enemy is forbidden. Every city must resist the invaders. Two. Any citizen caught helping the enemy will be summarily executed. Three. All property and supplies will be placed at the immediate disposal of our remaining forces. Four. Every able bodied man and woman will be pressed into service. This is no time for half measures. I intend to use all the resources that we have.”

And as Macrianus finished speaking the heavy suffocating silence returned.

“King Shapur has waged war against us for the last twenty years,” Macrianus continued. “His ambitions are well known and he will not stop until he is stopped. This is his third invasion. His hordes have brought death, destruction and chaos to our land. His men have murdered, looted and raped their way across Syria. The intention of this so called King of Kings is well known. He wishes to seize our land, our cities, our people. He dreams of restoring the borders of the ancient Persian empire. The domain of the Achaemenids. He wishes to destroy the Greek speaking east. Make no mistake gentlemen, King Shapur has come to conquer our land. To take it from us!”

“I don’t know,” Antoninus said cutting in, shaking his head. “I too know something about King Shapur. But it is not yet clear what the objective of the King of Kings is. He has not yet revealed his hand. This invasion - it could be to conquer our land but it could equally be a raid. A large scale raid. An expedition whose purpose is to seize as much of our wealth as possible. Has anyone here checked to establish whether the Sasanians have brought siege equipment with them?” Antoninus added glancing at Macrianus. “Or whether they have brought skilled engineers who can build such machines? The king is wily. I believe that he understands that there are too many of us to subdue at once and that he must remain mindful of his enemies along the eastern borders of his empire. Like us,” Antoninus said turning to look around at the faces gazing back at him, “the Sasanian has more than one enemy and border to protect.”

As Antoninus finished speaking silence once more descended upon the council.

“You question my father’s judgement,” Macrianus Junior exclaimed at last frowning at Antoninus in disgust. “And what’s more you do so in public?”

“It is not my intention to question the opinion of my friend here,” Antoninus retorted. “But I have a valid point and it must be heard. It is possible that King Shapur’s intention is a large scale raid and not the permanent seizure of our land. And if I am right that should dictate our strategy in dealing with the enemy. If Shapur means to accumulate a large horde of loot and slaves it means that at some point he will start to withdraw back to his borders. And when he retreats his men will be heavily burdened with loot. Which is the point when they will be most vulnerable to a counter attack. You want my opinion,” Antoninus said turning towards Macrianus. “Gather and prepare your forces. Conserve your strength. Harass the enemy and wait until he has overreached himself. Then strike at him when he is returning home with all his loot, cattle and slaves. Ambush King Shapur in the mountain passes. That is our best chance of inflicting a defeat the king will not forget.”

Gazing across at Antoninus, Macrianus however did not look pleased. For a moment he did not speak. Then at last he took a deep breath.

“But if you are wrong Antoninus,” Macrianus said, “and the king is here to stay. To conquer our land and create a permanent presence like I believe he intends to. Then your plan will not work for there will be no retreat. We cannot just sit back and watch the enemy take city after city. That would be immensely damaging to morale. We must do what we can to defend our people.”

“You cannot go up against King Shapur right now,” Antoninus snapped back, showing a flash of irritation. “I was there at Edessa with Valerian. If sixty thousand of our best men could not defeat the Sasanians then what hope do a few thousand half trained conscripts have. I saw with my own eyes the size and quality of the king’s forces. No. King Shapur will show his hand eventually. He will reveal his intentions. If he keeps his army together and goes after the major cities I will have been wrong and he is here as a conqueror. But if he splits up his forces into separate columns then this is a raid whose purpose is to plunder and weaken us. And if that turns out to be the case the only strategy that makes sense is to gather and train new forces, shadow the enemy and harass him whenever we can. To pray that our cities do not surrender. That our people do not lose heart. Then hit the enemy when they are on their way back home and fuck them up.”

“All of this which you suggest,” another officer called out gazing at Antoninus, “will require time.”

“Yes it will,” Antoninus replied nodding.

“There is a better way,” Macrianus growled. “We gift nothing to the Sasanians. We instruct every community in their path to destroy everything of value, food supplies, cattle, any resource that can help sustain the enemy. We leave a desert for them to move into. We scorch the very earth with fire. We burn everything. Whether this is a raid or a land grab King Shapur will have been relying on those supplies to sustain his army. If we can deny him those resources it may force him to give up and withdraw.”

“A brilliant plan - father,” Junior said hurriedly. “You are right. If we can deny the king the supplies he needs he will find it harder and harder to keep his army together. If we can continue to deny him those supplies and with winter closing in his advance must eventually falter and he will be compelled to withdraw.”

“I am glad someone was paying attention to the importance of logistics in war,” Macrianus said grandly as he turned to give his son a little pleased look which made Junior beam with pride.

“No,” Antoninus said sighing and shaking his head in disagreement. “It is a stupid idea. For a start we do not have the manpower or the time to conduct such wide scale destruction. Secondly I doubt the people whose livelihoods you would be ruining will agree. They may even resist such orders. You would be using a temporary expedient to create a bigger problem - starvation.”

“Must you oppose everything my father suggests!” Quietus suddenly cried out in anger and frustration as he glared at Antoninus. “You should learn when to keep your mouth shut old man. This is my father you are talking about.”

“Apologies,” Antoninus said gracefully bowing his head in Macrianus’s direction. “As a friend always should - I only offer you my honest advice Sir.”

“Your friendship and advice are appreciated,” Macrianus replied coldly. His body language stiff and hostile. “Let us move on. Coming back to what you said earlier,” the prefect of the imperial state treasury said, turning his eyes towards Corbulo, sizing him up. Macrianus’s eyes gleaming in the light from the oil lamps that lit up the tent. “Your concerns are noted. The threat that the Sasanian cavalry will find us and cut us to pieces before we ever reach the relative safety of the mountains cannot be ignored. You are right to mention it. So,” Macrianus said taking a deep breath. “When the main column sets out tomorrow. I am going to need you Corbulo and your mounted Germans to remain behind and fight a rearguard action. You are to try and slow down the enemy advance as much as you can - so that the rest of us get a chance to escape. You are to buy us time. Is that clear?”

Staring back at his commanding officer Corbulo blinked as around him the tent went silent.

“Very good Sir,” Corbulo said at last in a stoic voice, dipping his head. “I will do what I can. But my men are going to be heavily outnumbered. I only have two hundred or so mounted Franks. May I request that the infantry from my 1st cohort remain behind too to reinforce me.”

“Not a chance,” Macrianus snapped. “Those seven hundred men are the best soldiers that I have got. No. The first cohort will retreat with the main column but I will give you Arif’s camel riders. He has two hundred of them. They should complement your horsemen. Use your mobility to slow down the Sasanian advance. Then once you have done that - you are to rejoin us.”

“The Arabs Sir,” Corbulo exclaimed quickly glancing across at Arif, the commander of the mercenary force.

Staring back at him Arif, a bearded man in his forties with the dark swarthy looks of a man of the desert, looked equally unimpressed.

“Is there a problem?” Macrianus snapped glancing from Corbulo to Arif and then back again.

“No Sir,” Corbulo said quickly as Arif opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and closed it again.

“Good then it is settled,” Macrianus said sharply turning to Junior his son. “See that all preparations are made. We break camp at dawn tomorrow.”

“Macrianus,” Antoninus interrupted raising his hand in the air, “there is another urgent matter that needs to be addressed. It concerns Valerian. Now that the Emperor has been taken prisoner we must re-establish a proper, effective and lawful chain of command. From my own experience fighting against the Sasanians I know that it is vital for our morale and continued resistance that our people know that someone is in charge of their affairs. That someone is looking out for them. They must know that they have a leader. A man who is respected and obeyed by all. Who has the authority to coordinate our resistance. Currently as Valerian’s chief treasurer you and Balista are the most senior surviving magistrates left in Syria so it is therefore natural and accepted that you should lead the resistance against King Shapur. But as his father is no longer at liberty Valerian’s son Gallienus is now the new Emperor. I suggest therefore that we immediately send a message to Gallienus’s court at Mediolanum in Italy assuring Gallienus of our loyalty and pleading with him for reinforcements.”

But as Antoninus finished speaking a strange, ominous silence descended upon the tent, some of the officers hurriedly glancing at each other.

“You raise an important and worthy point Antoninus,” a new voice said suddenly. “I am glad you have brought it up. You are right, we must of-course re-establish a new chain of command,” Balista added as he stepped out of the shadows from where he had been quietly observing the council and came round to stand directly behind Macrianus.

And as he did so Corbulo noticed that the mood in the council had suddenly shifted. As if his colleagues were aware of something that he was not privy too. Balista - the praetorian prefect was a tall man in his forties. Sporting a thick black beard and the hard, unforgiving eyes of a man who was used to being obeyed. Observing him Corbulo felt his throat suddenly tighten and dry up as if some invisible hand had seized hold of him and was trying to choke him. Balista, as Valerian’s praetorian prefect was a most powerful and feared man, claimed to be the second most powerful man in the empire after the Emperor himself. But Balista was also a prick Corbulo thought. A man with something of the night about him. And as he hurriedly glanced across at Antoninus, Corbulo saw that the overweight civilian too seemed suddenly uneasy.

“In fact it is vital that we establish a new chain of command,” Balista continued his eyes fixed upon Antoninus. “But let us not be hasty in seeking Gallienus’s support. For that would be foolish. Gallienus is far away in the west and he has many other problems to deal with. He is a busy man and we are not one of his priorities.”

“The power still remains in the west,” Antoninus countered, frowning. “Gallienus is Valerian’s legal heir. He is now Emperor. Of-course we must seek his support and guidance. That is only right. Gallienus alone has the resources to defeat King Shapur.”

“Gallienus is not here,” Balista retorted and there was something disturbing in his voice. “So you will not mention his name again at this council. Do I make myself clear Antoninus.”

Swallowing a knot that had appeared in his throat - Antoninus eyed Balista for a moment before lowering his gaze and remaining silent.

“Go on Balista,” Macrianus suddenly spoke up - his eyes gleaming with a sudden strange expectation and fervour, “so if we are not to rely on Gallienus, what do you suggest we do instead?”

“A contingency plan was prepared some time ago with Valerian’s blessing, “ Balista said as he moved to stand beside Macrianus. “For just the emergency in which we find ourselves today. In case the Emperor was unable to carry out his duties. We need a proper chain of command so that we can split and delegate authority through the proper channels. For Antoninus is right about that. Without someone in command at the very top the nobles and local leaders will not follow our orders and our resistance will become ineffective and splintered. Valerian is no more. He is either already dead or soon to be. He is not coming back. So I propose,” Balista continued eyeing the assembled officers around the table, “that you Macrianus be proclaimed as the new Emperor of the Roman commonwealth.”

For a moment no one inside the tent spoke a word. The men’s breathing the only sound. Balista’s words hanging over the gathering like a violent thunder storm that was about to break. Doing his best to hide his shock, Corbulo quickly caught Antoninus’s eye but the fat civilian appeared as surprised and shocked as himself. Their gazes meeting briefly in a look of shared consternation. Then hurriedly Corbulo averted his gaze and lowered his eyes, remaining silent. Carefully controlling his emotions. For from their reaction it was clear that most of the officers present inside the tent appeared to have already been in the know about what Balista was going to propose.

“Thank you Balista,” Macrianus said smiling. “You do me a great honour by offering me the purple and I cannot say that I am not tempted to accept your proposal. But I am too old to become Emperor of all the Romans and my physical deformity will not allow it. However,” Macrianus called out raising a hand in the air in a grand gesture. “My sons, Junior and Quietus would make excellent co-emperors and therefore I shall proclaim them as such. You,” Macrianus said turning to his sons, “are now co-emperors of the Roman world. You will rule all the lands from the Atlantic ocean to the Syrian desert. From the great sea of sand in the south to the frozen wastes of the north. It shall be so.”

Gazing back at their father it was clear that the news of their elevation had come as no surprise to both Junior and Quietus but still they could barely conceal their delight. Their faces triumphant and awe-struck.

For a long moment no one inside the tent spoke.

“Rebellion, “the commander of the local militia exclaimed at last taking a dim view and gazing at Macrianus with a disapproving look. “I am sorry Sir,” the officer added slowly shaking his head, “but now that Valerian is no more, his son Gallienus is the rightful and lawful Emperor. I cannot support this. I swore an oath. This is mutiny and I will have nothing to do with it.”

“Then you are relieved of your command with immediate effect,” Balista replied. “I am going to need your official ring and your sword,” the praetorian prefect added stretching out his hand and beckoning for the officer to approach. “Now if you don’t mind. I do not have all day.”

Looking disgusted the officer hesitated but it was clear he had no support inside the tent. His colleagues not speaking a word. Then with a sigh the man unsheathed his sword and pulling his ring from his finger, he came round to Balista. But just as he had placed them on the table in front of Macrianus, with the speed of a striking snake, the praetorian prefect caught hold of the back of the man’s head and plunged a small concealed knife straight into the officer’s neck. Twisting the dagger into the flesh with vicious aggression. A short furious struggle followed with no one intervening and as it came to an end the commander of the militia forces finally lay dead upon the ground in a growing pool of his own blood.

Breathing heavily Balista stooped to wipe his bloodied knife on the dead man’s tunic before retrieving the officer’s signet ring. Then he straightened up and turned to the remaining officers.

“He was a fool,” Balista hissed. “And death will be the fate of all who stand against the new Emperors. You are either with us or against us. So if anyone else here wishes to challenge the decision to raise Macrianus Junior and Quietus to the purple, then speak now or forever keep your silence.”

Inside the tent no one moved or said a word as Balista’s eyes moved from one face to the next. Taking a deep breath Corbulo stared at the corpse that lay at Macrianus’s feet.

“Good,” Balista exclaimed at last sounding satisfied. “Then it is done. Now swear your allegiance to the new co-emperors of the Roman empire, Macrianus Junior and his brother Quietus. For they are now your masters and commanders. Your superiors. Serve them well and you will be rewarded well. Now - all of you - repeat after me.”

As Balista began to speak the oath of allegiance all the officers inside the tent repeated his words and as he swore his oath to the new Emperors Corbulo watched as a thin trickle of blood from the corpse slowly made its way across the floor towards him. Then it was done and as he surveyed his officers, Macrianus was suddenly looking triumphant.

“All hail the new Emperors of Rome!” he cried out raising his fist into the air. “All hail those who will lead us to victory!”

As the Roman officers cried out in response Corbulo felt like throwing up. But he had no choice but to join in with his colleagues. To pretend that he was happy with what had just happened.

With the tent finally quietening down Antoninus carefully cleared his throat, preparing to speak. His face pale. “Gallienus will not take this lightly,” Antoninus said addressing himself to Macrianus. “We are now a threat to him. He may be far away in the west but he has loyal generals and armies who are stationed much closer to us. We should expect that he will send an army against us. To try and crush us. It would be wise to make preparations.”

“I expect he will be furious,” Macrianus said smiling. “And you are probably right Antoninus that he will send an army against us - that is if he can actually spare the troops from the western frontiers. I would not worry about Gallienus if I were you. He is far away in Italy and we have more immediate problems to deal with. But with my sons now co-emperors of Rome we should have no issues with mobilising our people here in the east.”

“If you say so my lord,” Antoninus replied carefully dipping his head in a little respectful manner.

“And lest we forget,” Balista’s icy cold voice cut through the tent, his eyes fixed on Antoninus, “a few years ago when you led the successful defence of Emesa against King Shapur some on Valerian’s staff thought that you, Antoninus were about to declare yourself Emperor. Your ambitions did not go unnoticed at the time, nor have I forgotten them. You are lucky that Valerian allowed you to live. But I shall not be so lenient on any who threaten the new Emperors.”

“I harbour no such ambitions,” Antoninus stammered. “What you refer to is just imperial court gossip. Everything that I have done has been in the service of Rome. I am loyal.”

“Yes loyalty shall be rewarded,” Balista’s ruthless voice cut through the tent, “and those disloyal shall meet my steel blade.”

“That’s enough Balista,” Macrianus said in a calming, good humoured voice as he raised a hand to defuse the tension. “This is no time for fighting among ourselves. Our first task is to focus on defeating the Sasanians. I am,” Macrianus continued, “as the official master of the treasury, also able to mint my own coins. The imperial state mint at Antioch is under my personal control. It means we should have no problems in issuing new coins to pay our soldiers. The new coins which we shall produce will of course now bear the heads of my sons.”

“We must also deal urgently with king Odaenathus of Palmyra,” Balista said glancing at Macrianus. “He must be brought over to our side.”

“Yes and he will come over to us,” Macrianus replied nodding.

“My lord,” Antoninus said carefully folding his hands together as if in prayer, “I know king Odaenathus. I know him well. He is a very independent minded man and his people have grown proud and wealthy from the desert trade routes. May I council that you treat him with care and respect. He is not a man who can be ordered about lightly and he possesses an experienced and considerable army. The late Emperor Valerian placed a lot of trust in the king to protect the southern invasion route into Syria.”

“I know who I am dealing with,” Macrianus said eyeing Antoninus. “And yes we are going to need Odaenathus’s support if we are to turn back the Sasanian invasion. We are going to need him and his army. Which is why I am sending you - Antoninus - to Palmyra to conclude an alliance with king Odaenathus. You will leave tomorrow and make haste. You will get the king to recognise my sons as co-emperors of Rome and you will get him to agree on our strategy to defeat the invaders. He must be made to play his part. That will be your task Antoninus. That is what you will do for me, my friend.”

“You want me to go to Palmyra and agree an alliance with king Odaenathus,” Antoninus replied raising his eyebrows. “I don’t know. That will be a difficult task my lord. The king will likely have his own demands. From my experience dealing with him he will strike a hard bargain.”

“Nevertheless that is what I want you to do,” Macrianus replied. “You will inform the king that this is an emergency and that I need his help and that he cannot refuse a request from the new Emperors. All must do there part in repelling the Sasanian invasion. How long have we known each other Antoninus,” the chief of the treasury continued in a patient voice fixing his eyes upon the overweight civilian. “I have lost count of how many years it is but I have faith in you. If anyone has the diplomatic talent to persuade the king to come round then it is you.”

For a long moment Antoninus did not reply, looking lost in thought. Then at last he nodded in agreement.

“I shall do as you command lord,” Antoninus replied.

“Good,” Macrianus said smoothly, his eyes gleaming as he stared at Antoninus. “I am glad to hear it. And in the meantime your wife Claudia will remain here at my side. The road to Palmyra is long and fraught with many dangers. It should not be taken by a young lady of such noble birth. Claudia will be safer here with me under my protection.”

Staring back at Macrianus in shock Antoninus opened his mouth to protest, his face once more growing pale. Then he closed his mouth without offering a single word and his shoulders slumped back in defeat. As if something irretrievable had just broken inside him.

For a moment longer the two old friends eyed each other, their sombre gazes laden with a thousand shared thoughts and memories, as if they both realised a long friendship had just come to an end, before abruptly Macrianus’s expression changed and turning away he took a few steps - coming up to Corbulo and laying a hand on his shoulder. The older man’s face suddenly filled with what looked like genuine concern.

“Corbulo. Listen,” Macrianus said speaking like a father addressing a favoured son. “I know that I have given you a shit assignment - to fight a rearguard action. I know its going to be tough. But I would not be asking you to do this if I did not think you were up to it.”

Studying Corbulo Macrianus paused. Then with a little affectionate slap across Corbulo’s cheek he continued.

“So do your job and come back to me alive all right. For I am going to need soldiers like you.”

Chapter Eight - The Favour

It was night and across the Roman camp a few fires were still alight. Their reddish glow illuminating the darkness. The Roman soldiers huddled together in small groups, resting or chatting quietly with each other. Emerging from Macrianus’s tent Corbulo was just about to set off back to his own tent when a figure abruptly loomed up. Without speaking a word Antoninus hurriedly caught hold of him by his arm, steering him away into the darkness. The overweight civilian looking desperately unhappy and disturbed in the dim light, his breathing coming in quick gasps - before at last he released Corbulo, rounding on him.

“Are you happy about this?” Antoninus hissed. “Contingency plan - my arse. I mean this is a fucking mutiny! Rebellion!”

“No of-course I am not,” Corbulo shot back keeping his voice down. “I too swore an oath to Valerian and Gallienus. But what do you want me to do. You saw what Balista did to that officer. I would not be helping anyone by getting myself killed and you fucking know it.”

“Macrianus is a usurper. I cannot believe it,” Antoninus exclaimed in a voice bordering on panic. “I have known that man for years and now he does something like this. We were friends and now he holds Claudia as hostage. Now he no longer trusts me. Now he uses my own wife as a bargaining tool to keep me loyal. We must get her back Corbulo,” Antoninus said. “We must find a way to free Claudia. She means the world to me.”

“No,” Corbulo whispered. “That will not work. She will be well guarded. You need to calm down and think this through. Or else you are going to get both yourself and your wife killed. Macrianus will not harm her as long as he believes that you are still on his side. So go to Palmyra. Go and speak to king Odaenathus and do what Macrianus has asked you to do. And be patient. The moment will come when you will be able to free Claudia but it is not yet.”

Swearing Antoninus turned to stare into the darkness and for a moment he did not speak.

“And what about you Corbulo,” Antoninus whispered at last. “Will you help me free her when the time comes?”

“I will,” Corbulo replied with a sudden resolute voice. “What just happened is a fucking disgrace. I certainly did not sign up to any mutiny but I can’t just quit. I have a duty to my soldiers. I cannot just abandon them. For now we must play along with this. We have no choice.”

Opening his mouth Antoninus turned away and once again he swore. Then reaching out he clamped a hand onto Corbulo’s shoulder. His fingers digging in tight, his eyes suddenly focussed.

“All right my friend,” the fat civilian whispered, “promise me this then. If you survive the next few days - keep an eye on my Claudia for me. Make sure that she remains safe and unharmed. Will you do that for me?”

“I will do what I can,” Corbulo said nodding.

“You are a good man Corbulo,” Antoninus whispered. “I will not forget.” Then he was gone, vanishing off into the darkness.

​***

Entering his tent, moving past the solitary soldier on guard duty just outside, Corbulo took a deep breath as alone, he crouched beside the embers of his small dying fire and reached out to warm his hands. Contemplating the evening’s events and the task ahead. The night outside - quiet and undisturbed. He was about to rise back to his feet when he suddenly sensed movement behind him. Whirling round with a sharp started cry, his pugio knife already in his hand, he prepared to confront the intruder.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Corbulo swore as he recognised the lone figure who had suddenly emerged from the shadows. “It’s you! What the fuck are you doing creeping around like that. I could have knifed you!”

“I have been waiting for you,” Atlas replied quietly speaking in German as Corbulo lowered his knife. “You took your time. It’s late. Something important been keeping you?”

“How the fuck did you get past the guard and into my tent?” Corbulo growled as he replaced his knife in his belt.

“I am trained to move about unseen,” Atlas replied with a shrug as he turned to pat down one of Corbulo’s spare tunics that was hanging from a clothes rack. “And I am pretty good at that. So congratulations. The news is that you have taken over from old Mobius. That you are our new prefect. For what it is worth I am glad that they have put you in charge.”

Taking a deep breath Corbulo studied Atlas for a moment as his anger and shock subsided.

“You have something for me?” he said.

“I do,” Atlas replied finding what he was looking for and casually sticking his hand into one of Corbulo’s spare tunic pockets before retrieving a small bag of coins hidden inside. “You asked me at our last meeting,” Atlas continued, “to look into the irregularities with the supplies that were being sent to the Emperor’s army outside Edessa. To find out who was responsible for sabotaging our supply effort. Well I found out who it was.”

“Who?” Corbulo growled.

“Macrianus, Valerian’s chief treasurer. Prefect of supplies and the commander of this battle-group,” Atlas replied. “He was sabotaging our own supplies, making sure that the Emperor was only getting half of what he needed. As chief treasurer and magistrate in charge of supplying the army he had all the authority he needed to give the orders. However that arsehole was actually sending supplies to our soldiers which had been deliberately infected with the plague. Can you believe that? Macrianus was killing our own men.”

Staring back at Atlas a little colour shot into Corbulo’s cheeks and, for a moment, he was at a loss at what to say. Then softly he swore.

“Are you sure about this - Atlas?” Corbulo murmured. “You have proof that Macrianus did this.”

“I only speak the truth,” Atlas said as he withdrew a single coin from the money pouch he had just liberated and held it up for an inspection in the dim light. “I have proof of his involvement in sabotaging our supplies. Witnesses. The conspiracy is real. Balista, the praetorian prefect is also involved as may be the prefect of Egypt, Aemilianus.”

“King Odenaethus?”

“Not sure about him,” Atlas said quickly.

“Will anyone be willing to testify to this conspiracy?”

“No,” Atlas said shaking his head. “The problem is that no one can be induced to make a public confession. I was told in no uncertain terms that to talk about this will mean death. And not only for the person in question but their entire family too. Macrianus has gone to great lengths to conceal his secrets but I discovered them anyway.”

Swearing softly to himself again, Corbulo turned to look away.

“So you not going to ask me why I think Macrianus was sabotaging our own supplies?” Atlas muttered, before testing the coin by biting into it.

“Macrianus wanted Valerian to fail,” Corbulo said quietly as the look of dismay and shock on his face grew. “He deliberately sabotaged and infected our supplies because he wanted Valerian to be defeated. Good gods. So it has come to this. Romans betraying their own - all so that Macrianus could then proclaim his sons as co-emperors and seize power. And he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. This was a fucking conspiracy,” Corbulo murmured, “and it appears to have been planned for a long time. Balista is involved too. He has sided with Macrianus. God knows what the new Emperors have promised him in return.”

Standing inside his tent Atlas was watching him in silence. The bag of coins placed back on a table.

“Good gods,” Corbulo muttered.

“It’s all fucked up if you ask me,” Atlas responded. “This whole war. I am no longer certain who the real enemy is. It’s getting complicated.”

For a moment Corbulo remained silent. Then he turned to the scout. “Whose side are you on Atlas?” Corbulo murmured.

“Yours Sir,” the intelligence officer said in a strained voice. “You are the least worst of the lot of them.”

“Then do something for me,” Corbulo said quickly. “You know Badurad, my cousin.”

“The one who is always getting into trouble?” Atlas said with a smirk. “The one you keep doing special favours for thinking that no one notices your favouritism. Sure I know him.”

“I want you to get him out of here,” Corbulo said hurriedly. “Tomorrow. You will escort him to the port of Laodiceo and make sure he gets on a ship bound for Italy or Greece. Things are going to get real rough around here and I am not going to be able to look after him. Will you do that for me Atlas?”

“You want me to babysit your cousin,” Atlas said looking unimpressed. “Can’t you find someone else to do that.”

“No, I need someone who I can trust,” Corbulo growled. “Macrianus is taking hostages - ensuring the good behaviour of his officers and I do not want Badurad to be one of them. And besides you are rumoured to be the best - so will you fucking do it or not?”

“Sure,” Atlas said with a reluctant sigh. “Anything for you Corbulo but you are going to owe me a big favour.”

Chapter Nine - Rearguard

Sat upon his stationary horse positioned close to the water’s edge, clad in his coat of tight fitting mail body armour; his plumed cavalry helmet resting on his head, Corbulo cut a dashing figure. A magnificent curved horn made of bone dangled across his chest suspended from a strap. While nearby one of his mounted bodyguards was holding up the proud war banner of the 1st separate Cohort of Salian Franks. It was near noon and the heat was baking the land. The long and narrow pontoon bridge across the Euphrates was deserted except for a party of local men toiling away below the planking - half submerged in the river.

Strung out in a line along the southern bank of the Euphrates the two hundred and seventeen troopers of the 2nd and 3rd companies of Salian Franks were sitting on their horses waiting for orders. The Germans were suffering in the sun in silence, their thrusting lances raised in the air. Their ovoid shaped shields slung across their backs. Their keffiyeh, face scarf's, masked their faces below their eyes. The fierce sunlight was glinting and reflecting from their steel body armour and helmets.

Across the placid river on the northern shore, a steady trickle of townsfolk were still emerging from Samosata. The civilians were hurrying away, scattering in all directions except towards the narrow pontoon bridge. Many of the people were carrying their most precious belongings strapped to their backs or pushing along wheeled hand carts laden with tables, carpets, chairs and the elderly who could not walk. While children were carrying screaming babies, pets or pulling goats along on ropes and dogs dashed about in the confusion barking wildly. Gazing across the expanse of water with a grave expression Corbulo eyed the mass of miserable, frightened humanity fleeing the coming Sasanian storm. Then he turned his attention to the two civilians approaching him from across the bridge.

“The bridge is ready. It is prepared?” Corbulo called out.

“Yes it is done - prefect,” one of the men replied in Latin. “We have weakened the structure like you asked us to. We are ready.”

“Good,” Corbulo said. “Then you are to wait until you hear my signal understood. Three blasts from my horn. Then you bring it down. Three blasts, got that. Until then you do nothing. You wait.”

“Yes - prefect,” one of the men replied nodding dutifully. “Understood.”

Sitting on his horse Corbulo took a deep breath as he turned to survey the pontoon bridge that stretched from one side of the river to the other.

“You are brave men, all of you,” he said at last, addressing the two locals. “Thank you for agreeing to stay behind.”

“This is our home prefect,” one of the locals replied with a shrug. “Some of us have nowhere else to go. We will stay here and face what is coming.”

“And inside Samosata,” Corbulo said guardedly, “how many of the locals remain? How many will put up a fight.”

“Two thirds have fled with Macrianus and his troops,” one of the men replied. “A third remain. Some are too old or sick to leave. Some will fight. Some,” for a moment the man paused searching for the right words, “some are waiters - prefect. They are waiting for the arrival of the Sasanians because they prefer to live under the rule of King Shapur.”

“Yes, so I gather,” Corbulo said nodding. “Well I fear they will not have to wait much longer. I am expecting the enemy imminently.” Turning his attention to the south Corbulo paused before lowering his gaze as a sudden resigned look crept into his eyes. “All right,” he continued. “You know what to do when the time comes. Complete your task - then scatter. Run. Hide. Try and save yourself as best as you can. Rome requires nothing more from you.”

“Prefect!” a voice suddenly cried and as the two locals turned away Corbulo frowned shifting his attention to the man who had called out his name. And as the soldier came hurrying towards him from across the bridge Corbulo felt a sudden pang of unease.

“Are you not supposed to be on your way to the coast by now with Badurad my cousin,” Corbulo growled as Atlas hurried up. The scout looking uncharacteristically annoyed and flustered.

“That’s just it,” Atlas snapped. “Your cousin. He gave me the slip. He’s gone. He ran off when I was not looking. I think he and that friend of his are hiding inside the town.”

“And you didn’t go after him?” Corbulo blurted out, his face darkening.

“What would you have me do,” Atlas retorted. “Drag him back out of the city. I don’t have the time to look for that stupid boy. If he doesn’t want to leave for the coast then I am not going to force him. He’s your cousin, not mine. He’s your problem Corbulo.”

“Badurad ran off,” Corbulo exclaimed. “Oh for fucks sake. Wait till I get my hands on that boy. He’s due a right thrashing.”

“Well good luck trying to find him,” Atlas said as he turned to leave. “I have more important things to do.”

“Where the fuck are you going?” Corbulo called out in dismay as Atlas started to saunter away.

“Sorry Sir,” Atlas replied, “I have got to go. If you want to find Badurad then you had better go and look for him yourself.”

Corbulo was about to call Atlas back when he thought better of it. Instead closing his mouth, his face dark with anger, he turned his eyes towards Samosata across the river before emitting a low growl of frustration. But there was no time to dwell on Badurad’s latest act of disobedience. For from the corner of his eye, Corbulo had caught sight of Arif, commander of the two hundred Arab mercenaries, riding towards him mounted on his camel. The desert animal with its single hump, long furry neck and big bullying head was moving towards him with its distinctive gait. And as the camel approached Corbulo’s horse stirred and neighed with sudden alarm, forcing Corbulo to steady the animal, the beast unhappy at the presence of the camel.

“They don’t like each other,” Arif called out cheerfully as the older, bearded man used a stick to bring his camel to a halt. “Horse and camel don’t get on. Horse is frightened that camel will bite. Horse don’t like smell of camel. Horse is faster but camel is better in the desert than thirsty German horse.”

Gazing at Corbulo from beneath his keffiyeh, which was tightly wrapped around his head and covered most of his face, Arif was carrying a curved knife tucked away in his belt, while a bow and a quiver of arrows were slung across his back. Barefooted - apart from his long flowing desert robes he wore no body armour at all. Nor was he carrying a shield.

“What do you want Arif? I already gave you your orders,” Corbulo said guardedly.

“You did,” the Arab replied curtly. “My soldiers know what is required of them. The plan is a good one for men who are doomed. I however must ask you a question Corbulo,” Arif continued, his dark eyes studying him. “In the desert many things are not always what they seem to be. It is the same with the affairs of men. For instance the other day in the council with Macrianus I noticed that you were not happy with the outcome. Yet you swore an oath of allegiance nevertheless. You are not as good at hiding your thoughts as you think you are. So my question to you - prefect,” Arif continued not allowing Corbulo to interrupt, “is this. What will you do if instead of fighting us the Sasanians were to offer us money. Gold to go and fight for them instead of serving a man you so clearly despise.”

“Then you do not know me as well as you think you do,” Corbulo retorted gazing back at the leader of the mercenary contingent of Arab camel archers. “I fight for Rome and for my soldiers. For the honour of my ancestors. I would never accept Sasanian gold. That would be a dishonourable thing to do. Why do you ask?”

For a moment Arif remained silent, observing Corbulo. Then with a sigh he uttered a series of clicks with his tongue and using his stick he raised his camel back to her feet and turned to leave.

“No particular reason,” Arif called out cheerfully over his shoulder as he started to move away back to his own men. “But if I am to risk my life, I would like to know the nature of the man who I shall be fighting alongside with.”

​***

“Prefect!” one of his bodyguards called out, pointing, his voice suddenly taut with tension.

But sitting upon his horse Corbulo had already seen what the rider was pointing at and as he did he took a deep breath before slowly exhaling. To the south a wall of dust a mile wide was advancing straight towards him, rolling across the steppe like an approaching sandstorm. The dust clouds kicked up by what looked like thousands upon thousands of horses’ hooves.

“Here they come Sir,” another bodyguard cried.

“Sasanians! Sasanians!” the cry rose up among the line of German horsemen arranged along the banks of the Euphrates.

For a moment longer Corbulo stared at the approaching enemy horde. Then reaching for his horn he placed it against his lips and blew - the single long mournful blast ringing out across the plain. “Third company with me,” he bellowed as he started out at a walk straight towards the wall of dust. “Company will prepare to engage the enemy! Follow me!”

Advancing towards the Sasanians Corbulo hurriedly turned to check on his men. Keeping level with his own company, the riders of the 2nd company were already forming into their tight V shaped battle formations, the men doing exactly as he had instructed them to. Their shields raised protectively, their lances lowered and pointing at the enemy. The German cavalry officers were yelling orders at their men. Grunting in satisfaction Corbulo quickly shifted his attention to the two hundred Arab archers mounted on their camels but they too were in position. Arranged in ambush along the length of a dried out watercourse, the wadi hiding them from view. All was as it should be - as he had planned. Now to see whether the enemy would take the bait he thought. The plan was simple. His Frankish horsemen would try to lure the enemy into the kill zone where the Arabs would be waiting to cut them down with their bows and arrows, before the whole force would retreat back across the river to the relative safety of the northern bank.

Directly behind him in the direction of Samosata, across the river, Corbulo suddenly hear rising cries of alarm and panic as the civilians finally noticed the approaching Sasanian cavalry. But there was nothing more he could do for them. Those who had remained behind would be on their own.

Eyeing the approaching enemy Corbulo bared his teeth in defiance. His heart was thumping away in his chest. The wall of dust rolling towards him was relentless and unstoppable. A terrifying sight. As if the King of Kings had brought the whole of Asia to the battle. Advancing towards him at a trot, coming on with the calm confidence of a victorious army, were a mass of lightly armed horsemen. Thousands upon thousands of them. The Sasanian advance guard. The men moving forwards singularly or in groups clustered around their leaders. The Kushans, Khazars and other horse tribes from the vast steppes of central-Asia, riding their small shaggy horses and ponies with the ease and familiarity of men born among horses. Their foreign banners fluttering in the air. The nomadic warriors were clad in round fur hats and the outlandish clothing of their homelands. Riding without saddles, armed with spears and powerful Scythian bows. The soldiers protection was limited to tough leather jerkins and small hide-bound shields. While some were driving spare horses along with them. The growing smell of horse was overpowering. The thud of hooves starting to shake the earth.

“Mercenaries - prefect,” one of Corbulo’s bodyguards called out in German. “Looks like the Sasanians are sending their allies and light forces against us. I cannot see any cataphracts among them. Nor any infantry.”

“This is just their advance guard,” Corbulo called out. “The heavy cavalry and infantry will still be some way behind.”

Spotting the puny line of Roman horsemen, the Sasanian advance guard did not slow their pace and as they came on, converging towards the bridge across the Euphrates, Corbulo once more blew on his horn, a single blast that brought his men to a halt.

“Come on,” Corbulo muttered to himself as he sat upon his horse. “Come on you bastards. Take the bait. Take the god-damn bait.”

Suddenly Corbulo heard a sharp commotion behind him, followed by the furious beat of horses hooves and before he could react, two lone horsemen had gone storming straight past him. The two yelling riders nearly standing up in their saddles as alone they charged towards the Sasanian lines. Their cloaks flying behind them. Their horses pounding the ground - going flat out. And as he recognised one of the horsemen Corbulo gasped in horror. It was Badurad and he was accompanied by his friend Linus. The two of them intent - so it appeared - upon a suicidal charge straight into the Sasanian ranks.

“Badurad!” Corbulo roared, the blood draining from his face. “Badurad what are you doing! Come back!”

But the boy showed no sign that he had heard Corbulo’s cry. No sign that he was about to come to his senses and stop.

Then Corbulo was off in pursuit and as he galloped after his young cousin, the men of the 3rd company dutifully followed their commander. Until over a hundred mounted Franks were charging across the plain straight towards the approaching enemy in pursuit of two of their own.

“Badurad!” Corbulo roared as he frantically closed the gap. “Stop! Stop! Damn you! You are going to get yourself killed.”

At last with the gap between him and the foremost Sasanians reduced to less than a hundred yards, with a loud defiant yell Badurad swerved away completing a rapid U turn before starting back towards the river and taking Corbulo and the men of the whole 3rd company with him. Drawing level, Corbulo caught a glimpse of Badurad’s youthful face, flush with raw emotion. But it was already too late. The rapid U turn executed too late. Hardly able to believe their luck at the foolishness of the mad unsupported Roman charge, hundreds of Sasanian cavalrymen broke away and set off in pursuit. Hoping to close with and wipe out this small band of impetuous Romans. Racing back the way he had just come, back towards their positions along the river bank, Corbulo swore as within seconds he and his men found themselves riding for their lives, with a host of angry, triumphant Sasanians out for blood snapping at their tails.

“Badurad, stay close to me,” Corbulo roared in a shrill voice as he caught up with the youth. “For fucks sake stick close boy!”

Upon his horse Badurad showed no sign that he had heard Corbulo. But neither did he make any effort to leave Corbulo’s side. While Linus too was sticking close. The youth’s long blond hair streaming behind him. The boy’s horses hooves pounding the earth. The beasts mouths open and gasping for breath.

Storming back towards the bridge his men were in trouble Corbulo knew. Cursing out loud he hurriedly snatched a look over his shoulder. The distance between him and their Sasanian pursuers was rapidly diminishing. His men’s horses were tiring. They would never make it to the river. The enemy were closing in for the kill. His riders out of position and hopelessly outnumbered. His horsemen had lost their battle formations in the mad dash and it had become every man for himself now. There was no time to reform or issue orders.

Suddenly Corbulo heard a savage German war cry and from the corner of his eye he saw the cavalry squadrons from the 2nd company charging to his aid. The Franks massed in their four tight V shaped wedges as they came plunging into the flank of the Sasanian cavalry. Instantly all was turned to chaos and confusion as the heavily armed German cavalrymen went crashing through their lightly armed opponents sending men and beasts tumbling and crashing to the ground in a frenzy of violence, screams and flying, tumbling equipment. Slamming into the Sasanians the shock of the Roman charge decisively broke the enemy impetus.

For a few moments chaos reigned as lances punched into flesh, dazed men tried to stagger to their feet and horses lay on the ground squealing and kicking their hooves at the air. But the fight was brief for Harald the centurion in command of the 2nd company was not allowing his men time to finish off the enemy. Moments later the disciplined Roman squadrons wheeled around and went galloping off after their colleagues, seeking the safety of the river, leaving the ground behind them strewn with bodies, cantering riderless horses and screaming men.

“God-damn you Corbulo!” Harald leading the 2nd company bellowed as he came charging up to Corbulo as the Roman retreat finally slowed to a trot. The older man’s eyes blazing with anger. His face enraged. “God damn you! That was a fucking stupid thing you just did. Have you lost your mind Sir. You just put all your men in danger and for what? We had agreed a plan of action. What happened? If we were not here to save your arse you and the rest of the Third company would be dead by now!”

Unable to offer a coherent answer Corbulo simply shook his head as he slowed his horse and hurriedly turned to check on his men. They’d managed to get away. But his subordinate was right. He’d fucked up royally and he had no excuse and suddenly Corbulo was angry with himself. His hand clenching into a fist. The mad dash to save Badurad and Linus had forced him into a badly judged move that could have ended in him getting all his men killed. But there was no time to dwell on the near disaster. No time even to give Badurad a piece of his mind. For across the plain to the south the Sasanian light cavalry were still converging on the bridge. They would reach the water within minutes. Turning to stare at the pontoon bridge stretching across the water Corbulo gasped.

“What the hell is Arif doing,” Corbulo yelled pointing as he saw that the Arab camel archers had abandoned their ambush positions and were already withdrawing across the bridge to the far bank. “He’s withdrawing without orders. I did not order him to move his men. Where does he think he is going?”

But among his bodyguards no one was able to offer a reply.

Swearing out loud Corbulo veered towards the bridge with a face like thunder. His carefully constructed plan to defend the Euphrates river crossing and slow down the enemy advance was turning into an embarrassing farce. Everything appeared to be going wrong. But he could see that it was already too late to recall Arif’s men and get the Arabs back into their position. The element of surprise had been lost. The Sasanians would have already spotted the ambush.

“What are we going to do Corbulo!” Harald cried out in German, the growing urgency in his voice clear to all. “We cannot stay here. We are about to be surrounded and they have horse archers.”

Swearing again Corbulo hurriedly turned to check on the enemy bearing down on him at a steady trot. The Sasanians were taking no chances. Their extended flanks threatening to envelop him and trap him and his men against the river. And his colleague was right. Among the enemy would be horse archers who could obliterate his command with just a few massed volleys. Hastily he turned his attention back to the bridge but the last of Arif’s camel archers had already crossed and the structure was deserted.

“We have to retreat across the river,” Corbulo cried out at last in defeat. “To the bridge.” And as he reached for his horn he hastily blew on it sounding recall. The mournful horn ringing out across the steppe.

But as he and his men turned and started to ride towards the narrow pontoon Corbulo’s eyes widened in horror and he groaned as abruptly and without warning a whole section of the bridge and its planking suddenly collapsed and sank into the river. Leaving a wide gaping hole in the bridge. Moments later Corbulo spotted a small band of local men scampering away towards the northern bank. The men running away as fast as they could. Their job was done but the locals had panicked. They had not waited for the agreed signal. They had brought the bridge down too soon and by doing so they had managed to trap him and his men on the wrong side of the river.

“Oh hell! They have brought the bridge down too soon,” one of Corbulo’s bodyguards roared in dismay.

Without slowing his pace or speaking Corbulo rode on continuing straight towards the water’s edge with Badurad and Linus sticking close to him. There was no time to linger for behind them a great triumphant roar had arisen from the Sasanian ranks and thinking that their opponents were trapped, thousands of horsemen had suddenly picked up the pace, rapidly closing in on the band of Romans. Storming down the bank of the Euphrates Corbulo did not hesitate as he plunged his horse straight into the river and the beast started to swim. The river water swirling up to around his waist. And as he struck out into the river the hundreds of Salian Franks followed their leader into the water, crashing boldly into the Euphrates. The men yelling at their beasts as the horses began to furiously swim across the river to the opposite shore. The animal’s heads bobbing just above the placid water, their riders half submerged in the river.

Chapter Ten - Delaying Action

“Why did you abandon your positions!” Corbulo shouted angrily, as he came trotting up to where Arif and his men were sitting upon their camels watching parties of Sasanian cavalry starting to cross the Euphrates. His lower body soaked and water still dripping from his horses’ flanks. “I did not give you any order to retreat,” he yelled. “You disobeyed me! Damn it man. You were supposed to wait for my orders before falling back. We had a plan.”

“You think I am a stupid man,” Arif retorted, suddenly looking offended. “I am not a stupid man. We were never going to hold back those Sasanians. Look how many of them there are,” the Arab commander growled waving his arm at the enemy forces massed along the southern bank of the river. “Their archers would have destroyed us. No. We stood no chance and I did not want to die - so I retreated. I saved my men.”

Staring at the Arab Corbulo looked furious. His hand clenched into a fist. But what else could he do. With a mighty effort, at last he tore his eyes away from Arif and turned to stare at the river. His Franks had made it across the water on their horses with minimal losses and he had managed to regroup his forces just to the west of Samosata. But the southern bank had been lost and to the east of the town the first parties of Sasanian cavalry were already crossing to the northern bank unopposed. The horsemen were covered by masses of Sasanian horse archers milling about along the water’s edge. While more Sasanians were on the bridge, inspecting the damaged spans. Hurriedly shifting his attention to the town itself, Corbulo saw that the remaining locals had closed the gates but only a few men appeared to be manning the walls.

“Samosata will fall by tonight,” Arif said darkly. “The town is doomed and so are we if we stay here too long - prefect.”

Saying nothing Corbulo quickly looked up to check the position of the sun. The afternoon was wearing on.

“The next time you disobey my orders,” Corbulo said rounding on the Arab commander, glaring at him with sudden determination. “I will dismiss you and your men from my command. I will send you back to your tribe and I will make sure that everyone knows about your cowardice. Your disgrace. Your lack of manhood. How you let your commander down. You claim to be honourable warriors. You claim to be the best. So act like such men. Show me that you can fight and not just run away like hysterical women.”

“You calling me a woman!” Arif growled, looking displeased. “Are you insulting me Roman. You Germans are the foreigners here. Not us!”

“Do not disobey me again!” Corbulo said sharply, gazing at Arif, the two officers locked in a sudden battle of wills. “Show me that you know how to fight. Show me some god-damn pride and respect!”

For a moment no one spoke, the sullen tension growing among the group of Franks and Arabs as the stand-off continued. At last, angrily shaking his head as if he did not agree, but saying nothing, Arif, was the first to turn away, his expression brooding. His men not appearing to be happy at all.

Staring at the Arab commander Corbulo’s eyes lingered. Then he too turned away. The silence pregnant with unresolved tension.

“And you!” Corbulo roared as he nudged his horse alongside Badurad who was sitting on his mount nearby gazing at the parties of Sasanians in the distance. The youth’s face still flush with emotion. “You are an utter disgrace!” And before anyone could react or stop him Corbulo had reached out and caught hold of Badurad and pulled him violently from his saddle. Landing on his bottom Badurad cried out in shock and pain. But as he tried to get to his feet Corbulo dismounted and with a speed that caught the youth off-guard, Corbulo punched him in the face, the force of the blow knocking Badurad back to the ground. Around Corbulo no one spoke as Badurad groaned and a trickle of blood appeared in the corner of his mouth. Weakly he tried to sit up, stunned by the attack but Corbulo pushed him back down to the ground with his boot. Then with a hoarse cry of protest Linus was crouching at Badurad’s side. The pretty boy’s long blond hair draped down his shoulders, his effeminate face looking distraught.

“Leave him alone,” Linus cried out turning to look up at Corbulo. “You are a bully. He did nothing wrong.”

But Linus’s words were cut off in mid flow as Corbulo kicked him in the face sending the youth sprawling onto his back in the sand, the blow knocking him out cold. Blood pouring from his nose. Staring down at the two youths Corbulo paused, his breathing coming in angry bursts. His eyes hard and unforgiving. Then he drew his long cavalry sword from its sheath. The steel blade sliding free easily. A moment later the razor sharp point of the spatha was hovering directly over Badurad’s throat and as he saw the weapon Badurad gasped.

“What did you think you were doing back there?” Corbulo roared. “Riding straight at the enemy like that. Do you have a death wish? Do you want to die! If so just say the word and I will finish you off here myself.”

“We did it because you wanted to send me away, uncle,” Badurad gasped as he stared wide-eyed at the point of Corbulo’s sword hovering over his throat. “You told Atlas to escort me to the coast because you think that I am a coward. But I am not a coward, uncle. I am a soldier like you, like my father. I want to fight. But you would not listen to me.”

“You are not a soldier,” Corbulo bellowed. “You are a spoilt brat. You are just a boy!”

“No, I want to fight uncle,” Badurad cried out and there was a sudden resolve in his voice that surprised Corbulo. “You are wrong. You should not have tried to send me away. I know why you did it - because you don’t think I am up to being a soldier. You think you are protecting me, but you are not. My place is here with you and our men and I do not want to leave.” For a moment Badurad paused, his chest heaving with emotion as he stared up at Corbulo. “So we wanted to prove to you that we were not cowards. Linus and I,” he continued at last in a calmer voice. “That is why we decided to charge the Sasanian lines. To show you that we have courage. That we are not afraid. That we are not cowards.”

Staring down at Badurad Corbulo hesitated. Then swearing softly to himself he raised his sword and replaced it in his belt. For a moment he said nothing as he turned to glare at Linus who was still stretched out across the ground unconscious and bleeding. Linus was not like Badurad. The pretty boy preferred men over women, even though Badurad did not, his cousin being very much a ladies man. The two however remained close friends, despite their different preferences. Badurad telling him that Linus followed him because he was his friend. Whatever the truth of the matter Corbulo thought, Linus was a bad influence on his cousin. And the sooner he was gone, the better.

“Strip him naked and seat him backwards on a donkey,” Corbulo growled gesturing at Badurad and turning to his mounted bodyguards. “I want him paraded in front of our own men and the enemy. That will be his punishment for disobeying me. Let everyone have a good laugh at my cousin’s expense. He deserves to hear the men’s laughter.”

“I want to fight, uncle,” Badurad called out. “Please!”

“And you will boy,” Corbulo growled turning away and hoisting himself back into the saddle of his horse.

​***

“Cataphracts Sir,” one of Corbulo’s bodyguards called out pointing excitedly. “Over there. Look.”

“They have managed to repair the bridge - prefect,” another bodyguard exclaimed speaking in German.

It was early evening and behind the small party of Roman horsemen stationed upon the rise the serene red ball of the sun was sinking below the horizon. Its light old and failing.

Observing Samosata and the river crossing to the east, Corbulo remained silent. Looking grim. His eyes fixed upon the thousands upon thousands of enemy troops now swarming all around the besieged settlement. At last turning his gaze to the contingent of Sasanian heavy cavalry Corbulo eyed them as they slowly rolled up to guard the northern end of the bridge across the Euphrates. Taking in their long powerful spears and the soldiers round shields - their conical helmets with streamers attached. The thick coats of protective mail and scale armour covering their faces, their bodies and those of their horses from top to bottom. Making the armoured knights nearly impervious to attack. The dreaded cataphracts, the super heavy Sasanian cavalry were the premier shock troops of the Sasanian empire. Manned by the elite of Sasanian society. The nobles and leading men escorted by their mounted attendants and slaves who were riding beside their masters. And when paired and working together with bands of fast and agile Sasanian horse archers the combination of the two troop types was devastating. The cataphracts only weakness - that they were few in number and only used for decisive action.

Shifting his attention back to besieged Samosata, Corbulo reached up to rub his chin. Swarming around the base of the town walls were the Persian footsoldiers; many of them Paighan, poorly armed spear men conscripts but including parties of well armed and mail protected heavy infantry carrying large rectangular shields, maces and swords; were in the process of attacking Samosata. The assault was supported by contingents of dismounted Sasanian horse archers and Kurdish javelin throwers. The archers clad in their traditional felt kaftan tunics, trousers and their distinctive Scythian caps were carrying powerful recurved composite bows. The Sasanian assault ladders were placed against the walls and filled with rows of climbing soldiers intent on getting into the city. And they were succeeding. The defenders were offering only scattered, uncoordinated resistance. The growing volume of screams rising up from inside the town telling its own grim story. Arif had been right. Samosata was about to fall. It would not be long now, Corbulo thought.

For a moment longer he studied the enemy before turning his head to the west to observe the position of the sun and as he did his eyes narrowed. With the Sasanian attack on Samosata under way he had withdrawn his Franks and Arabs westwards until they were out of sight. Hidden by folds in the land. And with their attention focussed on Samosata the Sasanians had not yet gone looking for him. With luck the enemy would think he had left Corbulo thought - but his men had not gone far. They were still here.

Turning his eyes back towards the repaired pontoon bridge across the Euphrates Corbulo grunted as he suddenly spotted a party of tall Indian war elephants moving across the river in a single file. The elegant beasts with their small ears had their trunks raised in the air and each animal appeared to be carrying several bow-armed riders. But it was not the elephants that had caught Corbulo’s eye. It was the long baggage train following on behind the beasts. The train just starting to cross the river. The plodding column of mules with their side-panniers strapped to their backs and the wheeled horse drawn wagons appeared heavily laden with the soldiers baggage and the army’s supplies. Looking on, Corbulo’s curiosity grew as upon reaching the northern shore of the Euphrates the enemy baggage handlers, their slaves and mounted escort immediately started to set up camp along the banks of the river. For a while Corbulo continued to observe the enemy from his horse. Watching the men erecting their tents, starting camp fires while parties of water carriers thronged the banks of the river. The Sasanians appeared overconfident. Victorious and feeling secure in the presence of thousands of their colleagues. They were not making any special efforts to protect their camp.

At last, noticing a party of Sasanian horse archers heading towards him intent on driving him away Corbulo turned his horse around and beckoning to his bodyguards he quickly set off westwards to rejoin his main force.

​***

To the east Samosata burned. The night sky lit up by a hellish red glow. The screaming coming from the town had finally ceased and a strange, unsettled stillness had descended across the land. As if the gods could not make up their mind whether to mourn for the conquered or celebrate the triumph of the victors. Sat upon his horse out in the plain, having taken up position in front of a single line of over two hundred silent German horsemen Corbulo stared at the distant spectacle. The darkness cloaking him. Hiding his men from view. No one speaking. Then at last he turned his head and lowered his eyes. The Sasanians appeared to have remained true to their cruel reputation and had sacked the town. The bloodbath appeared to have ended. It was over.

“Are the men in position,” Corbulo asked, speaking in German.

“They are ready - prefect,” his deputy company commander replied from the darkness.

Turning his attention back to the red glow in the distance Corbulo took a deep breath, steeling himself as his lips worked silently. Reciting the names of his ancestors and their deeds in battle. Their names strengthening him. While beneath him he felt his horses’ unease, the beast snorting and nervously stamping its hooves. The animal was sensing what was coming. Gripping his three lightweight javelins in his right hand he at last turned in the direction where he had left Arif and his contingent of camel archers. In the darkness he could not see them but the men and camels were still there for he could smell them.

For a moment Corbulo hesitated. The Arabs appeared still to be sulking after the earlier confrontation. Brooding on the alleged insults. The mood was tense and he was no longer sure whether they would even fight for him any longer. The distrust between him and Arif was growing. The smouldering resentment and racist attitudes among both forces never far from the surface. It would take just one incident to spark open hostility between the two sides. And because of that he had decided to leave the Arabs out of the night action, unsure whether he could fully trust them to play their part. It was a bad state of affairs for it meant he was only using half his available force. But nothing was ever perfect Corbulo thought sourly. He would just have to make do with the men he had.

“Are you sure about this Sir?” his deputy said sounding concerned. “I mean there are only two hundred of us. What can we hope to achieve?”

“We proceed,” Corbulo growled, his expression hardening in the darkness. “The Sasanians have brought hell with them. It is time to give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“It’s going to piss them off,” his deputy replied.

“I god-damn hope so,” Corbulo snapped as he raised his javelins in the air and with a sharp whistle to his men he started forwards at a walk heading straight towards the Sasanian camp in the distance. “To piss them off is the whole point. We’re going to remind them that we are still here.”

And as Corbulo began to advance upon the enemy camp, behind him his Franks, formed up in their single line formation and having swapped their long thrusting spears for light javelins, started to follow. The men walked their horses towards the enemy. The only sound was the steady clatter of horses’ hooves and the heavy breathing of the men. The darkness was covering the Roman advance. Fixing his eyes upon the enemy camp fires ahead Corbulo led the way. The wide Euphrates to his right acted as his guide, the faint light reflecting from the placid water. And as he closed in on the enemy he started to pick up the pace, from a walk, to a trot and then to a canter. His target illuminated in the darkness ahead.

Then his men were onto the first Sasanian infantry pickets and as startled and alarmed cries suddenly rang out, Corbulo raised his curved horn to his lips and blew a long blast. Signalling the start of the night attack. Ignoring the sentries he broke into a gallop, urging his horse onwards and moments later he was charging straight into the Sasanian camp. Bursting out of the darkness and into the flickering light thrown up by hundreds of camp-fires. And as he did so, instantly the enemy encampment was thrown into confusion and uproar. Men leaping to their feet from where they had been sitting around their fires or emerging from their tents to see what was going on. Many of them without their weapons and body armour. Crying out, Corbulo flung one of his javelins at a man who was staring at him in dumbfound shock, unable to move. The missile thudded smartly into the man’s chest and sent him staggering backwards into his tent.

The Roman attack appeared to have caught the enemy completely by surprise and as the line of German horsemen came storming out of the darkness and went sweeping past the camp-fires and tents, their javelins mowed down everyone in their path, man and beast. The furious assault was creating utter carnage and confusion. Galloping past a richly decorated tent with a banner planted outside, Corbulo sent his second javelin into the back of a semi-naked running man, pitching him face down onto the ground. Retaining his third and final javelin, he started to wheel towards the mule pen he had observed earlier. But ahead his path was suddenly blocked and as a party of half armed Sasanians came rushing towards him, Corbulo veered away. Kicking at a man who tried to reach up and pull him from his saddle, Corbulo broke free and with a harsh cry he sent his last javelin hurtling into another Sasanian. The force of the impact sent the soldier staggering backwards and into one of the camp-fires where the flames instantly caught hold of him transforming him into a shrieking, human torch. Pulling his long cavalry spatha sword from his belt, Corbulo charged on through the Sasanian camp, his blade slashing furiously at the men rushing about him in the confusion.

At last raising his horn to lips, Corbulo hurriedly blew two long blasts, signalling his men to retreat. The attack having lasted barely a few minutes. Then he was off. His horse weaving its way through the smoke and chaos, past the dead and the wounded trying desperately to crawl towards safety. Past the tents that had been set on fire by his men. Moments later he shot away into the darkness, as his horn rang out once again, summoning his riders, Corbulo heard triumphant German voices following him back into the night. The thunder of their horses hooves beating the ground as they raced away.

Chapter Eleven - Leadership

Galloping westwards across the Syrian steppe the two companies of Frankish horsemen were formed up in their rhombus-shaped battle formations. With their officers stationed on the corners. The rhombus shape making it easier for the horsemen to wheel around if necessary. Each man clutching his spear and ovoid shaped shield, straining to maintain his position. Their helmets and coats of mail body armour gleaming in the afternoon sun. Leading the retreat holding the war banner of the first cohort of Salian Franks, Corbulo snatched a look over his shoulder at the mass of pursuing Sasanian cavalry. The enemy were still out of bow range. Arranged in a broad crescent shape, they were moving fast. Intent it appeared on catching and finishing off their quarry. The horsemen mounted upon their ponies and horses were racing after him. The beasts throwing up small clouds of dust and debris. The thud of thousands of hooves was shaking the earth. The lightly armed horse archers were mixed up with the fur clad horse clans from the steppes. Each man an expert rider. As if Asia were chasing Europe.

The pursuit had started earlier that morning and was turning into a running battle. A deadly game of chase, sometimes slow, sometimes fast but always relentless and never ending. And woe to those whose horses had become too tired to keep up. His men had become a band of fugitives on the run Corbulo thought. And the pressure was growing. One mistake on his part and it would all be over. Hopelessly outnumbered and out-ranged by the enemy horse archers, all he could do was run before the onslaught.

Tearing his gaze away from his pursuers, for a brief moment Corbulo’s eyes came to rest on Badurad who was sticking close to him. The eighteen year old riding for all he was worth. His cousin’s face was stained with sweat and he was blushing with youthful excitement. An angry bruise still visible across his cheek. While at Badurad’s side Linus too looked flushed. The pretty boy’s long blond hair streaming behind him. His face too still sporting bruise and cut marks from where Corbulo had kicked him. His mouth missing a tooth. The two youths were still untested Corbulo thought. They should not have been here but they were and it would be impossible to separate the childhood friends now. But the beating he had delivered to them both appeared to have done the trick and the two youths had given him no more trouble in the days that had followed. And it was just as well. For he could no longer afford to worry about Badurad’s safety. The youth was going to have to grow up and fast or he would not make it.

Switching his attention to the groups of Arab camel archers who were cantering across the green fields ahead of him, desperate to escape the pursuit, Corbulo hissed as he sucked air into his lungs. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest. The tension between the Arab mercenaries and his own Franks was growing worse with some of his riders publicly accusing the mercenaries of cowardice, for not taking part in the night raid on the Sasanian camp. It had taken all Corbulo’s authority to prevent a fight from breaking out between the two sides and Arif had not made it any easier by calling his Franks, stinking pale faced German scum. The discord, suspicion and racial tension appeared unbridgeable and he had to admit he too was somewhat surprised that Arif’s men were still with him.

“They are slowing down again Sir,” one of Corbulo’s bodyguards suddenly yelled in German. “The enemy - they are giving up the chase!”

Once again twisting in his saddle, Corbulo turned to look over his shoulder and as he did he saw that his bodyguard was only half right. The Sasanian horsemen had indeed slowed their pace to a walk but they were still coming on after him. They had not abandoned the pursuit. The enemy was content for now, it seemed, to drive him before them like a dog bullying a flock of sheep. Confident that he could do nothing to stop them.

Raising his cohort’s war banner above his head Corbulo abruptly slowed his own horse to a walk, his men obediently following his example until the two Roman cavalry companies were retreating before the enemy at a steady walk. Lowering his keffiyeh which was tightly wrapped around his lower face, Corbulo squinted at the enemy, his eyes taut with tension; his muscles tense and aching from the relentless pressure. His horse’s flanks were damp with sweat and stained with dust. The beast was gasping for breath; its large eyes bright and shining.

“Uncle,” Badurad gasped as he nudged his horse alongside. “Why are we slowing? Should we not use this opportunity to make our escape?”

“No,” Corbulo said. “We maintain contact with the enemy. Our job is to try and slow them down. If they walk, we walk. We will stick close to them as long as we can. The longer they are focussed on us the more time our comrades get to retreat to safety. And our horses need to rest.”

“As do theirs,” Linus called out.

“But is it not possible that unseen by us,” Badurad continued, “the Sasanians have already sent another force ahead to cut off our retreat. They could be setting a trap for us.”

“It’s possible,” Corbulo growled, “but unlikely. And if they have, we will deal with the situation when it occurs. One problem at a time, cousin.”

Sitting on his horse Badurad opened his mouth as if to say something before thinking better of it and remaining silent.

“Prefect,” one of his bodyguards called out, gesturing with his spear. But Corbulo had already noticed Harald, hurrying towards him.

“Corbulo,” the older officer called out as he rode up. “It’s about Arif and his men. I do not trust them.”

“We spoke about this already,” Corbulo replied turning to look away.

“We did,” Harald said hurriedly. “But I still don’t trust them. I want you to know that I believe Arif has had communications with the enemy during the night. I think he is going to switch sides.”

“You have proof that he has been talking to the enemy?” Corbulo said sounding resigned, his sombre eyes gazing ahead at the parties of retreating Arab camel riders.

“No,” Harald said shaking his head. “But I believe it is the truth. I think the Sasanians have bribed Arif into switching sides. The Arabs are going to betray us. They are just mercenaries, Corbulo. Hired men. They only care about the coins in their pockets and plunder. Arif is just waiting for the right moment to betray us. And when he does it will be our end.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Corbulo said refusing to look at his deputy as he walked his horse across the field.

“We cut our losses,” Harald said without hesitation. “We take off and we abandon the Arabs and we must do so quickly before they betray us.”

“You want to abandon our allies?”

“Yes,” Harald said nodding. “The risk that they will betray us is simply too great Corbulo. You cannot ignore the threat. Think of our men. You said it yourself. Mobius wanted you to bring all our soldiers home. That was his last wish. That is why he chose you to be our next prefect. We would be giving ourselves a chance of doing that by abandoning these traitors.”

“No we would not,” Corbulo replied turning to coolly eye his deputy. “You are wrong. Like it or not we need the Arabs to do the job we were entrusted to do. Or have you forgotten our orders. We are to slow down the enemy advance as best as we can. To cover the battle-group’s retreat. Our colleagues in the first infantry cohort are just a few miles over in that direction. We must buy them as much time as we can so that they can make their escape. And if we fail in this task we doom our colleagues. Don’t you see,” Corbulo snapped his face hardening. “Once those bastard Persians over there surround our infantry they will be able to pick our men off from a distance. Our boys will not be able to move. Without archers or slingers to protect them it will become a massacre. So no we would not be bringing our men home and that is not what Mobius would have wanted.”

“God-damn it Corbulo,” Harald swore, “you have seen and heard how those Arabs talk about us. What they call us. I am telling you. Arif has been talking to the enemy. He is preparing to betray us.”

“I know the risks,” Corbulo replied calmly, “but I am not willingly splitting up my command because they are different to us. Because of a few unsubstantiated rumours. I have made my decision. I will not abandon our allies. That would be dishonourable. No. For this thing to succeed we have no choice but to work together.”

Shaking his head, looking displeased, Harald took a deep breath. “I have always known you to be honourable man - Corbulo,” the older officer growled, “but that same honour makes you blind. Not all men are honourable like you. These Arabs are nothing but the filth of the desert. They have no loyalty to us. They don’t care about Rome. They just want to get rich. Their loyalty is to the highest bidder. It would be a mistake to trust them. If you get this wrong Corbulo, you are going to get us all killed.”

“I am not blind to the risks, centurion and I have heard you,” Corbulo replied in an even voice. “But I have made my decision. We have our orders and we are going to carry them out. We will cover the battle-group’s retreat until they have made it into the safety of the mountains and the Arabs are going to play their part in that. That will be all.”

Looking unconvinced the older officer paused. Then at last he rapped out a salute, turned his horse around and started back towards his own men who were moving across the field at a steady walk.

For a moment Corbulo watched him go. Then with a sigh he quickly looked up to check the position of the sun.

“Where is Atlas when you need him?” Corbulo murmured to himself. His expression suddenly sour.

Picking up his pace Corbulo urged his horse onwards across the green fields with his men following until he had caught up with the parties of Arab camel archers. Spotting Arif he headed straight towards the Arab commander. Noticing him approaching Arif’s expression darkened with suspicion.

“The enemy are testing us,” Corbulo called out in Latin as he fell in alongside the Arab. “These sudden charges and then this slower pace - I expect it will continue for the rest of the day. How are your men coping?”

“We’ll manage,” Arif replied in a sullen manner. “And regards the Sasanians. If they really wanted to catch us they would have done so by now. They are holding back. Maybe they fear being ambushed or maybe they are low on ammunition for their archers. Maybe they are just stupid.”

“Maybe,” Corbulo said shrugging. “Maybe they don’t want to get too far ahead of their infantry supports. Frankly I don’t care as long as they do not find our infantry column. But one thing is certain. The enemy know that we cannot stop them. They are winning. They do not need to fight in order to drive us back. We can use that overconfidence against them.”

“How long do you intend for this charade to continue?” Arif growled, turning to eye Corbulo.

“It will take Macrianus and our infantry colleagues two more days to reach the mountains,” Corbulo replied. “So two more days. Then our job is done. We can do this.”

“I am tired of retreating,” Arif replied. “I am tired of being driven onwards like a goat. My arse hurts and my camel is in a foul mood.”

“Still you are well paid for your service,” Corbulo replied. “And this is the job that we have been given. So stop complaining. We must do what we can to slow the enemy down. However I need to talk to you about something else.”

“About the incident the other day,” Arif said, glaring at Corbulo. “About how your men called us cowards?”

“Yes. This trouble between German and Arab,” Corbulo said choosing his words carefully, “it has to stop. Your men Arif are not cowards but equally you are not doing enough. You abandoned your positions at the bridge. You took no part in the night raid and now some of my officers think that you are untrustworthy. And that is a problem for me. I am in command and for us to succeed I need you and your men to show me that you can fight. We are in this together after all. I cannot do this without your support.”

“We know how to fight,” Arif snapped.

“I have a plan,” Corbulo continued turning his eyes to the mountains looming in the west, “a plan to give these Sasanians a bloody nose. To make them think twice about pursuing us so closely. You want respect Arif. Well respect must be earned. But it can only work with your full and enthusiastic cooperation. So can I rely on you to do your job?”

“You have a plan,” Arif said turning to eye Corbulo with his dark eyes.

For a moment the Arab mercenary commander paused considering what had just been said. Then to Corbulo’s surprise Arif turned to point at Badurad who was sitting on his horse nearby.

“You,” the Arab leader called out, “you still claim to be the prefect’s cousin? You still stand by what you told me?”

“I am his cousin,” Badurad replied staring back at Arif with a frown. “I was not lying old man.”

“What is this about?” Corbulo exclaimed looking confused. “You two know each other?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Arif said gazing at Badurad with a sudden crooked, amused grin.

“Told me what?” Corbulo snapped.

But on his horse Badurad had suddenly gone very quiet, refusing to meet Corbulo’s eye as a deep embarrassed blush crept onto his youthful cheeks.

“All right,” Arif said turning his attention back to Corbulo, his eyes suddenly hard as flint. “I am not getting involved in your family affairs. However it seems that your cousin likes to keep secrets from you prefect. So you should know then, that your cousin, came to me last night with a proposal to end the quarrel between Arab and German. He proposed that my men would get first pick of any captured loot in exchange for my friendship and continued cooperation. And now that the offer has been made it cannot be unmade. So I now expect the proposal to be honoured. My men are to get first pick of any captured loot.”

Sat upon his horse Corbulo blinked.

“Is this true? You went and spoke to this man behind my back,” he said turning to Badurad and speaking in German so that the Arabs could not understand.

Sat upon his horse Badurad’s face had gone red as a beetroot and for a moment he was unable to offer a defence.

“I thought it would help,” the youth muttered at last in German. “I thought I could put an end to the tension between our two peoples. I saw that you were concerned by the issue. So I thought I could solve the problem for you. To help. I did not mean to go behind your back, uncle. I made a reasonable offer.”

“God-damn it Badurad. It was not your place to try and do so,” Corbulo said, anger flaring. “And now you have made matters worse!”

“We were only trying to help Corbulo Sir,” Linus called out in German coming to Badurad’s aid.

“No, you will not speak!” Corbulo snapped wagging a warning finger in Linus’s direction. “You should have talked to me first,” Corbulo continued turning back to Badurad. “Anyway I thought you despised these Arabs. But now you are making deals with them?”

“I do,” Badurad said lowering his eyes. “They are nothing but thieves. But I was trying to help you uncle. I thought it would be a good idea.”

Taking a deep breath Corbulo restrained himself and for a moment a tense silence reigned among the allies as the riders moved on across the fields. Then at last Corbulo turned to Arif.

“You know perfectly well,” Corbulo replied in Latin his voice cold as ice, “that all loot and bonuses are shared equally among all soldiers, both Arab and German. There will be no exceptions to this rule. It is out of the question that your men will get the first pick. No one in my command will get preferential privileges. Everyone will get treated the same way. That is fair.”

“Nevertheless your cousin made the offer,” Arif said with a shrug as he trotted on across the field. “And now that the offer has been made I accept. My men will get first pick of the loot and in exchange, I shall be your best friend and show you how we can fight. I will help you carry out this plan of yours. You have my word.”

“The youth was not authorised to make such an offer,” Corbulo snapped. “He acted on his own and the proposal is therefore invalid.”

“A promise is a promise,” Arif retorted with a shrug. “Unless in the forest land from where you come from they do not care about keeping their word. But do not be so hard on your cousin. For a German the boy has a good, noble heart. It took courage to do what he did. He is still young but I like him.”

Looking away with a pained expression Corbulo remained silent for a moment. Apart from the casual insult he now had another problem to deal with. His own Franks would never stand for being relegated when it came to stealing from the enemy. Plunder and loot being an important component of their motivation and income. At last appearing to gather himself, Corbulo turned to Badurad. His expression hard and unforgiving.

“Badurad,” he said sharply speaking in Latin, “I have a task for you. As you appear to have made a new friend from now on you will accompany Arif and act as my liaison between his men and our own. You will go with him and scout the land ahead and find me a suitable ambush site. Then you both will report back to me. I shall give you until night fall.”

“So this is your plan?” Arif said with a little mocking smile. “An ambush? Very original.”

“Yes,” Corbulo replied. “It’s worth trying. The enemy appear overconfident after their victory at Edessa. But I am not Valerian and my Franks are not men who will surrender easily. We strike back at the enemy whenever we can. The plan is simple. My horsemen will lure the Sasanians into the range of your bows. The Germans will act as the bait while you and your Arabs, Arif will do the killing. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Sure we know how to kill,” Arif said with a shrug. “My men are excellent archers but we work even better when we know that we shall be well rewarded. What then about the promise your cousin made to me? My men should get first pick. Are we in agreement?”

“No,” Corbulo said firmly shaking his head. “We are not. While you are under my command any loot shall be shared out equally among all men. There will be no privileges. My cousin’s proposal is not going to happen. For if we do not work together, you and I, German and Arab, then it is likely that no one will get anything at all. However,” Corbulo added pausing. “If we are successful and on condition that your men play their part well and decisively, I shall personally speak to Macrianus to get him to agree to give your mercenaries a monetary bonus.”

For a moment Corbulo paused eyeing Arif with a stern look.

“That promise is the best that you are going to get,” he continued. “And if you don’t like it - well you had better leave right now then be gone from my sight. And if you decide to leave or if you fail to keep your word as a soldier, I will be forced to explain to everyone that Arif of the desert cannot be trusted. I will ruin your reputation. No one will hire you as a mercenary after that.”

As Corbulo fell silent, the tension however immediately started to ratchet up. Looking away Arif’s face darkened again and for a long moment he did not reply. But neither did he make a move to leave.

“A promise is a promise,” Arif growled at last, looking unhappy, “even the Sasanians would not break their word. You disappoint me Corbulo.”

“You have your orders,” Corbulo said sharply. “Now ride ahead and find me a suitable ambush spot and be back before night fall. Show me that you know how to fight Arif before I start to doubt you. And you,” Corbulo said, rounding on Badurad and switching to German, “will learn how these things are done. You will keep your ears and eyes open and when you return I expect a full report on what you have learned about these Arabs.”

Chapter Twelve - Ambush

Dawn had come and in the east the sun was rising. A majestic red ball, unstoppable, radiating heat, light, bending all living things to its will. Sat upon his horse with his bodyguards clustering around him Corbulo was observing the enemy encampment from a rocky outcrop. His keffiyeh tightly wrapped around his lower face. His Roman cavalry helmet gleaming in the strengthening light. His fingers wrapped around the banner of the first cohort of Salian Franks. His eyes taking in the enemy dispositions. Their state of preparedness.

Camped out across the green fields the vast host of Sasanian cavalry were still organising themselves. Taking their time to finish their breakfasts and prepare their horses. They did not appear to be in a hurry to get going. But standing guard around the edges of the enemy camp groups of Kushan and Khazar, light cavalry were already sitting on their mounts, the Sasanian mercenaries observing the small group of Romans in turn.

Sitting upon his horse beside his uncle, Badurad too was gazing at the enemy. The youth looking calm and strangely at ease in Corbulo’s company. As if he belonged there. As if something had changed. As if he had at last found a role that agreed with him. The first dark wisps of a beard puckered across his chin. His hand gripping a spear. His cavalry shield was slung across his back. And something had changed between the two of them. The tension and irritation that had existed before appeared to have gone. As if uncle and cousin had finally come to an understanding - an agreement.

At last Corbulo shifted his eyes away from the enemy and turned his gaze to the west and the line of mountains visible in the hazy distance. The terrain had steadily grown greener and more fertile the further west they went. The arid steppe giving way to proper agricultural land. But there was no sign of Arif’s Arabs. They had disappeared. But hidden in a fold of the land where they had made camp that night, he knew his two companies of mounted Franks were already in the saddle, waiting for his signal.

“Why fight - Sir?” Badurad said at last, glancing at Corbulo with a questioning look. “I mean why take the risk? We don’t have to. Why not wait for the enemy to come to us instead. It would be easier and safer if we just continued to fall back like we have been doing. You said it yourself uncle - that our job was to cover our colleagues retreat.”

For a moment Corbulo did not reply as he turned his eyes back towards the enemy camp.

“Manhood,” Corbulo replied at last with a shrug. “Pride. I don’t like losing. Take your pick. That’s why we are going to fight. That is why we are going to punch these Sasanians in the face. It won’t stop their advance but it will remind them that they have not won just yet. I want to remind them who they are dealing with. I lost some good friends at Edessa.”

Hearing the thud of hooves rapidly approaching, Corbulo turned in his saddle and saw that it was Harald. And as the centurion in command of the 2nd company rode up he once again looked displeased.

“Corbulo,” the older officer growled in a grave sounding voice, “I must protest. This is insane. I am telling you Arif and his men are going to betray us. This ambush - its not going to turn out as you expect. Arif will choose this moment to turn on us. He and his men have been bought by Sasanian gold. We cannot trust them to carry out their part of your plan.”

“I disagree,” Corbulo replied in a patient voice. “Arif will do as instructed. My plan will work.”

“How the hell can you be so sure that it will,” Harald snapped, looking exasperated. “None of our men trust these Arabs. They steal from everyone.”

“I trust Arif, Sir,” Badurad said suddenly turning to the centurion. “Arif will carry out his orders. I have got to know him a little over these last few days. For an Arab he is an honourable man.”

“I was not asking you boy,” Harald said rounding on Badurad. “You do not know what you are talking about. You nearly got a whole company of our men killed by your foolishness from which I saved you. And everyone here knows that you are a spoilt brat who only gets away with things because you are the prefect’s cousin. So shut the fuck up. I am not talking to you.”

“I agree with you Harald,” Corbulo said calmly eyeing his deputy, “he is a stupid boy and he has done many foolish things. He still has much to learn but I have known him a lot longer than you and if Badurad has one redeeming quality it is that he is willing to learn from his mistakes.”

“So you are putting our fate in this boy’s hands, you are trusting his judgement,” the centurion said sounding incredulous. “If you get this wrong Corbulo you are going to get us all killed.”

“Arif has taken a liking to him,” Corbulo said coolly gesturing at Badurad. “He appears to have taken the youth into his confidence. I need to use that. To ease the tension between us, between German and Arab. And it so happens that I share my cousin’s assessment. Arif will not betray us. He will do as instructed. He may not fully trust us but he trusts the Sasanians even less. So I have made my decision. We use the Arabs. We proceed with the ambush.”

“This is a mistake, Corbulo.”

“The enemy are riding high right now. After their victory at Edessa they think they are unbeatable,” Corbulo replied, his eyes resting upon his deputy. “So I intend to bring them down a peg. To give them a bloody nose and for that I need my Arab archers. Our plan is good.”

Swearing softly to himself Harald turned to look away, his face filled with sudden concern. Then without saying another word he rode off back to his men.

​***

Raising his curved horn to his lips Corbulo blew on it and moments later as the mournful noise rang out across the fields he was off, trotting straight towards the enemy encampment. And as he did, the two hundred and four Roman horsemen began to advance upon the enemy. The eight squadrons of the 2nd and 3rd companies massed in their V shaped assault formations. With the decurion’s, cavalry officers, leading at the very tip of the wedges.

“Stick close,” Corbulo called out, half turning to Badurad and Linus who were riding directly behind him. The youths faces flushed. “Do not allow yourself to get separated! And fight to the last. Do not ever give up! Pride lads. Take pride in who you are.”

Advancing at a trot towards the enemy camp, Corbulo sucked air into his lungs, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. His expression was grim as he gripped his thrusting spear while holding his cavalry shield in his other hand. The plumes on his helmet streamed behind him. His horn rested against his chest. His coat of well made mail body-armour clinging tightly to his torso. And as he moved forwards his lips started to work, silently recalling the long line of his ancestors names and their deeds. A silent battle song whose words only he knew.

Steadily the Roman advance began to pick up speed closing with the enemy and as the Franks came on they lowered their spears, as if preparing to charge. In the enemy camp however, their approach had been noticed and trumpets and cries of alarm were already ringing out. Peering at the advancing squadrons of German cavalry the Sasanians appeared baffled and undecided and for the moment they did not respond. The groups of mounted warriors guarding the camp in their exotic and outlandish dress stared at the Romans in disbelief. Caught off-guard. Surprised that such a small band of horsemen would dare to attack their camp and in broad daylight. But while the enemy horsemen maintained their position masses of Sasanian foot archers were already rushing to take up defensive positions at the edge of their camp.

As his squadrons approached across the fields in a broad battle-line Corbulo once again blew on his horn and obediently his German riders came to a halt just outside of the range of the enemy bowmen. And as they did, a strange silence settled across the fields with the two sides eye-balling each other. But the subtle challenge Corbulo had laid down was clear to all. The eerie silence and the presence of his men screaming - screw you - at the Sasanians. The two hundred and four Germans looking horribly exposed and outnumbered by their foe. Their path ahead blocked by the enemy archers and bands of horsemen.

“What are they waiting for?” Corbulo heard Linus whisper loudly behind him.

For a long moment nothing more happened. The silence was unsettling as both sides tried to discern the other’s intentions. Then Corbulo grunted as from the enemy camp he suddenly saw troops of Sasanian horsemen starting to move out. The riders cantered away towards both his flanks. Their intention obvious - to surround him and cut off his retreat. The enemy appeared to have overcome their initial surprise. Now they meant business. Seeing the move he calmly raised his horn to his lips and blew on it. Before turning his horse around and starting to trot back the way he had just come. And as Corbulo did so the squadrons of Roman cavalry started to do the same, wheeling about in a silent and well executed manoeuvre. Peering at the bands of enemy horsemen who were moving parallel to him and who were still trying to cut-off his men, Corbulo rode on, steadily urging his horse into a faster pace as the enemy did the same. Until before long he and his men were galloping away westwards in full flight with the enemy chasing after them across the fields. The silence was shattered by elated and triumphant Sasanian voices.

“Ride,” Corbulo yelled as he led his men across the fields. “Ride! Ride!”

The Romans however needed no further encouragement. The horsemen were charging across the ground. Riding for their lives. The thunder of hooves was shaking the earth. The hot sun was looking on. Peering ahead, Corbulo at last spotted the dried-out river bed that snaked away across the land. The steep wadi was lined with a few stunted trees and boulders but the fields around it were deserted. The country was still and quiet as if it was holding its breath. Veering sharply towards the wadi, Corbulo led his men onwards. His change of course forced his pursuers to react and follow. Luring them straight into the ambush, straight into the killing zone he had chosen for them. Peering ahead Corbulo gasped. There was still no sign of Arif’s men but they would be there. The Arabs would be there waiting on their camels hidden in the wadi - lined up and ready to ambush the enemy. To rake them with their arrows as they charged on by.

Snatching a look over his shoulder, Corbulo saw that the mass of pursuing Sasanian cavalry had just entered the kill zone. The enemy was still blissfully unaware of the mortal danger they were in as they raced along the edge of the dried up river bed. Their flanks were exposed to the Arabs hidden in the wadi. Hurriedly Corbulo pressed his horn to his lips and blew. It was the signal summoning Arif and his men into the fight. But as his horn rang out nothing happened. Turning to stare across at the wadi Corbulo felt a sudden sense of dread. What was this? But as he once again frantically blew on his horn nothing happened. No one appeared. The slopes of the wadi remained silent and deserted. There was no sign of Arif’s men surging into view to hammer the enemy with their missiles.

“No,” Corbulo heard Badurad suddenly shriek in horror. “No, it can’t be!”

And then he too saw it. Directly ahead. A solitary spear had been driven into the earth and stuck on top was a human head. Arif’s head. As Corbulo went thundering past his eyes widened in horror and shock as he took in the grizzly, bloody scene. But there could be no mistake. It was Arif’s head.

“Betrayal Sir,” Badurad screamed. “We have been betrayed.”

But there was no time to respond to his cousin, for moments later a great savage roar rose up from the wadi and surging up the slopes of the river bed, bands of Arabs mounted on their camels came surging into view. But the Arab archers weapons were not trained on the Sasanians. They were pointing straight at their German allies.

“Watch out!” a German voice screamed.

Cursing out loud, Corbulo acted instantly, veering sharply away from the wadi, trying to get out of range of the Arab bows. But it was already too late. With a whining noise an arrow sped past his head, narrowly missing him while behind him he heard some of his men crying out as they were hit. There was however nothing he could do for them. Pounding the earth the Romans shot away, frantically trying to make their escape. His face darkening with rage, Corbulo snatched another look over his shoulder and as he did, he groaned. His once well ordered squadrons had lost their battle formations and it was every man for himself now. The Germans were fleeing in wild disorder from their pursuers. But the Arabs were slow to set off in pursuit and their ambush of his men had appeared half hearted at best. As if not all of the Arab mercenaries were fully committed to the action.

“God-damn traitors!” a German voice roared. “They fucked us!”

Forcing his horn to his lips Corbulo once more blew on it, desperately summoning his men to their battle standard as if to make a last stand. Doing his best to keep his men together. And a few moments later the Arab shooting and arrows ceased as the surviving German horsemen burst away across the fields, moving out of the range of their former allies weapons.

“Rally,” Corbulo bellowed at the men who were still with him. “Rally on me and your standard!”

“Arif screwed us,” Corbulo suddenly heard a furious voice yelling at him. “I told you that those Arabs would betray us!”

“Arif did not betray us!” Corbulo roared back as his deputy came rushing towards him and the two of them raced away across the fields side by side. “He was murdered by his own men. Did you not see his head back there. There must have been a mutiny among the Arabs. Some of them must have wanted to change sides but Arif would not agree to that. So they killed him.”

“They still fucked us,” Harald roared. “I warned you Corbulo!”

“Yes and I heard you,” Corbulo shouted back. “And I will take full responsibility. And if you want you can lodge a complaint about me. But right now I need you to help me get our men out of trouble. We ride for Macrianus’ camp!”

Chapter Thirteen - A New Assignment

July

Inside the Roman army tent standing side by side studying Corbulo in perfect poised silence, Macrianus and Balista made an odd pair. The former - the product on an elite education, with his deformed foot, appeared burdened by a hundred separate problems. As if he alone were carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. While the latter was tall and bearded. Arrogant and crude like a barbarian - with the empty, fathomless eyes of a killer. The two most powerful men in the Roman east were listening to Corbulo’s report and as Corbulo finally finished speaking Macrianus appeared to ponder on what had been said before reaching out to lay a friendly paternal hand upon Corbulo’s shoulder.

“So not everything went according to plan,” Macrianus said. “It is to be expected in war. True leadership is not about carrying out a plan. It is about successfully dealing with unexpected events and challenges and you Corbulo appear to have conducted yourself well in that regard. I shall not blame you for the loss of the Arab mercenaries. Shit like that happens. What matters is that you did your job - prefect - and you did it as well as could be expected. Your rearguard action allowed the rest of us to get away. So well done. I am glad that you managed to extract most of your men and return to me. Your Franks are highly prized veterans and I am going to need fine soldiers like that - now more than ever. The military situation grows worse by the day.”

“Thank you Sir,” Corbulo replied stiffly.

Nodding, Macrianus turned his attention back to the map that lay upon the table.

“The Sasanians are pouring into Syria, Cilicia and Cappadocia,” Macrianus continued in a resigned voice. “They are already at the Syrian Gates having bypassed Antioch this time. Looks like Antoninus was right after all. This is increasingly looking like a large scale raid and not a war of conquest. King Shapur has split his forces. We believe he has done so in order to maximise the amount of damage he can do and also so that he collect as much plunder as he can. Splitting his army also demonstrates that he does not fear us. The Sasanians appear mainly interested in looting. We have identified three main enemy columns. One enemy column is heading for Tarsus and the rich farmlands of Cilicia while Balista thinks the second, which is led by Shapur himself, has as main target the town of Caesarea Mazaca, the capital of Cappadocia. The third appears to be devastating the country between Zeugma, Beroia and Hierapolis. Covering the southern flank of the invasion. The good news is that our cities are closing their gates on the enemy. No one is surrendering. But there is not much we can do to stop the Sasanian advance. We simply do not have the soldiers. King Shapur is looting, plundering and taking slaves as he advances. He is devastating the countryside. There is a tidal wave of refugees scrambling to get out of his way. The situation is pretty bad.”

“Your strategy to keep our battle-group intact is sound Sir,” Corbulo said lowering his eyes. “Keeping our soldiers together as a fighting force must be our first priority.”

“You offering us advice now - prefect,” Balista cut in sharply, his eyes gleaming with disapproval.

“It’s all right Balista,” Macrianus said quickly raising his hand before a little amused smile appeared across his lips. “Corbulo is a soldier and a good man. He cannot help himself for he wants us to win. He has our interests are heart - don’t you Corbulo?”

“I have a duty to my men,” Corbulo replied. “I swore an oath.”

“So you do and so you did,” Macrianus said lightly, still smiling. “An oath of allegiance to my sons, the co-emperors of Rome. And you being a noble man with a sense of duty and honour, I have no doubt that you shall be loyal to me and my family. I have heard that loyalty is much valued among the German tribes. It is a noble attribute.”

“It is Sir,” Corbulo said stiffly, lowering his gaze. “My Franks are the best of the best. They live for war.”

“You and I,” Balista interrupted, sounding suspicious, his cold, displeased eyes fixed upon Corbulo. “We don’t really know each other do we. But I would like to get to know you a bit better Corbulo. You speak German for instance. That is interesting as your imperial file to which I have access, states that you are a member of an old and famous equestrian family who rose to prominence under the Emperor Trajan. So how come you speak German and have spent so long leading a band of mere foederati? I would have thought a man from such noble family and standing would have secured himself a much more important position by now?”

“I grew up on the Rhine Sir,” Corbulo replied. “In the shadow of the base of the Thirtieth legion at Trajan’s colony. Everyone there speaks German. And prefect of my vexillation is an important position.”

“It is a temporary position,” Balista retorted. “Your ancestors were legionary commanders and senators. But you. You stick to your Germans. Have you no ambition?”

“To make my ancestors proud, Sir,” Corbulo replied quickly looking up at Balista. “That is my ambition.”

Gazing back at him Corbulo was suddenly aware of Balista’s sharp penetrating gaze. As if the man was trying to see into his heart and pry open all his secrets.

“Ambition is what a makes a man,” Balista growled at last. “Those who claim to have no ambition are liars and those that have loads of ambition must be watched. For they could become a threat. Are you a threat Corbulo? Are you a threat to me and the co emperors?”

“No Sir.”

“How exactly did your family make their wealth?”

Lifting his eyes Corbulo once again gazed back at Balista.

“I do not know all the details on how they first came into money,” Corbulo replied evenly. “But I know they made their fortune during Trajan’s Dacian war. Marcus was the only one of my family to have been a senator. His son Fergus never took up his seat and his daughters did not qualify.”

“I see,” Balista continued. “Your imperial file also states that you were born at Colonia Ulpia Traiana on the Rhine. I know the place well. Gallienus, Valerian’s son has many supporters in the frontier provinces on the Rhine. The people there look to him after all to keep them safe from the barbarians across the river. Are you a supporter of Gallienus?”

For a moment Corbulo paused, his wary eyes fixed upon his interrogator. The praetorian prefect appeared to be testing him.

“I have never met Gallienus,” Corbulo said choosing his words carefully. “So I cannot say whether he is any good or not. All I know is that it is soldiers like myself who keep our people safe. And with respect,” he continued in an even voice, “if that is what the imperial records say about me then they are wrong. I may speak German but I am not of German blood. I spent most of my youth at the Colonia where my step-father was an officer in the Thirtieth Legion but my ancestral home is on the isle of Vectis in Britannia. That is where I and my brothers were born. I am of Roman and Celtic blood.”

Staring back at him Balista remained silent for a moment. However he appeared unconvinced by Corbulo’s answer.

“Ah Vectis,” Balista exclaimed at last with a cold smile. “Yes I know the island on the south coast. So your family are still living there? Tell me about them.”

“They are. I have an aunt who looks after our estate and a sister. Her name is Cata. The farm has been in our family for over two hundred and sixty years. But you already knew that don’t you,” Corbulo added.

Gazing back at Corbulo, Balista expression did not change.

“Good,” Balista replied at last. “I know the commander of the garrison at Isca. The base is not too far from Vectis.”

Gazing across the table at Balista, Corbulo remained silent, biting his tongue but Balista’s subtle unspoken threat had not gone unnoticed. The praetorian prefect’s meaning clear. If he showed disloyalty to Macrianus, his family on Vectis would suffer in return.

“Corbulo,” Macrianus now spoke up smiling broadly, the tone of his voice trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t take it the wrong way. It is the job of the praetorian prefect to be aware of any threats against the Emperor’s family. To be suspicious. But don’t take it personally. Balista is just trying to make sure that my subordinate officers are loyal men. That they are not going to stab me in the back or poison my milk. You understand that we cannot tolerate any traitors in our midst. Being a member of the imperial family comes with great risks and dangers and Balista is just trying to protect me.”

“I swore an oath to the new emperors, your sons,” Corbulo said turning to Macrianus. “I covered our retreat from Samosata. I lost some good men. What else would you like me to do?”

Exchanging a quick look with Balista, Macrianus hesitated. Then he turned his attention back to the map.

“We have come to a decision as to our strategy on how we are going to handle King Shapur’s invasion,” Macrianus said. “Antoninus had it right. I will grant the fat bastard that much. We must conserve and gather our strength and strike the enemy when he is on his way back home burdened by his spoils. That is when he will be most vulnerable. So I,” Macrianus said looking up at Corbulo, “shall follow the King of Kings north across the mountains to Caesarea Mazaca and seek to damage the invaders as much as possible. Meanwhile Balista here will take the rest of our forces and follow the other Sasanian column westwards into Cilicia. Together we shall try and re-establish our defensive line. We are recruiting new troops but it will take some time before we are able to openly confront the Sasanians. Until then we shall harass the enemy. We will attack their foragers and looting parties. Try and give them no rest. Make them pay for every atrocity that they commit. Show them that they are not welcome.”

“So we fight,” Corbulo said nodding in agreement. “Good.”

“Yes we continue the fight,” Macrianus said. “But not you - Corbulo. I have another task for you.”

“I am a soldier, war is my business,” Corbulo said looking confused.

“Well now I need you to do something else for me,” Macrianus said. “Your remember my friend Uranius Antoninus. The man you saved out in the desert. I sent him to the city of Palmyra to conclude an alliance with king Odaenathus. Since then however I have heard nothing from Antoninus. Not a word. Nothing. So I want you Corbulo to hand over your command to a subordinate and go to Palmyra yourself and find out what is going on. If Antoninus still lives you are to remind him that time presses and that he needs to get this done. If he never made it to Palmyra, either being killed on the way there or having deserted our cause, I am authorising you to take his place and negotiate directly with the Palmyrenes. King Odaenathus is an important man and we must have our alliance. The king must publicly recognise my sons as the co-Emperors of the Roman world. With the Palmyrene army fully on our side we will be able to do real damage to the Sasanians. You understand what is at stake here don’t you Corbulo? Failure is not acceptable. Poor defenceless women and children will suffer if we do not conclude this alliance. Many will die unnecessarily if we fail. That will be on your and Antoninus’s conscious.”

Staring back at Macrianus, Corbulo was momentarily lost for words. It was not the sort of thing he had ever done before but Macrianus appeared to have made a persuasive case, one which he knew he could not refuse.

“If those are your orders Sir, then I shall go to Palmyra,” Corbulo replied inclining his head, “but may I also request that Antoninus’s wife, Claudia accompany me to see her husband?”

“Not a chance, Claudia stays here,” Balista snapped folding his arms across his chest.

“I am afraid the journey would be too dangerous for her,” Macrianus said forcing a little smile onto his lips as he eyed Corbulo. “It is better for her if she stays here with me but please do remind Antoninus that his wife is looking forward to seeing him again. The sooner he concludes his business with king Odaenathus, the sooner he will see his beloved again.”

“And your Franks, prefect, the whole Rhine vexillation - both mounted and infantry,” Balista added eyeing Corbulo coolly, “will in the meantime be transferred to my command and accompany me to the west and into Cilicia. Don’t worry. I shall look after them while you are away.”

“The whole vexillation,” Corbulo said taking a deep unhappy breath.

“That’s right,” Balista said staring back at him. “They are the best troops we have got and I am going to need them. But don’t worry. You will get them back once you return with success from Palmyra.”

“Go to Palmyra, Corbulo,” Macrianus said advancing towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder, “and find out what is going on. Antoninus is a friend but sometimes even friends need a little encouragement. He should have sent me word of his progress by now. Remind him to hurry up. We need that alliance! The war does not wait.”

Chapter Fourteen - Choosing a Side

Emerging from the command post into the cool air, looking thoughtful, Corbulo paused for a moment to gaze around at the camp in the mountains. Among the pine tree forest the Roman soldier’s tents were pitched across the broken uneven ground and in the fading evening light - dotted across the slopes - the men’s camp fires glowed like torches. While groups of miserable looking civilian refugees were hunkering down around their wagons and handcarts. Sharing what food they still had. Their belongings were piled onto the carts. The mountain forest was alive with the bleating of goats, neighing horses and a few barking dogs.

The mood among the people in the camp however appeared subdued and there was none of the usual laughter, banter, music and singing. As if the civilians mourned the loss of their homes and the soldiers realised they were no longer an army but a band of fugitives on the run. The mountains only providing temporary cover and escape. Then Corbulo sighed as he caught sight of Harald, the centurion in command of the 2nd company of mounted Franks. Spotting him in turn the older officer solemnly rose to his feet and came towards him from where he had been sitting waiting on a large boulder.

“Macrianus appears pleased with us,” Corbulo said speaking quietly in German, eyeing the older officer. “He said that we did a good job. But if you still wish to make a formal complaint against me then I will not stop you. You must do what you think is right.”

“Yeah about that,” Harald said nodding, looking grave. “I am not going to pursue it Corbulo. I am not going to make a complaint. You were in command and you did what you thought was necessary. That is your job. You could not have known that Arif’s own men would murder him. Unfortunately such are the times we live in. Besides it would break old Hostes’s heart if he heard that I had spoken against you - his adopted son. So out of respect for the old warrior I am going to let it go. Water under the bridge as they say.”

“So we are good, you and I,” Corbulo said.

“Yes,” Harald replied. “You are our prefect. The men follow you.”

For a moment Corbulo remained silent. Then he nodded, his eyes revealing a brief glimpse of appreciation.

“I have been given new orders,” Corbulo said at last averting his eyes. “Macrianus has instructed me to hand over the vexillation to a subordinate. It is only temporary for a month or so while I am away.”

Pausing Corbulo looked serious.

“Now you Harald are probably the most experienced officer left from those of us who set out from the Rhine,” Corbulo continued turning to the centurion of the 2nd company, “but I am going to give the temporary command to Crastus. You are a better leader than him but Crastus outranks you and he has the support of the 1st cohort. It is in the best interests of the whole vexillation right now that there is no dispute between the senior officers on who is in command. We must remain united or we will never get back home. Plus as the vexillation is going to come under Balista’s command I will let Crastus have the joy of dealing with that praetorian dick head. Balista is heading west into Cilicia to shadow the enemy. So its likely that you will be moving out soon.”

“I see,” Harald said. “So what are you going to be doing?”

“I am going to Palmyra. A diplomatic mission,” Corbulo replied raising his chin. “Don’t ask me why Macrianus picked me. He just did. It’s not like I could refuse him. Macrianus is not happy at the pace of the negotiations with king Odaenathus. He wants results and fast.”

“Palmyra! But that’s way out in the southern desert,” Harald exclaimed looking startled. “Three hundred miles from here! And the Sasanian invaders are swarming over the roads to the south. It’s chaos. No one in their right mind would be travelling in that direction right now. Getting through is going to be dangerous if not impossible.”

“I will get through,” Corbulo replied. “I am taking Badurad with me. We will find a way. In the meantime I want you Harald to look after our men and keep an eye on Crastus for me. Give him the support he needs. Watch over him just like Hostes once asked you to watch over me,” Corbulo added with a sudden little knowing smile. “Yes I know he asked you to do so before we left for the east. I know. You don’t need to deny it.”

“Right,” Harald said looking resigned, lowering his gaze. “I will do what I can but are you sure about Crastus? I mean he only cares about his own ambition. Mobius did not want him as prefect precisely because he was not interested in getting our men back home. And if you ask me, that is still our most important task. To get the men home. Back to the Colonia. The lads want to see their families and homes again. What do we care about Syria and its wretched peoples? Our families and homes are not here. Too many of our lads have already died to protect this frontier. It’s not worth it if you ask me.”

“Crastus will only be in temporary command,” Corbulo said with a sigh. “Until I return. And you are right. Whoever commands our vexillation has a responsibility to get our men home but we are soldiers of Rome, Harald. We serve at the Emperor’s pleasure. We have a duty to defend our borders and the people here in Syria are just the same as the people on the Rhine. We cannot abandon them. I will not give up on them. That would be dishonourable. We are all Roman citizens, since nearly fifty years already. The eternal city binds us all together Harald. The German Hercules Magusanus is the same god as the Roman Hercules. Latin is heard and spoken from the Rhine delta to the furthest reaches of Egypt. A man in Britannia can do business from one end of the empire to the other. I will not let go to ruin what my ancestors helped build. For which they shed their blood. For they believed in the promise and glory of Rome and I do to.”

“Maybe that was true once,” Harald said with a shrug. “But if we as you say serve at the pleasure of the Emperor then I would like to know which one we are serving. For right now we have four Emperors, two here in Syria, one in the west and one languishing in Sasanian captivity. And the gods only know who else has proclaimed themselves Emperor just in the last week. Rome is divided, Corbulo and I am not the only one who has noticed.”

“Ah maybe you are right,” Corbulo said. “What do I know. It’s getting complicated. But someone has to look after the empire and its people,” he continued. “And if the higher ups don’t want the job, then it falls to us, men like you and me Harald - to keep things from falling apart. To keep the empire together. And we will. Because there is no alternative to Rome.”

Taking a deep breath Harald gazed back at Corbulo. Then at last he nodded.

“All right Corbulo, I hear you. Be careful out there,” the older officer said. “I don’t want to have to be the one who has to tell Hostes that you and Badurad have gone missing. The shock of losing you both would probably kill him.”

“Nothing can kill old Hostes,” Corbulo said tapping Harald lightly on his shoulder in a farewell gesture. “He is immortal. I will be back.”

​***

Inside the army tent the plush richly decorated furniture, the soft carpets and the pleasant scent could not mask the bitter resentment of its single occupant. Standing in the middle of the tent under the canvas, Claudia had her arms folded across her chest. Her long blond hair was streaming down her shoulders. Scorn radiating from her eyes. Her hostility was blazing forth like heat from the sun. While her voice was pregnant with the fury of a woman scorned.

“Macrianus was Antoninus’s friend,” she hissed staring back at Corbulo. “He was my friend too. We trusted him. He came to our wedding. But now! Now he has raised the banner of rebellion against Gallienus. Now I am his prisoner, his hostage! He has allowed power to go to his head. Now he no longer trusts me and my husband. Now he uses us as pawns. Now we are his enemy!”

“I understand,” Corbulo said lowering his voice and quickly glancing in the direction of the tent exit. “I too am not happy with the situation. But please Claudia. It is not wise to speak so plainly.”

“I will say whatever I god-damn like,” Claudia cried raising her voice. “And I do not care if those arseholes outside my tent hear me. Do you know that I cannot go anywhere without one of them following me. Macrianus has even assigned female guards to watch me, so that I have no privacy whatsoever. Well hear me now Macrianus, you piece of shit. I hope you go to hell! You are a traitor and a murderer. You are not my friend. I hope you burn for all eternity for what you have and are going to do!”

Lowering his eyes Corbulo sighed and for a moment the tent appeared to boil over with Claudia’s fury. From outside however there was no response and the night remained undisturbed.

“I wanted to speak to you before I leave for Palmyra,” Corbulo began quietly, eyeing Claudia with a sympathetic look. “Your husband, before he left, he asked me to try and look after you. I tried to get Macrianus to allow you to accompany me but he refused. So if you have a message you want to convey to your husband I will bring it to him.”

“Thank you Corbulo,” Claudia said averting her eyes, “but I do not need looking after. I am my father’s daughter. I am my brother’s sister.”

“Antoninus is in a difficult position,” Corbulo said quietly. “Like we all are right now. But for now we must go along with what is happening. A day of action will come but that day is not this day. So - patience.”

“You are god-damn right that a day will come for action,” Claudia hissed turning to Corbulo, her eyes blazing. “Gallienus is the only lawful and rightful Emperor. My brother Probus is loyal to Gallienus. Probus will rescue me. When he hears about Macrianus’s betrayal he will come for me and woe to any who dare stand in his way. My brother is going to burn a trail from Greece to the very edge of the desert. He is going to kill everyone who tries to stop him. Hear me Corbulo. When he is angered, Probus becomes a giant. And when he finally comes - Macrianus is going to be torn to shreds, limb by limb!”

“You have a message for your husband?” Corbulo said gazing at Claudia patiently. “I will convey it to him.”

For a moment Claudia did not respond. Then she appeared to gather herself before fixing her eyes upon Corbulo.

“Tell Antoninus this,” she snapped. “Tell my husband that whatever happens to me Macrianus and his sons must die!”

​***

It was just before dawn and to the east the blackness of night had started to turn a dark blue, heralding the rise of the sun. The Roman camp was still asleep and quiet and few men were up and about. Corbulo was checking and preparing his horse when a hand suddenly clasped hold of his shoulder. The unexpected movement making him jump in surprise and alarm. Hurriedly he turned around, half expecting to see Macrianus’s men coming to arrest him.

“Fucking hell,” Corbulo said sounding annoyed as he recognised the solitary man standing behind him. “Really Atlas! Do we have to always do this. You scared the shit out of me. What is wrong with just greeting me the normal way like anyone else does. I didn’t hear you approach.”

“Ah don’t take it the wrong way Sir. I like to surprise you,” Atlas replied with a little amused smile. “You Corbulo make an excellent subject on which to practise my skills. Good. So I have still got it. Silent like a cat.”

“So where the fuck have you been?” Corbulo said studying the Roman intelligence officer. “You do know that you work for me don’t you. That I expect you to do your job and provide me with regular reports.”

“Of-course. That is why I am here,” Atlas replied smoothly. “With the added bonus that you are the first prefect that I actually like working for.”

“Yeah well don’t get too attached to me,” Corbulo grumbled. “I am about to leave for Palymra. Crastus is going to be in charge while I am away. So you can practise creeping up on him. He will probably run you through with a sword though. Just a friendly warning.”

“So I heard,” Atlas sniffed. “But don’t worry Sir. There are other skills which I can practise on that turd Crastus. We’re going to have fun.”

“So,” Corbulo exclaimed appraising Atlas. “You have something for me?”

“I do,” Atlas replied quietly turning to look around but in the pre-dawn the two of them appeared to be alone. “For a start I have learned that the Sasanians have bribed our Arab mercenaries to switch sides.”

“Yeah you are a bit late with that,” Corbulo retorted. “I saw Arif’s head on a spike with my own eyes. The Arab’s betrayal is old news.”

“Right,” Atlas responded. “Well I still needed to report it. But there is more. It concerns Macrianus. I have been doing some polling and the impression that I am getting is that support for the new co-emperors is only skin deep. There is little real support for Macrianus among the people. They will support him as long as he wages war against the Sasanians but if Valerian were to return or if Macrianus makes peace with the enemy on unfavourable terms that support will evaporate and the people will turn on him. Thought you should know Sir.”

For a moment Corbulo remained silent as he took in what had just been said. “All right,” he nodded at last. “Good to know. Anything else?”

“No, that is all I have got for you right now.”

“Good,” Corbulo said hurriedly glancing around but among the stationary horses the two of them were alone. “Then I have a new task for you,” he added switching to German and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I want you to head north all the way to Thrace and seek out the legate of the Third Legion. His name is Probus. You are to pass on a message to him from me. Tell Probus that Macrianus and Balista are holding his sister Claudia hostage. And tell him that not everyone in Macrianus’s army believes in their rebellion.”

Gazing back at Corbulo, Atlas’s eyes gleamed.

“I think I am not going to write that down,” Atlas murmured. “For if Macrianus or Balista were to find out we would both lose our heads. You are serious aren’t you Corbulo. You are picking a side in the coming civil war.”

“Get it done,” Corbulo said quietly patting Atlas on his shoulder. “Every man must choose a side. Macrianus and his sons are never going to be able to rule the empire and I am not going down with them when they eventually fail. Gallienus is the only lawful Emperor. He alone must rule.”

Chapter Fifteen - The Road to Palmyra

Studying the burning farmstead as he trotted on by Corbulo’s expression was hidden by his keffiyeh. The Bedouin scarf was tied tightly around his lower face, leaving only his eyes unimpeded. While his woollen cloak hid his coat of Roman mail body armour, spatha long sword and pugio knife from prying eyes. His horse was snorting nervously as if it could sense death was close. The other spare horse obediently trotting along at his side, attached to its master by a rope. The beast was carrying their personal baggage, blankets, food and water. It was afternoon and high in the sky the sun baked the land. The steppe country was quiet except for the roar of the flames and the towering column of black smoke. Scattered in the fields that surrounded the farm however a number of goats and pigs had been slaughtered. The butchered animals were lying in groups or alone on their back with their stiff legs sticking up at the sky. The sweet stench of rotting bodies in the heat - a warning not to approach too closely.

“Look!” Badurad suddenly called out, pointing as he rode alongside Corbulo with Linus trailing just behind.

But Corbulo too had seen the corpses. The two men, a woman and three children had been strung up from the tree branches. Their bodies hanging and swaying gently in the hot breeze. Their feet bare and shoeless. Their heads drooping against their chests. Their clothes torn and soiled. Riding on past Corbulo stared at the dead in silence, taking in the forlorn sight. Before at last he turned his attention to the fields with their parched tufts of yellow grass - but there was no sign of anyone else about. The country appeared deserted. The farm abandoned.

“Sasanian scum,” Badurad hissed his face darkening as the three of them continued on their way, heading south. “Great Magusanus. Look! They even murdered the children. What barbarians. Who would do this? Should we not stop and give them a proper burial, uncle?”

“Why did they kill the goats and pigs?” Linus called out from where he was bringing up the rear. “I don’t understand. Why not just take them. They are valuable. Poor animals! What did they do to deserve this fate.”

“Who cares about the animals?” Badurad called out rounding on his friend.

“I do,” Linus retorted, a defiant blush creeping onto his youthful cheeks, his long blond hair tied back in a tight bun. “You know how much I care about animals. That’s the whole reason I don’t eat meat. It is only us humans who kill our own kind out of spite. Animals are nobler than us. They only kill when hunting. When they need to eat or when defending their young. Animals would never have killed for pleasure. It is only man who harbours such violence and hatred in their heart. We are the true wicked creatures of this world.”

“Sometimes Linus,” Badurad replied slowly shaking his head in dismay, “I think you are properly insane. How do you get away with such silly ideas. No one thinks like you do.”

“Well somebody has to think about the welfare of the animals,” Linus retorted glaring at his friend. “Someone has to care about them. You know that I am different. That I think differently to you Badurad. It was always the case, since we were still very young.”

“Yeah you were weird then and you are still weird today,” Badurad said glancing at Linus with a grin.

Turning his eyes to the south, ignoring his two bickering youthful companions, Corbulo did not reply as in the distance he observed more columns of ominous hazy black smoke rising up into the blue summer sky. It had been important that Badurad accompany him on his journey to Palmyra because that way he could keep his young cousin out of Macrianus and Balista’s clutches. Preventing his bosses from using the teenager as a hostage but he had not wanted Linus to come with them. However Badurad had insisted, threatening not to go and in the end he had been forced to concede the issue.

“Should we not give them a proper burial, uncle?” Badurad repeated giving up on Linus and glancing across at Corbulo. “No one deserves to end up like that especially the children. That would be the decent thing to do.”

“No. Not our problem. Leave them,” Corbulo replied shaking his head. “We’re not stopping. It’s not safe. Whoever did this may return. We keep moving. Zeugma cannot be far. I want to make it to the settlement by tomorrow morning.”

“Sasanian scum,” Badurad swore again before at last wrenching his eyes away from the burning farm and its murdered occupants. “They are going to pay for this. I am going to cut the throat of the next Sasanian I meet. I swear it on Magusanus’s mother’s honour.”

“Yeah because you are such a tough guy,” Linus shot back at Badurad with a mocking amused smile. “You have never killed anyone.”

“We don’t know that they did this,” Corbulo said sharply. “It could have been the invaders but its also possible they were killed by our own men or by bandits. So prepare yourself. And you too Linus. The country south of here is going to be a lawless place. A dangerous place. We must be suspicious of everyone that we meet.”

“Why would our own people do this Corbulo Sir?” Linus called out.

“Who knows,” Corbulo replied as they left the farm behind. “But when the law breaks down people do strange things. They settle old scores, rivalries. They think they can take what they want without fear of being punished. People change when the law no longer functions. I have seen it before. So we trust no one except ourselves, got that lads?”

In response there was only silence.

Glancing at his two companions Corbulo however could see that his warning had struck home. The sombre eyes of the two teenage youths were firmly fixed on the columns of smoke rising across the horizon to the south.

“It will get better when we reach Zeugma,” Badurad called out at last turning to Linus and trying to sound cheerful. “Safety in numbers, right. At a minimum once we are in the town we should be able to get some hot food and a roof over our heads. A bit of civilisation. That would be nice. And when we reach Zeugma I am going to find myself the largest piece of meat that I can eat and I am going to eat it right in front of you Linus.”

But as Badurad spoke he failed to notice the look Corbulo gave him.

​***

Sat upon his horse holding the rope attached to the spare animal, Corbulo had come to a halt. His two companions were mustering around him as the three of them silently gazed down at the body lying tumbled and crumpled in the dirt. The afternoon was wearing on and the intense heat had started to slacken as the sun slowly but irreversibly sank towards the western horizon. Staring at the dead horse and the equally dead rider Corbulo took a deep breath. The man and horse had been killed by arrows which were still sticking out of their bodies. Then quickly he looked up turning his attention to the small village of stone houses that was perched on the high ground a hundred or so yards away. Some of the buildings were still on fire, smoke belching from their roof’s while others appeared done. Their roof’s having collapsed in on themselves leaving only blackened hulks, piles of rubble and a few outer walls. But among the ruins there was no sign of anyone. No sign of who had done this.

“Sasanians,” Corbulo said at last gesturing at the dead man. “He’s one of them. Looks like the villagers put up resistance to the invaders. There has been fighting here. Come. We must keep moving. This is not the place to linger. The enemy are still close.”

“How do you know that they are still close Corbulo Sir?” Linus shot back.

“He’s still got his weapons on him,” Corbulo said. “And look at his fingers. He’s still got his rings. That means no one has had time to rob him. It tells me that the enemy has not yet had a chance to retrieve his body and his belongings. But he is one of them and his comrades won’t have gone far. Someone will be missing him and the Sasanians won’t leave him out here. They will be back if only for his possessions at some point. We can’t stay here.”

For a moment neither of his two companions moved or said a word. Then stiffly Badurad dismounted, crouched beside the dead Sasanian warrior and producing his broad bladed pugio, he slowly cut the man’s throat. Before - with Corbulo and Linus looking on - Badurad reached out to pull the gleaming rings from the dead man’s fingers - slipping them into his own pocket and then rising back to his feet and returning to his horse.

“See. I promised that I would cut the throat of the first Sasanian we met,” Badurad said turning to Linus with a serious, challenging look. “And so I have. And he won’t be needing those rings either. They are mine now.”

“Come, we must go,” Corbulo said urging his horse onwards, his eyes warily taking in the ruined burning buildings. “For now we should avoid any settlements. Keep your eyes open for trouble. We will camp when it’s too dark to continue. And like last night, no fires, boys. It’s too dangerous for that.”

Following his lead Badurad and Linus, sat upon their horses, looking subdued. All three of them peering across the field at the ruined village nestling on the rise as they trotted on across the steppe. And as he gingerly picked his way around the edge of the small settlement, skirting the village, Corbulo grunted as he began to spot more and more corpses. Men lying scattered across the ground. The locals appeared to have made a desperate last stand, trying to defend their homes in a futile attempt to resist the invaders. Gazing at the scene Corbulo could see that the fighting appeared to have centred around a house that was bigger and grander than the rest. For it was here that the density of the dead was highest. The men’s weapons still lying where they had fallen. The ground strewn with the bleak detriment of war. The air stale with the stench of death and destruction. The flames roaring as if they were laughing.

“There are no women or children among them,” Badurad hissed as he stared at the carnage. “What happened to them?”

Corbulo was about to offer a reply when through the crackle of the fires he suddenly heard a cry. Staring at the village he quickly brought his two horses to a halt. Then he heard it again. A heart wrenching human cry and it was coming from somewhere inside the ruined village.

“There is a survivor!” Badurad cried out and before Corbulo could react his cousin had turned his horse towards the ruined buildings and was hurrying towards the village. Followed a few moments later by Linus.

“Badurad. Come back!” Corbulo bellowed but Badurad appeared not to have heard him.

Cursing out loud Corbulo hurriedly turned his own horses around and began to canter after the two youths. His eyes frantically darting about trying to spot whether they were about to ride straight into an ambush.

“Badurad, what the fuck do you think you are doing,” Corbulo shouted angrily but just as he did he once again heard the cry coming from deeper inside the village. Someone appeared to be in pain and was desperately calling for help. The agony and desperation in the man’s voice was unmistakeable. Rushing past a burning house, through the billowing smoke Corbulo suddenly caught sight of his two companions. Badurad and Linus had both dismounted and were crouching beside a figure who was lying on the ground at the entrance to a burning home. The man’s lower body was pinned in place by a large heavy wooden beam that had collapsed onto him and appeared to have crushed his legs. While close by the greedy flames were working their way towards him. The man was crying out in agony, thumping his hands onto the ground. Blood streaming down his face from a nasty cut to his forehead.

“He’s trapped by the beam,” Badurad called out as he saw Corbulo approaching. “Hurry! We need to lift the wood from his legs so we can free him. Hurry. If we leave him here the flames are going to burn him alive.”

Rapidly sliding from his saddle Corbulo reached the man and taking one look at him he saw that he was not a Sasanian but a local. A young man not much older than Badurad and Linus.

“Hurry!” Badurad cried out. “Take hold of that end of the beam and try and see if you can lift it up. Linus pull him out when we do!”

Saying nothing - feeling the heat of the searing flames blasting his face and back Corbulo quickly caught hold of the wood with his hands and as Badurad joined him the two of them - heaving and straining every muscle - managed to lift the beam up by a few inches.

“Linus. Now! Pull him out! I can’t hold it much longer,” Badurad yelled, his face going crimson with the effort.

Linus however did not need to be told twice and with a sharp cry the teenager caught hold of the man’s arms and to a high pitched scream of pain he unceremoniously pulled the man free, stumbling backwards until he ended up sitting on the ground, his chest heaving from the exertion. Dropping the beam back to the ground Corbulo and Badurad staggered backwards away from the flames and as they did Badurad turned and wretched up the contents of his stomach. Coughing from the smoke Corbulo came up to the man and without hesitating he stooped, caught hold of the stranger and flung him over his shoulder. Then he was off staggering past the ruins and through the smoke bellowing at Badurad to bring the horses.

Dumping the wounded man onto the ground a safe distance from the burning homes Corbulo gasped for breath as the stranger once again cried out in pain. Moments later he was joined by Badurad and Linus, the two teenagers leading their horses on foot. Their eyes wide and large.

“Is he all right?” Linus gasped, breathing heavily as he stared at the man they had just rescued.

“Looks like his legs are crushed. He is not going to be able to walk,” Corbulo hissed in German as he quickly squatted beside the wounded man and turned to inspect him. “I don’t think he is ever going to walk again. It looks bad. We need to stem the bleeding. Badurad fetch the bandages from my satchel.”

But as Badurad hurriedly turned to his task the stranger opened his eyes, staring at Corbulo, his face racked with pain.

“Romans,” the man gasped speaking in heavily accented Latin. “You are Romans!”

“Yes we are,” Corbulo said in a tight voice as he took the bandage that Badurad handed him and quickly began to apply it to the man’s legs. “Stay still,” he growled addressing himself to the young man. “You are bleeding quite heavily. I need to stem the loss of blood.”

“Blessed Atargatis sent you to save me,” the man gasped as he lay back on the ground grimacing with pain. “The guardian goddess does not abandon me. Thank you Sir. Thank you for saving my life.”

“Don’t thank me,” Corbulo snapped as he worked on bandaging the man’s wounds and applying a tourniquet. “Thank my cousin here, the one who doesn’t know how to obey an order. He saved you. I would have left you to die. How long ago were you attacked? How come they left you alive? Did you see in which direction the Sasanians departed?”

“My name is Demetrius,” the young man replied before grimacing again. “I am/was going to be a professional dancer in Antioch. I was supposed to leave for the city today to start my training. But I stayed because of the war. This is my village. I played dead. They didn’t notice me. I was lucky. Everyone else is dead. I don’t know where the invaders went.”

“Well your dancing days are over pal and you were stupid to have stayed here,” Corbulo said as he worked. “What did you think you could achieve against an army of invaders?”

“This is our home,” Demetrius said closing his eyes as he lay on the ground. “If a man does not fight for his home then what does he fight for. We were not cowards Roman. We tried to stand our ground but there were just too many of them. They overwhelmed us.”

“Heh friend,” Badurad said in a gentler voice crouching beside the wounded man and addressing himself to Demetrius. “There are only corpses of men here. What happened to your womenfolk and children? Did the Sasanians take them away as slaves?”

“Corbulo Sir!” Linus suddenly called out from behind him, alarm entering his voice.

“One moment, I am nearly done,” Corbulo said as he worked.

But Linus refused to be silenced. “Corbulo Sir!” the youth cried out again. “Trouble Sir! Fuck. Look! Look!”

Swearing Corbulo wrenched himself away from Demetrius and hurriedly rose to his feet turning to stare in the direction in which Linus was staring and as he did the blood rapidly drained from his face. Tearing across the steppe towards the village was a party of horsemen.

“Oh shit, Sasanians!” Corbulo gasped. “We got to go. Now!”

“Wait,” Demetrius cried out as he manfully tried to rise to his feet only to sink back with a groan of pain. “Wait,” the young man gasped, “take me with you and I will show you a place where you can hide from the invaders. Please I beg you. Don’t leave me here.”

“What place? Where?” Corbulo snapped as he seized hold of his two horses and prepared to mount his animal.

“I can show you. It’s not far from here. It’s safe. The Sasanians do not know about it. Please.”

For a brief moment Corbulo appeared undecided. His eyes fixed upon the wounded man. On his own Demetrius stood no chance of survival, being unable to walk. If he left him now he would be a dead man. Across the fields the sound of thundering hooves was becoming audible. If the enemy had not already spotted them they would do so very soon. They had to go. Swearing once again Corbulo quickly reached down and seizing hold of the young man he flung Demetrius over his shoulder.

“Get on the horse!” Corbulo cried. “Hurry!”

As the two of them struggled into the saddle Corbulo hurriedly turned his head in the direction of the approaching enemy. The party of Sasanians were close. Then urging his horse onwards he was off. One hand steadying Demetrius who was leaning over the horse sitting directly in front of him, Corbulo’s other hand clutching the rope holding their pack animal, his knees guiding his horse. Ahead of him Badurad and Linus were already moving, trying to put the buildings in between them and the enemy horsemen.

“Which way!” Corbulo cried.

“That way,” Demetrius groaned weakly pointing southwards towards broken and hilly terrain. “Its about a mile away.”

Saying nothing Corbulo plunged on. Feeling the strength of his horse as they started to pick up speed. Rapidly rejoining him Badurad and Linus fell in behind him as the three of them charged away across the fields. Riding for their lives, leaving the burning village behind them.

“Ride! Ride!” Corbulo cried out snatching a look at his companions.

But the teenagers needed no further encouragement. Their faces flushed. The youths concentrating on not falling off or causing their horses to break a leg. Pounding across the steppe the three of them fled but as he snatched a look over his shoulder Corbulo saw no sign of pursuit. But how long would that be true? How long before the Sasanians spotted them and came after him.

Then after what seemed an age he finally burst into the entrance of a gully and the treacherous terrain forced him to slow his pace. The nature of the land hiding him and blocking his view of the village. Giving him some cover. His chest heaving from exertion, his horses snorting, the beasts flanks streaked with sweat, Corbulo hurriedly turned to inspect the ground ahead as he moved deeper into what appeared to be a canyon. But all appeared quiet and as he looked up at the steep rocky slopes that had started to enclose him he could see no one, nothing that made him suspicious. And yet.

“Where now boy?” Corbulo snapped roughly shaking Demetrius with his hand. “Show me where to go.”

“At the end of the canyon,” Demetrius groaned weakly, his head sagging. “Look for the mark on the rock. The letter A. We’re nearly there.”

Turning to look back the way he had come Corbulo’s face looked like thunder but there was no sign that he was being followed. He and his companions appeared to be alone. Staring back at him from their horses as they followed him deeper into the canyon both Badurad and Linus looked excited. Their breathing coming in rapid bursts.

At last Corbulo brought his horses to a halt as ahead he saw that the canyon had ended in a solid wall of rock, a dead end. They were trapped. Swearing softly to himself he hurriedly turned to look around, half expecting to be ambushed but all around him everything remained strangely quiet.

“It’s a dead end,” Corbulo snapped shaking Demetrius again but this time there was no response from the young man. Shaking him again Corbulo grunted. Demetrius appeared to have lost conciousness, his head lulling, his body limp. Cursing again Corbulo hurriedly turned to look around as Badurad and Linus came to a halt behind him. The three of them looking up at the steep rock walls that surrounded them and which loomed over them. Then a few yards away Corbulo suddenly noticed the letter A carved into the rock.

Frowning he turned his horses around, one hand gripping Demetrius and preventing him from falling off. And as he approached the letter engraved high up in the rock he suddenly grunted in surprise. Directly below the letter, cunningly hidden by what had been made to look like a pile of fallen debris, wood and rocks, was a dark narrow opening in the rock. A cave mouth. Only this one looked like it was not natural but man-made. Carefully dismounting Corbulo silently gestured for his companions to do the same. Lowering the unconscious Demetrius onto the ground Corbulo moved forward and cautiously began to remove the debris from the dark opening in the rock until at last he had created a space just wide enough to allow a man and a horse to move on through.

“What do you think it is?” Badurad whispered as he stared at the opening. “A cave?”

“I am not sure,” Corbulo replied quietly, “but this must be place Demetrius was talking about. It feels man-made.”

Then taking a step forwards Corbulo entered the cleft in the rock and paused to listen but in the darkness all remained silent. Then he heard it. The unmistakeable sound of flowing water.

“How are we going to see in the darkness?” Badurad whispered as Corbulo backed out of the cave. “We don’t have any torches.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Corbulo said quietly. “We can hide inside. I will go first. Put Demetrius across my horse. We’ll enter on foot leading the horses and see how far it goes. Come let’s go.”

Entering the darkness again, holding the reins of his horse Corbulo again paused to listen, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. Ahead in the dim light he could just about discern the start of what looked like a tunnel. Moving on deeper, one cautious step at a time, he again heard the soft rush of water. The sound was coming from somewhere ahead. Pausing he reached out to feel the side of the walls and as he did he felt the sharp uneven surfaces. As if the rock had been cut by iron tools.

“It’s man made,” Corbulo whispered. “Were in a tunnel of some kind. But its not a cave.”

Moving on deeper into the darkness Corbulo strained to see what was ahead. But the darkness refused to release its secrets. Then suddenly Corbulo gasped as he felt water suddenly swirling around his boots. And there was a flow. The water appeared to be flowing in a specific direction.

“What is this place?” he heard Badurad gasp behind him.

Hesitating Corbulo did not move, feeling the gentle current of water swirling around his boots, tugging at him as if it wanted him to go in the same direction. It appeared he had entered another tunnel. Carefully reaching up he raised his hand to try and touch the ceiling but his hand just extended into thin air. Moving sideways he did the same until he finally touched rock. Then taking a deep breath he paused again. The tunnel he had just entered appeared to be large.

“Flowing water!” Linus whispered from the darkness sounding surprised. “What the fuck.”

Corbulo was just about to speak when from the darkness he suddenly sensed movement. Moments later a torch suddenly flared into existence followed by another behind him and then another. The eerie flames lighting up the darkness. Crying out a warning to his companions Corbulo pulled his spatha from its scabbard but it was already too late. In the glowing light he was suddenly concious of figures armed with bows and spears - the weapons trained and pointing straight at him. The tunnel suddenly pregnant with silent tension.

“No, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We’re Romans. We’re not Sasanians!” Badurad yelled, his voice ringing out through the semi-darkness. “We have brought one of your own. His name is Demetrius! He’s wounded!”

Clutching his sword, his other hand grasping the reins of his horse Corbulo turned to stare at the silent figures crowding around him. Holding their torches and weapons there were too many of them for him to fight on his own and in the flickering light he suddenly noticed that most of them were women. Their faces etched with a mixture of fear and loathing.

“Demetrius!” a female voice suddenly cried out from the darkness speaking in Latin. “He lives?”

“He’s right here,” Badurad cried in reply. “But he is badly wounded. We found him in the village. We saved his life and in return he showed us how to get here. He said we would be safe here.”

A moment later a young woman appeared hurrying and splashing through the shallow stream of water towards them, her black hair tied back in a bun, her eyes filled with emotion. Hastening up to where Badurad was standing holding his horses’ reins she quickly turned to inspect the unconscious Demetrius who was lying slung over the beasts back. For a moment no one spoke. Then the woman cried out turning to her colleagues speaking in a language Corbulo could not understand but her tone sounded relieved. Seconds later the armed figures cautiously lowered their weapons and the tension started to dissipate.

“You speak the truth,” the woman said quickly switching to Latin as she turned back to face Badurad, her eyes gleaming in the torch light. “You have brought my Demetrius back. Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

“We’re Roman soldiers,” Corbulo cut in. “And our business is our own. We are on our way to Palmyra. We were just passing through until we were set upon by a party of Sasanians. Demetrius showed us how to get here and don’t worry, we were not spotted.”

“No one followed you into the canyon?” the woman said.

“No,” Corbulo replied shaking his head.

For a long moment the young woman did not speak, her eyes fixed upon Corbulo as three of her colleagues approached and silently pulled Demetrius from the back of the horse before carrying him, they vanished off into the darkness. Their laboured breathing mingling with the gentle noise of running water.

“Thank you Sir,” the woman said at last dipping her head in a little gesture of gratitude. “Thank you for saving his life. My name is Hypatia. I am Demetrius’s sister.”

“What is this place?” Corbulo growled.

“An underground aqueduct,” Hypatia replied. “It supplies water to the farming communities around here. And in times of war it acts as our hiding place,” she added before taking a torch from one of her colleagues and moving through the shallow stream of running water to illuminate the darkness. And as she did so Corbulo grunted in shock as in the flickering light he suddenly became aware of a mass of women and children sitting huddled close together on the dry rock floor. The dozens upon dozens of people silent as mice. All of them staring back at him with fearful, worried looking faces.

“Great Magusanus,” Badurad exclaimed.

Chapter Sixteen - The Nazarene

Sitting on a boulder inside the tunnel beneath a burning torch that was wedged into a crack in the rock, Corbulo was eating his bowl of porridge with a spoon while nearby Badurad and Linus were doing the same. The three of them were silent. Their horses tethered nearby, standing docilely in the shallow stream of water. While a group of inquisitive children were standing around the beasts gently stroking the horses and whispering to each other. Further off in the semi-gloom the mass of villagers were still huddled together, eating, sleeping, busying themselves in any way they could. The soft murmur of voices was audible over the gentle rush of the water flowing through the tunnel. At last finishing his meal Badurad wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and with a pleased sigh he turned to look around.

“I have heard of such underground aqueducts,” he said quietly. “There is one near the town of Gadara which is said to be a hundred miles long. They say the tunnel is so large that you can ride your horse through it and that it supplies over twelve cities with fresh water. If Rome has given the world anything then it must surely be these colossal structures. They are going to stand for all time.”

“Maybe,” Linus replied. “But I still think the aqueducts that service the city of Rome are more impressive. I have seen them you know. My father took me to Rome when I was a boy.”

Leaving his perch Badurad moved across to the water and stooping he quickly refreshed himself in the shallow stream. Then rising back to his feet he lowered his head in a respectful manner, muttered a short prayer in German and retrieving one of the Sasanian rings which he had liberated earlier, he threw the valuable object into the water where it instantly disappeared.

“A gift for old Magusanus,” Badurad said shrugging with a little wry look, “for looking out for us today. For saving us.”

“Yeah but it didn’t cost you much though did it,” Linus called out from his seat where he was observing his friend. “You should have offered Magusanus something much more valuable. Now the god will be offended by such a cheap offering. You should have done better. We are not that cheap. Our lives are worth more than a single stolen ring.”

“Maybe I will offer him you Linus next time,” Badurad retorted as he returned to his seat beside Corbulo.

For a moment no one spoke.

“May I ask you a personal question uncle?” Badurad asked at last addressing himself to Corbulo in German.

Nodding as he finished his meal Corbulo remained silent as Badurad and Linus exchanged quick, expectant grins.

“Have you got a woman in your life uncle?” Badurad continued in a careful voice. “Anyone special waiting for you back at the Colonia?”

Sighing Corbulo rose to his feet and crouching beside the water he carefully rinsed his wooden bowl and spoon before rising back to his feet.

“There were a few women before,” Corbulo replied with a shrug as he returned to his seat on the boulder. “But there is no one waiting for me back home. I don’t have time for a woman.”

“You owe me a silver coin!” Badurad called out in triumph turning to Linus who just shook his head. “I told you he was single.”

Badurad was about to speak again when in the flickering torch light of the tunnel he spotted Hypatia coming towards him accompanied by a few other women. And at her side carried on a stretcher was her brother Demetrius. The young man looking fully conscious.

“He is not going to be able to walk like he used to but he is going to live thanks to you and your friends,” Hypatia said addressing herself to Corbulo as she and her companions came to a halt. “Thank you again for what you did for my brother.”

“Thank you Sir,” Demetrius called out weakly raising a hand from his stretcher. “When this war is over you and your companions will always be welcome in my village.”

Observing the attractive young woman standing before him Corbulo hesitated, suddenly intrigued. Hypatia could be no older than twenty-five and yet she appeared to be one of the leaders of these villagers. Gazing back at him the woman’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, her expression resolute. There was something about Hypatia that he could not quite place, Corbulo thought but he could sense the calm, stoic sense of strength within her. An unconquerable strength blazing forth from her like the heat of the sun. The woman appeared to have a purpose about her that nothing could shake.

“We will leave at dawn,” Corbulo replied at last nodding. “We only ask that you show us the way out of the tunnel. Like I said before we are heading for Zeugma and the road south along the Euphrates.”

“It is dangerous to be above ground right now,” Hypatia replied holding Corbulo’s gaze. “You are welcome to stay down here with us. We have supplies. We have prepared for this eventuality.”

“No, we have no choice, we must go,” Corbulo said shaking his head.

“What is your name soldier?” Hypatia replied. “You never gave me your name. I want to know the name of the man who saved my Demetrius.”

“I am called Corbulo,” Corbulo replied. “This here is Badurad my cousin and his friend Linus. We have come from the far west. Our homes are in the province of lower Germania and the island of Britannia.”

“Germans,” Hypatia said glancing at the two youths before turning her attention back to Corbulo. “I thought that was the language I heard you speaking among yourselves just now. It is so different to our own.”

Gazing back at the young woman Corbulo paused. Then suddenly he pointed at the amulet shaped like a fish that hung from around Hypatia’s neck on a piece of string.

“I have seen that symbol before,” Corbulo said carefully. “It is the sign carried by the Nazarenes. Are you a Nazarene?”

“I am,” Hypatia replied without batting an eyelid. “Is that a problem for you?”

“It is forbidden to be follower of the Christian faith,” Corbulo said gently. “By imperial decree. Christians are not allowed to practise their religion. Such symbols are illegal.”

“And yet here I am wearing my amulet,” Hypatia shot back. “No imperial decree can deny the existence of the one true god. For there is only one god. There is only one Jesus Christus, our saviour. Who gave his life for us and who will return one day to judge the living and the dead. All the others are false idols. False prophets. Nothing but stone statues and superstition.”

“You are not afraid of being arrested?” Corbulo said frowning.

“I cannot deny my faith,” Hypatia retorted. “And if they come for me then so be it. I am not afraid to die for god. I fear turning my back on Him more. There is only one god and He is love. God is goodness and He is present in every living being. Even in you soldier. It was god who moved you to save my brother. I see His presence in you right now. He is here right now. For there is goodness in every man, even our mortal enemies.”

“So you deny the existence of all the other gods,” Corbulo said sharply. “What you are saying is that the gods we worship are fake?”

“Every one of them is false,” Hypatia replied. “There is only one true god.”

Hesitating Corbulo eyed Hypatia as nearby Badurad and Linus had suddenly gone very quiet. The three of them staring at the Nazarene.

“It is Emperor Valerian who decreed that Christians like myself should be persecuted for our faith,” Hypatia continued, her eyes gleaming. “And it is by god’s wrath that Valerian has now been struck down and met his doom. The Emperor was defeated at Edessa because he persecuted Christians. This is god’s punishment for what he did to us.”

For a moment Corbulo was at a loss as to what to say. The tunnel silent except for the soft rush of the water.

“You speak of goodness,” Corbulo said at last carefully choosing his words, “but I see precious little of that in this world. On the contrary I have seen much pain, much treachery. Much hatred and anger. Much suspicion. If your god does exist then why does he allow these things to happen?”

“And yet He exists,” Hypatia replied lifting up her chin. “It is the wickedness inside man which causes all this pain. But God is love. God is goodness. And there are many of us now here in Syria. Many Nazarenes. One day the whole empire shall be Christian and after that the world.”

“Sure,” Corbulo said eyeing Hypatia, his expression abruptly hardening. “But by denying the existence of all the other gods you Christians are driving a wedge between the people. You are pitting us against each other when we should be looking to be united in the face of the common threats we face. I do not deny the existence of your god, so neither should you deny mine. Is that not a fair basis on which to live our lives?”

“Jesus taught us about forgiveness,” Hypatia shot back. “For all of us are seeking forgiveness for what we have done. Whether that is believing in false idols or killing innocents. All of us have sinned. God will forgive you if you turn to Him. You just have to find the strength to look for Him. And you will find god wherever you witness goodness, sacrifice and kindness. He lives there. And when you accept Him you will find peace. Just like I have done. I shall pray for you soldier and your companions,” Hypatia continued inclining her head in a little respectful and graceful gesture. “I shall pray for you Corbulo, soldier of Rome, that you shall have a safe journey to Palmyra and that one day you shall find god.”

Then before Corbulo could speak or react Hypatia approached and lifting her fish amulet from her neck she calmly took Corbulo’s hand and placed the small amulet inside it before closing his fingers around the object.

“One day I shall see you again Corbulo,” Hypatia said with a sudden smile. “For you are a good man.”

Chapter Seventeen - Along the Syrian Limes

“She is a fucking fanatic,” Badurad called out as the three of them trotted down the road heading south. “All these Christians are lunatics. They have lost the plot. Did you not hear what she said,” the youth continued, “she said only her god counted and all the rest were false. What fucking arrogance is that? How can she know for a start?”

It was morning and under a big sky, the rolling treeless Syrian steppe stretched away to the horizon. The empty land was deserted and silent except for the black dot of a bird circling high above in the blue sky. Sat upon his horse, leading his two companions and the spare pack animal, Corbulo remained silent as he glanced up to check the position of the sun.

“Oh give it a rest Badurad,” Linus called out sounding bored. “We will soon be in Zeugma and you can distract yourself there.”

“Did you keep the fish amulet she gave you?” Badurad exclaimed refusing to give the matter a rest as he rounded on Corbulo. “You kept it didn’t you!” Badurad cried out his eyes growing large. “I can see it around your neck. You are wearing it under your body armour!”

“So,” Corbulo said shrugging. “That does not make me a Christian. Maybe the amulet will be useful. If the Nazarene god is as powerful as Hypatia claimed He was then it would be prudent to have Him as an ally. And it may win us some favours from other Christians. She said there are many of her kind and I think she is right about that.”

“It’s an illegal symbol uncle,” Badurad retorted. “You can get arrested for wearing such symbols. They burn Christians in the amphitheatres!”

“Oh do shut up Badurad,” Linus called out. “Your whining is starting to give me a headache. Give it a rest.”

“Uncle?” Badurad pressed staring across at Corbulo as the three of them trotted on down the road.

“Linus is right, give it a rest,” Corbulo said. “We have more important things to worry about than the words of a woman.”

Swearing softly Badurad wrenched his eyes away but he remained silent and for a while the three of them rode on without speaking.

“Badurad needs to get laid - Corbulo Sir,” Linus called out in a sudden cheerful cheeky voice. “It’s been too long since he last had a girl and it makes him grouchy. How long until we reach Zeugma?”

“Not long,” Corbulo replied without taking his eyes off the road ahead. “But he is not going to get laid at Zeugma.”

​***

Sitting upon their stationary horses at the side of the dusty road both Badurad and Linus looked utterly crestfallen and disappointed as they stared at the fortress city of Zeugma that clung to the western banks of the Euphrates. It was afternoon and an ominous silence hung over the vast ruins of the Roman city. The mighty walls that had once protected the place had been pulled down - transformed into heaps of rubble while beyond the defensive fortifications the hulks of many of the buildings showed signs of having been completely burnt out. Their walls were blackened. The roofs had collapsed inwards. The narrow streets were littered with debris and deserted. The city was abandoned and lifeless.

“You never told us that Zeugma had been destroyed,” Badurad exclaimed at last turning to Corbulo. “That the whole fucking place had been abandoned. Well that is just great.”

“You never asked. You just assumed it would be like any other city,” Corbulo replied as he eyed the ruined city from his horse. “Zeugma was once the greatest fortress on the Euphrates,” Corbulo continued sounding strangely resigned. “A major legionary base and crossing point of the Euphrates. The place where the west meets the east. The heart of the Syrian limes. Just like our Colonia on the Rhine is heart of our limes. But now it is no more. The King of Kings Shapur destroyed the place during his earlier invasion a few years ago. Seems that no one has yet managed to rebuild the city. Come we are not stopping here,” Corbulo added turning his gaze to the south. “There is nothing here. Our path now will take us southwards along the river, through the valley of the Euphrates. The next major town is Hierapolis. After that we follow the river valley until we reach the last Roman outpost at Thapsacus where we leave the Euphrates behind and strike out into the desert for the oasis city of Palmyra.”

“So no hot food, no whores, no roof over our heads,” Badurad called out in a glum voice, his shoulders sagging. “Oh this is just great.”

“They say,” Corbulo continued ignoring his cousin, “that once all the east spoke Greek. But that since the days when Rome and Persia divided up the territories of Alexander the Great, the Greek cities west of the Euphrates have prospered while those east of the river have dwindled. The river,” Corbulo said gesturing in the direction of the Euphrates, “it is one of the great frontiers of the empire. Beyond, the barbarians rule.”

“Corbulo Sir!” Linus suddenly called out and the tension in the youth’s voice made Corbulo’s head whip round.

“Sir. Sir!” Linus exclaimed pointing but Corbulo had already seen what the youth had spotted.

Bearing down on them from the north was a cloud of dust and moving across the steppe at pace he could make out tiny figures on horseback. The riders heading straight down the road towards him.

“Sasanians?” Badurad cried out.

“They are too far away. I can’t make them out,” Corbulo growled.

For a moment no one spoke as the three of them stared at the distant horsemen.

Then abruptly Corbulo came to a decision. Quickly turning his horse and the spare beast towards the ruined city he was suddenly on the move crying out to his two companions to follow him.

“Change of plans,” Corbulo called out. “Whoever those horsemen are I am not taking any chances. We’ll have to lay low inside the city for a while and hope that they pass on by. We’ll continue on our way when it grows dark. The river road will be easy enough to follow even during the night.”

Picking his way across the piles of rubble that had once been the outer walls Corbulo cautiously entered the ruined and abandoned city and as he did his eyes darted about. Taking in the deserted, wrecked homes and the debris strewn streets. The silent empty windows and forlorn doorways. But there was no one about and no one challenged him. Within moments of entering the city he and his two companions had vanished into a dense urban maze. The soft crunch of their horses’ hooves on the scattered broken roof tiles and their own heavy breathing the only sound. Pushing on deeper into Zeugma down a narrow street, Corbulo’s eyes searched the terraced buildings up ahead looking for a suitable hiding place. Then spotting something he brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, silently gesturing for his companions to do the same. Leading his horses on foot Corbulo frowned as he approached the doorway to one of the derelict buildings. Then he stopped. His nose wrinkling. His expression concerned. Lying just inside the entrance hall of the building were a couple of bodies.

“What is it?” Badurad said quietly as gripping his horses’ reins he came to a halt beside his uncle. Then the youth ceased speaking as he too noticed the bodies and the smell of death.

“Sasanians?” Badurad whispered at last. “Do you think they did this? They look like they died just recently. Gods they stink.”

“No,” Corbulo replied, his voice controlled, “they are plague victims. Look at their arms and legs. They died from the plague. Stay back - Linus,” Corbulo added sharply as Linus edged forwards to get a better look. “It’s not safe. If these people came here there may be more of them. There is plague here. We must be careful. Don’t touch anything.”

Swearing softly Corbulo stared at the corpses for a moment longer. Then he turned to look down the deserted street with a worried expression.

“Come,” he said at last, “lets find a place where we can hide up until its dark.”

Leading their horses on foot Badurad and Linus said nothing as they started to follow Corbulo on down the narrow silent street. The youth’s eyes feverishly searching the open windows, doorways and the roof’s of the abandoned buildings that crowded around them like giant, silent spectators. At last rounding a corner Corbulo came to an abrupt halt. His fist raised in the air in warning to Badurad and Linus who were following behind.

Ahead the street opened up into a little square surrounded by the hulks of multi-storey terraced buildings and gathered out in the open were a group of people. Some were sitting about at the entrances to their tents and makeshift shelters. Others were inhabiting the derelict buildings. While a crowd were standing gathered around a crackling fire. The people were clad in rags, some veiled, hooded and hiding their faces. While a few others were just emerging from a vacant building carrying bundles of fire wood. But as the group caught sight of him they froze, eye-balling the new arrivals. The people appearing as surprised as Corbulo, and for a long moment no one spoke or made a move.

“What the fuck?” Badurad hissed as he came to a halt.

Then abruptly a man with a neatly trimmed beard and a white cloak was advancing towards Corbulo and as he did he hurriedly crossed his arms to form an X, barring their way.

“Go away!” the man cried out in Latin. “Go away! Lepers! Be aware! Infection risk!”

Standing his ground Corbulo did not move. His eyes taking in the band of ragged humanity. The awful and pitiful condition of the people. Then coolly he turned to look around the square and selecting a home with a grand looking gate that had been torn from its hinges he started towards the building, leading his horses and ignoring the stranger. And as he did Badurad and Linus followed, the youths warily observing the lepers, ready to bolt like nervous colts.

Passing on through the broken gateway and into the small courtyard beyond Corbulo paused to quickly study the multi-storey building. But there was no one there and the place appeared deserted. Satisfied he entered the home leading his horses straight through the hallway across the fine expensive floor mosaics and into the central atrium of the abandoned building.

“We’ll stay here until dark,” Corbulo said as he turned to look around the wrecked and looted living room. “We should be safe here.”

“Safe!” Badurad exclaimed. “We’re camped right next to a leper colony. You heard that man. There is a great risk of infection. What happens if those lepers decide to pay us a visit?”

“They won’t,” Corbulo replied. “And calm yourself. Lepers are not as dangerous as the plague. We’ll keep our distance just to be safe but I am more worried about that band of horsemen who we saw earlier. If they are Sasanians they may be looking for us. They may have seen us enter the city. And if they do come here the sight of those lepers should scare them off.”

“They are still lepers uncle,” Badurad hissed. “Those people out there have been condemned by the gods. They are outcasts! You can catch their disease from just shaking their hand.”

“So don’t shake their hands,” Corbulo replied with a shrug.

“Clever Corbulo Sir,” Linus exclaimed as he righted a chair that had been knocked over and sat down on it with a contented sigh. “So we use the leper colony as cover. I can do that.”

“Do you have to suck up to everyone you meet,” Badurad snapped moodily rounding on his friend.

“Stay here and don’t leave the building,” Corbulo said as he tethered his horses to a marble pillar and headed for the debris strewn stairs that led to the second floor of the house. “I will take first watch. You two get some rest and food inside you. It’s going to be a long night.”

“May we at least make a fire - uncle,” Badurad asked.

“All right but keep it small.”

“Well at least we get some hot food!” Badurad exclaimed looking mollified as he turned to Linus.

But Linus appeared distracted, studying the walls and ceiling of the building they were in and for a moment he did not reply. His mouth open in wonder. Then at last with a sudden grin he turned his attention back to his friend.

“Looks like you got your wish after all Badurad,” Linus said. “This place. It’s a whorehouse. An expensive brothel. See the symbols on the walls. The grafitti. So after all your complaining you have still ended up where you wanted to be in the first place.”

“No girls,” Badurad snapped.

“You could try the lepers,” Linus replied.

“That’s not funny.”

​***

Sitting on the wooden chair a little back from the open window on the second floor of the whorehouse Corbulo had an excellent view of the city square below. It was early evening and out in the square the lepers were still crowding around their fire and sitting in their shelters. Going nowhere as if they had made this place their permanent home. The miserable, rag clad people were going about their business. Some however appeared to be weak and dying. And carefully moving among them, doling out food, drink and clothing was the man with the neat beard and the white cloak who had approached them earlier. The man who had tried to warn him away. The man did not appear to be infected himself. He was no leper. Nor did he look like he should have been there, but still, here he was. A volunteer Corbulo thought, who had come to help these outcasts from society. And as he observed the man from his window Corbulo lowered his eyes with a sudden thoughtful look as he thought again about Hypatia and what she had said to him. About the Christian god. And how he would know that the god was near when he saw an act of kindness, of goodness. Pulling the fish amulet from out beneath his body armour he turned it over examining it. Then he frowned and reaching up he tiredly rubbed his eyes.

A moment later a sudden shout made him look up and as he did Corbulo froze, his eyes widening in horror. Coming down the street, heading straight towards the square was a band of armed horsemen. Sasanians. The invaders clothing, bows and helmets were unmistakeably of Sasanian origin. Staring out of the window Corbulo took a deep breath. Then slowly and carefully he rose to his feet. There was no time to warn Badurad and Linus or extinguish the fire they had made. Edging into the shadows, his hand dropping down to rest on the pommel of his sword. Staring out of the window, he looked on as the enemy horsemen trotted towards the leper colony only for them to come to an uncertain halt.

For a moment nothing happened. The Sasanians were staring at the lepers. Then once again the volunteer was on the move. His arms crossed into an X as he came towards the horsemen, his voice raised, warning the invaders away. The lepers the man had been helping, holding back as they warily observed the new arrivals. But as the volunteer advanced towards the riders one of the Sasanians raised his bow and took careful aim and before anyone could intervene he had shot the man with an arrow. The missile thudding straight into the volunteer’s chest and bringing him down to his knees with a groan. Sat on their horses the Sasanians made no effort to advance, nor did anyone come to the man’s aid and slowly, with everyone watching, the volunteer keeled over onto his side before he lay still. Holding his breath Corbulo dared not move, fearful that if he did the movement may be noticed. But in the square all remained strangely silent. No one speaking. No one moving. Then at last turning their horses around the Sasanians rode off back the way they had come.

“Sasanians! Sasanians!” Corbulo hissed as he came rushing down the stairs and into the atrium where Badurad and Linus were sitting around their small fire eating their dinner. “Put the fucking fire out. They were just over there in the square. They killed someone.”

Hurriedly smothering the fire with a blanket Linus put it out as Badurad pulled his sword from his belt and rapidly moved towards the doorway leading out of the building. Moments later Corbulo joined him, the two of them guardedly peering out into the small courtyard beyond but as the seconds ticked by nothing happened and no one appeared.

“I think they are gone,” Corbulo said at last breathing a sigh of relief.

Replacing his sword in his scabbard that hung from his belt Corbulo turned away from the entrance and pausing in the middle of the room he shifted his eyes to the horses. The patient beasts were standing together without moving, their large brown eyes watching him in turn.

“Linus, your turn to go on watch,” Corbulo growled. “There is a room upstairs that gives you a good view of the square outside. Keep your eyes open for trouble. Those horsemen may still come back.”

Linus was just about to obey and start for the stairs when Corbulo heard a little sound and suddenly he was conscious of movement coming from the kitchen. Instantly he had pulled his sword free again as Linus and Badurad did the same. The metal rasping free, the three of them facing the doorway leading into the kitchen, their long steel blades raised and poised to stab anyone who was about to come on through and attack them. But as the seconds past nothing happened. Then abruptly a large black dog appeared, padding quietly through the doorway and into the central atrium and as it saw the three men the animal came to a halt. Staring at the beast Corbulo carefully exhaled. Then quickly moving past the dog he poked his head through the kitchen doorway but the room beyond was deserted. The dog was on its own.

“A fucking dog,” Badurad snapped lowering his sword. “Can you believe that!”

“It’s alone,” Corbulo replied as he replaced his sword and turned to frown at the animal. “Must be a stray, living in the ruins.”

“Here boy, I am a friend,” Linus called out in a gentle and practised voice as he too slid his sword back in its scabbard before crouching and beckoning to the dog. “It must have smelled our food. The poor thing looks like its starving.”

Turning its head the black dog gazed at Linus for a moment, its brown eyes inquisitive, its nose twitching. But instead of approaching the youth it suddenly veered towards Badurad and to the young man’s surprise the dog quickly brushed up against his legs before obediently sitting down at his feet and looking up at Badurad, panting quietly, with its tongue hanging out of its drooling mouth.

“Well will you look at that Linus,” Badurad exclaimed suddenly looking very pleased with himself. “The dog chose me over you and you are supposed to be the great friend of all animals. How ironic!”

“All right,” Corbulo said shaking his head, “give the dog what food we can spare and then send it on its way. It’s only going to attract attention. We leave as soon as its fully dark.”

​***

In the night sky the Euphrates was a pale silver snake that gently wound through the darkened land. The faint moon and star light hiding the strip of deep green and lush vegetation that clung to the banks of the river. But the light was just enough to show Corbulo the way. Trotting on down the old Roman frontier road that skirted the western edge of the wide and placid river, leading his companions, Corbulo’ senses strained to decode the darkness. His cloak drawn around him against the cold. His keffiyeh covering his lower face. The night was quiet and the only sound came from the steady rasp of the horses’ hooves striking the stony road and the occasional snort. The darkness filled with the smell of decay coming from the marshes that lined the banks of the river.

At last twisting around in his saddle Corbulo turned to look back the way they had come - back down the road in the direction of the ruined fortress of Zeugma - but there was no sign that they were being followed. No sign that the party of Sasanians he had seen earlier were onto them.

“If this were peace time,” Corbulo said quietly as Badurad cautiously drew level with him, “there would be army patrols all along this road. There would be loads of activity. But now its all just fucking chaos. It’s going to be lawless at least until we reach the holy city of Hierapolis.”

“You think Macrianus and Balista are going to be able to restore order?” Badurad replied in a subdued voice.

“I doubt it. Certainly not for a while yet,” Corbulo said. “We must first defeat the King of Kings and drive the Sasanians back into their own lands. Only then can we turn our attention to civil security matters. And after that they are going to have to rebuild and re-populate places like Zeugma. It’s going to cost a lot of money and take time and I don’t think either Macrianus or Balista are really interested.”

“Not interested?” Badurad murmured. “But is it not the task of the new Emperors to protect the people. To ensure that we have secure frontiers.”

“Sure,” Corbulo said in a resigned voice, “but I think that Macrianus has other plans. I suspect he will at some point wish to march west and defeat Emperor Gallienus in battle. Only by defeating Gallienus can he after all claim that his sons are the only true Emperors that Rome has. Everything else is going to have to wait until that conflict has been decided.”

“So civil war,” Badurad said. “You think it will come to that.”

“Oh yes,” Corbulo said nodding. “Civil war is coming and all of us are going to have to pick a side whether we want to or not. And its going to be bloody. Come,” Corbulo added suddenly veering from the road and heading down towards the edge of the river. “Time to give our horses a drink.”

Dismounting and leading his horses up to the water’s edge as the others did the same, Corbulo sighed as he turned to stare out across the broad river before lifting his gaze to the beautiful mass of stars that were twinkling in the heavens. Taking in the wonderful sight. The innumerable faint dots of light that stretched away across the vast dark arc of the sky.

“The Euphrates, Corbulo Sir,” Linus said quietly from the darkness nearby, “do you know where the river leads to? The soldiers in the camp said that if you follow it all the way to its end you will be back in lands where they speak German. That the river will lead us home.”

“Nah the Euphrates will not take you home boy,” Corbulo said gently. “It runs south straight on across the steppe until it reaches the desert proper at the city of Dura Europos. That is the last Roman outpost on the route to the Sasanian capital of Ctesiphon. To the south of Dura it crosses the desert until it finally runs into the sea. If you follow its course southwards you can sail all the way to India from this very spot.”

“How the fuck do you know such things uncle,” Badurad exclaimed in a bewildered voice.

“Because an ancestor of mine was here before me,” Corbulo replied lowering his eyes. “A hundred and fifty years ago. His name was Fergus. He rose to become the legate of the Twentieth legion during the time when Emperor Trajan ruled the world. He left us an account of his adventures here in Syria and Mesopotamia. That is how I know.”

For a moment the darkness remained undisturbed as both Badurad and Linus appeared to be pondering on what had just been said.

“You are the wisest man I know, Corbulo Sir,” Linus called out at last in a respectful voice.

“Nah, I was just lucky to be able to read my forefather’s accounts,” Corbulo replied shaking his head. “There are many wiser men than I.”

Corbulo was about to say something else when from the darkness nearby he suddenly sensed movement. With a startled cry he pulled his sword free but moments later, in the faint light, the night parted and out of it a black dog emerged and came padding towards him. Its brown eyes fixed on Corbulo. Whining softly the animal came to a halt and sat down in front of him looking up at Corbulo before barking once.

“No way,” Badurad exclaimed taking a step backwards in shock. “It’s the stray dog from Zeugma. It followed us!”

“And it appears to have chosen a new master,” Linus interrupted as he stared at the dog sitting obediently at Corbulo’s feet.

Chapter Eighteen - In the Holy City of Hierapolis

Rising from the Syrian steppe like a beautifully made sandcastle the great city of Hierapolis shimmered in the noon sunlight. Its formidable walls, towers and battlements were a sandy colour. The fields that surrounded the city an olive green. The Roman road that led to the settlement straight like a pencil. The full yellow sun beating down from a deep blue sky. While not a cloud could be seen. Observing the city from his horse as he rode towards the northern gates, his keffiyeh wrapped around his face, Corbulo muttered something to himself. The war appeared not yet to have touched Hierapolis for entering and leaving the city was a steady stream of pedestrians, wagons and merchants. While out in the fields farmers were at work with their slaves and farm animals. The people were moving about calmly and unhurried as if they were not concerned for their safety. Life here seemed to be fairly normal and as he and his two companions approached the gates he could see the guard were on duty, regulating and checking the people entering the city. A small queue had formed but it was orderly and patient.

Slowing his horses’ pace to a walk Corbulo frowned as he turned to stare at Dog who was padding along at his side, the animal’s tail raised excitedly. The big black dog’s red tongue hanging out of his mouth. The animal’s soft brown eyes were fixed on the activity at the city gates. The stray dog appeared to have adopted him Corbulo thought for despite his best efforts to scare the animal away Dog had stubbornly refused to leave his side. Instead sticking close to him as he and his companions had continued on their journey southwards along the Euphrates. Never wandering off far and always catching up. Sleeping close to their camp. Asking for nothing but to be in his company and the scraps of food that Badurad and Linus had fed it. As if the beast had chosen him as its new master. As if the dog enjoyed his company. It was a bizarre turn of events but in the end he’d been left with no other choice but to accept the animal. It had been Linus’s joking suggestion that they call the beast “Dog” but the name had stuck.

“Listen,” Corbulo said addressing himself to Badurad and Linus as they joined the end of the queue waiting to enter the city. “You two will go to the market square and buy us fresh supplies for another five days. Here,” Corbulo added handing Badurad a small money pouch. “Use this. I will stay and guard the horses and wait for you to return. But we’re not stopping here. Time presses so no unscheduled visits. No sampling of the delights of the city, you hear me boys. We still have another hundred and fifty miles to go before we reach Palmyra and I want to get there as soon as I can.”

“Sure thing uncle,” Badurad said coolly accepting the money pouch and slipping it into his pocket.

Dismounting from his horse, clutching the rope attached to their pack animal Corbulo led the beasts up to the gates with Dog faithfully padding along at his side. But when it was finally his turn to enter, one of the city guards stopped him. The soldier saying something in a language which Corbulo could not understand, the man’s hand outstretched, his palm open as if he were asking for something. Then seeing that Corbulo had not understood him the man appeared to repeat himself, this time in Greek. “Pay, you must pay to enter the city,” the soldier exclaimed looking exasperated as he repeated himself for a third time in Latin. “For the temple of the cult of Atargatis.”

“We are not pilgrims,” Corbulo replied. “We are not planning to visit the temple. I am here on government business.”

“Everyone pay,” the soldier snapped impatiently beckoning to Corbulo with his hand. “No pay. No enter the city.”

Sighing Corbulo turned to glance round at Badurad and Linus who were standing behind him holding the reins to their horses. Then at last digging deep into his pocket he produced the required coin and paid the tax and moments later the three of them were through and into a bustling, noisy shopping street beyond. Turning to look around as he led his companions into the city Corbulo took in the terraced multi-storey stone buildings. The exotic mix of different architectural styles. The merchants were selling their merchandise in loud brash voices as they stood outside the front doors of their homes and businesses while others were doing a brisk trade from simple two wheeled push carts laden with all kinds of foods. The narrow street was thronging with people of all shades and alive with voices speaking in different languages as local Syrians, Greeks, Romans, Jews and foreigners of all kinds, from black skinned Africans, Indians, to red haired, pale faced Scythians, moved on past. No one paying him any attention. The smell of stale unwashed bodies and clothes was competing with the pong coming from an open sewer.

While dominating the heart of the city, making all the other buildings look puny in comparison, the grand temple of Atargatis was unmistakeable. Rising like a relic from a different bygone age. The temple - the living beating heart of Hierapolis, the centre of the cult of the guardian mistress. The massive white Greek style columns holding up a sloping red tiled roof on whose very top was perched a gold coloured statue of the goddess.

At last picking his spot beneath the shade of a pine tree in a little public garden off the main street Corbulo came to a halt and tethered both his horses to the tree. Before quickly turning to look around at the patch of pleasant greenery that nestled in the midst of the hot sandy coloured city. “Leave your horses with me. I will wait for you right here,” he said turning to Badurad. “And remember what I said. No fucking around.”

“Yes uncle, I heard you the first time,” Badurad replied sourly. “You worry too much old man.”

“Here Dog,” Linus called turning to Dog. “Here boy, come with us.”

But as the two youths started to move away Dog hesitated. Staring at Linus who was actively trying to get him to accompany him. Then Dog turned to look up at Corbulo and moments later he decided to stay put. Silently but resolutely settling down at Corbulo’s feet, his ears pricked, his jaws open as he panted slightly in the heat. His alert eyes roving about.

“He’s your dog now, Corbulo Sir,” Linus called out smiling. Then the two youths had disappeared into the crowds.

Sitting down on a low wall in the shade of the pine tree - guarding their horses - Corbulo turned to look down at Dog as he waited. Frowning as he did before at last with a weary sigh he shifted his gaze to the grand temple of Atargatis. The cult of the guardian goddess was influential in this part of Syria with more than three hundred priests serving in the temple. Hierapolis he had been told - was an important religious centre where it was said that ritual sex and public castrations were performed. But as he gazed in the direction of the temple he could see nothing untoward taking place. The place was serene and peaceful.

Moving on past him in both directions was a steady flow of people going about their business. Labourers carrying their tools. Women leading shoals of loud and excited children. Temple priests clad in their sober and distinctive robes. Gangs of older children looking for something to do. And as he idly watched the passers-by Corbulo suddenly noticed a solitary slave escorting his mistress. The elderly woman, clad in fine and expensive clothes, appeared to be having difficulty in walking and her slave was supporting her. A look of concern etched into the slave’s face as he gently spoke to his mistress in an encouraging voice, carefully holding her arm. The two of them slowly advancing down the concourse amid the fast torrent of rushing people. And as he watched them Corbulo was reminded of Hypatia’s words. That he would know the Christian god was close when he saw an act of kindness and goodness. Lowering his eyes he thought of her now. Picturing her face, the certainty in her beautiful eyes.

It was Dog who was the first to spot Badurad and Linus returning. Abruptly rising to his feet and barking once as if in warning. But as he studied his approaching companions Corbulo frowned. Something appeared to be wrong.

“What happened?” Corbulo called out as the youths came up. “Where are the supplies you were supposed to buy?”

“Well we went to the market,” Badurad replied looking frustrated. “There is an indoor market not far from here but we had to pay another tax to get inside. Supposedly all the food inside this market has been officially blessed by the Goddess which is why we had to pay to get in.”

“Get to the point,” Corbulo said quickly eyeing his cousin.

“Our money did not work,” Badurad blurted out. “The traders would not accept our coins. They claimed that our coins were so debased in silver that they were practically worthless. They would not accept them so we couldn’t buy anything. So we came back.”

“What?” Corbulo exclaimed looking taken aback. “They would not accept your coins. That is ridiculous.”

“The only people who accepted our coins were the temple priests collecting the tax to enter the indoor market,” Linus exclaimed with a shrug. “They gave us these chits to prove that we had paid,” he added showing Corbulo too little pebbles marked with numbers. “They told us that the price also including a free entrance to the temple to see the tank where the sacred fish are kept.”

“There are too many bloody taxes in this town,” Corbulo snapped as he rose to his feet looking displeased and snatched the chits out of Linus’s hand. “I need to see this for myself. Badurad you are coming with me. Linus you will stay here and guard the horses.”

Then Corbulo was off stomping on down the street with Dog padding on behind and Badurad hastening to catch up with his uncle.

“What do you mean we have to pay again?” Corbulo called out raising his voice in exasperation as the priest blocked his way into the indoor market. “We have already paid. Look man. I have the chits right here.”

“I am sorry,” the priest replied shaking his head and refusing to budge. “You may have paid for an earlier visit to the market but then you left and if you want to return to the market you have to pay again. Those are the rules,” the priest added pointing to a board fixed to a nearby wall on which was scrawled a mass of densely written words and regulations.

“Are you serious?” Corbulo snapped.

“If you want to consume the food and drink blessed by Atargatis herself,” the priest said folding his arms across his chest, “then you need to pay. Otherwise you can try the shit they serve on the street. The entrance ticket however includes a free visit to see the sacred fish in the temple of the Goddess.”

“I have not come all this way to see a tank full of holy fish!” Corbulo bellowed, his voice making people turn to stare at him.

“Uncle,” Badurad said in German, shifting uneasily on his feet. “People are staring at us. Let’s just pay the tax.”

Glaring at the priest Corbulo said nothing. Then fishing for something in his pocket he slammed two coins into the priest’s outstretched hand and barged past the man and on into the indoor market, quickly followed by Badurad and Dog. Swearing softly to himself Corbulo turned to look around at the food stalls lined up in neat and orderly rows with their vendors standing behind them.

“Who was the man who refused to accept our money?” Corbulo snapped.

“Him,” Badurad said pointing.

Coming up to the merchant Corbulo waited as the vendor finished serving another customer. Then it was his turn.

“Listen,” Corbulo began coolly eyeing the merchant. “My cousin was here earlier and he said you refused to accept these coins. These in particular. See,” Corbulo added showing the trader a few of the silver coins nestling in his hand. “They are marked with the Emperor’s head. They are valid currency. You have to accept them. It is against the law to do otherwise.”

Saying nothing the merchant picked out one of the coins and examined it. Then he nodded. “I remember you,” he said turning to Badurad. Then to Corbulo. “What are you? Military. Attached to the temple guard or something? I am the one who decides what payment I accept.”

“Prefect of the 1st cohort of Salian Franks and I am getting mighty tired of this charade,” Corbulo snapped. “Now answer my question. Do you still refuse to accept these coins?”

Gazing back at Corbulo the merchant appeared to hesitate. Then quickly he turned his attention back to the silver coins in Corbulo’s hand. “The coins bear the wrong Emperor’s head,” the man exclaimed at last sounding exasperated. “The silver content in these coins is barely five percent. They are practically worthless. You may as well give me a piece of iron. No, sorry I cannot accept these coins. Unless you have a whole wagon full of them. Inflation is eating away all my profit as it is. These coins are just not worth my time.”

Swearing out loud Corbulo’s face darkened.

“Sir if you wish to pay me with these coins,” the merchant continued, “I will accept them but I will need a lot more of them than you have got. You can complain to the authorities about me if you like but I am in the my rights to refuse payment as stated in the market rules and regulations,” the man added pointing to a board affixed nearby filled with a mass of dense writing.

“So we are back to bartering for goods,” Corbulo growled looking unhappy. “Will you accept barter?”

“What have you got to exchange?” the merchant said with a shrug.

For a moment Corbulo remained silent. Then he turned to Badurad. “The rings you took from that dead Sasanian soldier,” he said speaking in German. “Give me one of them.”

“Seriously uncle,” Badurad replied looking unimpressed. “So I am now paying for all our supplies?”

“Just hand it over.”

Reluctantly Badurad did as asked and showing the merchant the gleaming ring Corbulo glared at the man.

“Finest Sasanian craftsmanship,” Corbulo said. “See. Here. Look. I took this from an officer we killed. He was an important man. A nobleman. It is worth a lot.”

Taking the ring the merchant carefully examined it, peering at the tiny artwork engraved into the metal. Then at last he nodded his acceptance. “The supplies the young man wanted earlier in exchange for this ring,” the man called out. “That is the deal.”

“Agreed,” Corbulo snapped, “plus that piece of meat over there for my dog. For wasting an imperial officer’s time.”

Looking displeased the merchant glared at Corbulo but he did as asked, reluctantly handing over all the requested goods. “Don’t come back,” the merchant hissed as Corbulo and Badurad prepared to leave, “for my prices have just risen. It will cost you two such rings next time, soldier.”

“Uncle,” Badurad said carrying their supplies as the two of them with Dog trailing emerged from the indoor market. “I know you said that you wanted to get back onto the road as soon as possible but lets go to the temple of Atargatis and take a look at these sacred fish. We have a free entry ticket and we will only be gone for a short while. Come on. There is no harm in it.”

“What for?” Corbulo replied turning to his cousin with a frown. “Since when do you care about this foreign goddess.”

“You are right I don’t care,” Badurad conceded coming to a halt in the street. “But nevertheless I want to go. It would impress a girl. I would impress her greatly if I could say that I had been to the temple. She is a follower of the cult.”

“So official government business has to wait because you want to impress a girl?” Corbulo said raising his eyebrows.

“Come on uncle,” Badurad said giving him a cheeky well meaning smile. “Do this for me. We won’t be long. The temple is just over there.”

Turning to stare at the grand temple complex Corbulo took a deep breath. Then without speaking he nodded for Badurad to lead the way.

“All right!” Badurad called out sounding pleased as he turned towards the building with Corbulo and Dog following.

At the entrance to the temple complex an orderly queue of people had formed - all waiting to enter - and as they joined the back of the queue Corbulo cast his eyes about. The waiting people were mainly women with some appearing to be pilgrims who had come from afar. The sober reverence with which they were dressed and acted showed the great respect with which they appeared to hold their goddess. The sense of awe and piety palpable. And as he slowly shuffled towards the entrance where the temple priests were checking tickets and taking payment to enter the temple, Corbulo could sense the growing excitement among the pilgrims and locals alike.

Showing the numbered chits to the priests Corbulo waited in silence. Then he, Badurad and Dog were through the gates and into a lush garden beyond. The exquisite greenery interspersed with a number of fine marble statues and a single gurgling water fountain. While in a corner of the gardens two women were performing a musical act, one singing, the other playing a harp. A bowl with some coins resting on the ground at their feet.

“This way to see the tank containing the sacred fish,” a priest dressed in his prim robes called out gesturing for the pilgrims to follow him.

Obediently following their guide the crowd surged after him through the well maintained gardens, sweeping Corbulo and his companions with them. Ascending some broad stone steps to a raised platform that sat in the gardens directly in front of the majestic entrance to the grand colonnaded temple itself, Corbulo frowned as in front of him he suddenly heard gasps of awe and religious ecstasy. The pilgrims and locals crowding around something. Then as he reached the top of the stone platform he saw the rectangular basin of greenish water set within the structure and swimming in it were hundreds of bright orange fish. The fish tank guarded by several severe looking and burly priests, armed with wooden truncheons. Sighing Corbulo folded his arms across his chest as Badurad, looking curious, carefully pushed his way to the front. While here and there some of the visitors appeared to be in tears at the sight. Looking on as a few of the pilgrims got down on their knees and reverently bowed their heads to the holy fish, Corbulo sighed again refusing to move any closer to the edge of the basin.

“Behold the sacred fish of the goddess,” a priest called out.

Suddenly Corbulo was conscious that Dog was no longer at his side. But before he could turn to look for him there was movement among the crowd and without warning, before anyone could stop him, Dog had launched himself into the tank. The big animal landing in the water with a great violent splash that sent droplets flying in all directions. Instantly everything had descended into chaos as Dog thrashed about in the water, frantically and wildly trying to catch the fish. While shrieks of terror and alarm rose up from the gathered crowd and the priests stared at the scene in stunned disbelief.

“Oh no,” Corbulo gasped in horror, the blood draining from his face. “Dog get out of there!”

But it was already too late. Thrashing about wildly in the water, its snout snapping at the desperate fish who were trying to escape, Dog paid him no attention. And as the animal refused to leave the tank the cries of alarm started to turn to anger and rage as the crowd turned on Dog.

“He’s your animal!” a woman screamed suddenly pointing at Corbulo. “I saw you bring him into the temple. You are responsible for this. He’s your dog!”

“Devil dog! He’s a devil dog!” another voice shrieked sounding close to panic. “Kill the monster. Kill it before it eats the sacred fish!”

“You are responsible for this outrage,” another woman yelled turning her furious eyes onto Corbulo. “You did this. Sacriledge. You mock the Goddess in her own home. You taunt her, pagan! Pagan!”

Spotting two of the temple priests turning to stare at him while their bewildered looking colleagues were kneeling at the side of the basin trying unsuccessfully to get Dog out of the fish tank, Corbulo sensed that the crowd were about to turn on him. Their fury palpable. Their anger about to give way to violence.

“Badurad,” Corbulo roared in German. “Time to go! With me boy! Now!”

Then he was off hurrying down the stone steps and heading for the exit gates with Badurad close on his heels. The youth looking flushed. The two of them breaking into a run as behind them, with a sudden explosive roar, the crowd of pilgrims and locals turned and set off in pursuit. The crowd surging after them as if they were on a witch hunt. The air filled with the women’s outraged cries and raised fists. And as the two of them sprinted through the park Dog suddenly re-appeared, racing after them. The big black animal completely drenched while clenching a bright orange fish in its powerful jaws.

Swerving to avoid a couple of ineffectual temple priests who tried to block their path, Corbulo burst out through the gates and into the street beyond. Followed swiftly by Badurad and Dog. Fleeing down the street, pounding the paving stones and racing past the startled onlookers and pedestrians who had stopped to see what was going on, Corbulo had no time to look back to check whether the vengeful mob was still after him.

“Linus, untie the horses!” Corbulo roared as he came rushing towards the youth who was waiting dutifully with their horses beneath the pine tree in the small park. “Now man. Hurry. We are leaving!”

Chapter Nineteen - The Fury of the Desert

Perched on the high ground just above the western banks of the river the triangular shaped Roman fort dominated the narrow valley of the Euphrates. The last fort on this stretch of the Syrian limes. The wide and placid turquoise coloured waters of the Euphrates bending sharply to the east. The deep green of the narrow river valley contrasting sharply with the reddish yellow expanse of the desert that stretched southwards to the horizon. It was near noon and extending off northwards into the distance, placed at intervals along the Roman military road, were a line of watch towers and accompanying beacon fires to rapidly send signals up the limes. The defences manned not by Roman troops but by Palmyrene soldiers. The men were equipped with a mixture of Roman weapons, body armour and helmets but clad in the loose fitting desert clothes of the Bedouin. The banners of King Odaenathus were fluttering from their battlements.

Just outside the entrance to the fort Corbulo was busying himself checking and preparing their horses for the journey into the desert, while Badurad was sitting on a rock repairing one of his boots and Dog was pruning himself nearby. The animal half twisted around on itself as it growled and gnawed at its own fur, trying to remove ticks and fleas. At last appearing satisfied that the horses were as well prepared as he could get them Corbulo paused and turned his gaze towards the desert coloured fort. Taking in the arched gateway and the defensive towers that rose from its corners. The separate cemetery with its robbers graves located just beyond the confines of the military post.

A few civilians were sitting about in the shade hoping to sell some trinkets and refreshments to the soldiers and among them were some men who were of fighting age but who were out of uniform. Clad in the clothes of the Bedouin and armed with swords, knives, spears and bows. The bearded men were idly observing him and his small party as they sat about smoking Scythian cannabis. The sweet scent of the drugs drifting across the rocky plateau upon which the fort sat. Eyeing the men Corbulo’s paused again. Then he shifted his attention to two young girls, no older than thirteen or fourteen, who were sitting together in the shade cast by the fort’s walls. Shoeless and clad in rags they appeared to be homeless orphans. The flotsam of society. Just like so many orphans and runaways he had seen working the streets of the great cities of the Roman east. The children often openly abused by sexual predators. Sold and worked like cattle or lured into gangs and a life of crime that was short and brutal.

But instead of begging one of the girls was carefully working on rubbing and cleaning her sister’s hair. Removing the dirt and desert sand. Now and then dipping her fingers into an old cracked earthen bowl filled with a little water as she softly sang a little song. Her foreign words were drifting across to him.

And as he eyed the girls Corbulo was once again reminded of what Hypatia had said to him in the underground aqueduct. When he saw an act of kindness or goodness he would know that the Christian god was close. For a moment longer he eyed the orphans with a sombre expression. Then appearing to make up his mind he abruptly left his position beside the horses and strode over to the girls. Seeing him approaching the orphan abruptly stopped singing and the two of them stared up at Corbulo with suspicious, sullen looks.

Crouching before the girls Corbulo gazed back at them. Sensing their fear, their distrust. Then muttering something to himself in German, reaching into his pocket, he produced two silver coins and carefully dropped them into the earthen bowl before rising back to his feet. The girls staring at him first and then at the coins in wide-eyed, startled surprise.

“You know that you will ruin us if you decide to give our coins to every beggar and stray we meet,” Badurad said as Corbulo rejoined him, the youth giving his uncle a quizzical look. “I saw what you just did. You know that they are probably working for one of the local criminal gangs.”

“I was not doing it for those girls,” Corbulo replied as he sat down beside his cousin. “That was an offering to the Christian god. To ask the god to grant us safe passage across the desert.”

“What?” Badurad replied frowning. “Then you should have left the coins at a statue of the Christian god or given them to one of the god’s priests. How is the Christian god supposed to know what you want if you give the offering to some random strangers?”

“The Christian god is close,” Corbulo replied lowering his eyes. “He has heard me.”

“These Christians are fanatics, uncle.”

“Maybe, but they have a powerful message.”

For a moment Badurad said nothing as he gazed at his uncle in disbelief.

“Are you becoming a Christian - uncle,” the youth exclaimed at last with a frown. “Or are you just doing this because you have taken a fancy to that Christian woman, Hypatia?”

“I don’t know,” Corbulo said quietly turning to look south into the vastness of the desert. “Hypatia said that if you turn to the Christian god He will forgive you for the sins you have committed.”

“Sins,” Badurad said looking confused. “What sins uncle? What did you do that is so bad you need to ask a god to forgive you. I don’t understand.”

Gazing out into the desert Corbulo remained silent, his eyes suddenly faraway as he remembered. Then at last he sighed and rose to his feet as he spotted Linus coming out of the fort carrying several large water satchels suspended from a wooden staff that was balanced and resting across his shoulders.

“It’s nothing,” Corbulo said quickly. “Maybe you are right. Maybe I have taken a liking to Hypatia.”

But as Corbulo turned to greet Linus he was oblivious to the sudden perplexed look on Badurad’s face.

“I got the water,” Linus called out cheerfully as he came up. “Tasted it myself like you told me to Corbulo Sir. It’s good clean water.”

“Good man,” Corbulo said taking hold of the staff and lowering the satchels to the ground. “This should be enough to last us for our journey across the desert. Any trouble paying with our coins?”

“No, they accepted them,” Linus replied stretching as the heavy weight was lifted from his shoulders. “But there were some men inside the fort who were interested in us. I don’t think they were soldiers. They asked me where we were heading and what we were doing here.”

“They did?” Corbulo replied with a sudden frown, “and what did you tell them?”

“Nothing much,” Linus shrugged avoiding Corbulo’s gaze. “Just that we were heading for Palmyra.”

“I see,” Corbulo said nodding as he turned to hoist the water satchels onto the back of their spare horse, the pack animal taking the load in stoic silence. “But next time Linus, just keep your mouth shut,” he added. “It is best if as few as possible people know where we are going.”

“See what you have done,” Badurad exclaimed turning to his friend. “You have upset my uncle now, you clown.”

“Oh as if you have never done that,” Linus retorted. “You are the one who is constantly getting us into trouble.”

“All of you are constantly getting me into trouble,” Corbulo interrupted in a sour sounding voice as he turned to his companions, “including you Dog!” he added gesturing at the dog. “You three are going to be the death of me. Now when you are ready we should get going. Say goodbye to the Euphrates. There will be nothing but desert from now on until we reach Palmyra.”

​***

Stretching to the horizon in every direction was a desolate wilderness of rocks and sand. With sheer rocky outcrops rising up from the plains in the distance like the ruins of abandoned castles. The sun was hanging low in the west. Its fading light colouring the desert a magnificent red and yellow. The landscape devoid of trees or greenery. Silent like a mouse. The temperature was rapidly cooling. The vast empty expanse was utterly deserted except for the party of three horsemen, their spare horse and a big black dog.

“Have you ever been in the desert like this before, Corbulo Sir?” Linus called out as the three of them rode side by side through the desert with Dog bounding on ahead and the spare pack animal carrying their food, water and blankets trotting on behind, attached to Corbulo by a rope.

“Once,” Corbulo replied as he turned to survey the expanse of beautiful wilderness which appeared to have swallowed them whole. His face covered by his keffiyeh. His head bare. “We stick to the road, boys. Otherwise we will get lost and if we get lost out there we will die.”

“Road?” Badurad said looking around with an apprehensive expression.

“Mile stones, like that one,” Corbulo replied gesturing at a Roman mile stone that had been sunk into the ground and placed on the route ahead. “They will tell us that we are still on the road. Keep your eyes open for them. They will guide us all the way to Palmyra.”

“Have you ever been to Palmyra Corbulo Sir?”

“No.”

“How does anything manage to survive out here?” Linus exclaimed as he pointed up at the black speck of a bird hovering high above them in the blue sky. “There is no water here. No vegetation.”

“There are desert oasis,” Corbulo replied in a patient voice. “There is water out here if you know where to look.”

“And do you know where to find it, water?” Linus continued.

“Shut the fuck up Linus,” Corbulo said calmly as he gazed ahead, “you ask too many questions.”

“I bet the women in Palmyra are going to be beautiful,” Badurad called out in a sudden eager voice. “And the men too,” he added conceding to Linus. “The most beautiful women Linus can always be found at the places where two great cultures meet. They inhabit those fault lines. Don’t ask me why it is so, they just do. Like on the Rhine and out here in Syria - what with the Sasanians to the east and us to the west.”

“No. No. No,” Linus replied quickly shaking his head, taking up the challenge as he turned to his friend. “That is not what I heard you say to that Scythian whore back in Samosata. You Badurad - you told her that Scythian women were the most beautiful in the world and that she was like a diamond. So have you changed your mind or do you tell every woman they are beautiful just to win favours from them? Come on. What is it?”

“Ah you must have misheard me,” Badurad said with a little mischievous grin. Then changing the subject the youth turned to Corbulo.

“In Palmyra, are we going to meet King Odaenathus, uncle?”

“I expect so,” Corbulo replied with a resigned sigh.

“Do you think the king is going to aid us in the war with the Sasanians?” Badurad continued.

“It would be in his interests to do so,” Corbulo said in a tight voice. “King Odaenathus is officially an ally of Rome. He is no friend of King Shapur. His people are also suffering from this war. Yes I think he will help us in this fight.”

“So if that is the case,” Badurad exclaimed, a note of triumph entering his voice, “why then are we out here? If king Odaenathus is going to fight against the Sasanians anyway as you say, then what is the problem? Antoninus is already here doing the diplomacy. Can he not handle it on his own? Does the king really need us to remind him of his duty. I am just saying.”

“Oh mother of god,” Corbulo snapped in exasperation. “The both of you. Shut the fuck up. No more questions.”

​***

It was just after dawn the following day and the three of them had just set out from where they had camped for the night beside a mile stone and were trotting southwards when Corbulo suddenly heard Dog’s warning bark. Frowning he turned to look back the way they had come, spotting Dog padding on behind. And beyond the animal in the distance, coming down the road straight towards him, was a cloud of dust.

“What is it?” Linus called out as he too stared at the dust cloud.

“People,” Corbulo growled. “Fellow travellers by the looks of it. They are riding on horses or camels. They are moving fast.”

“Trouble?” Badurad said guardedly.

“Maybe,” Corbulo said eyeing the distant dust cloud with a concerned look. Then quickly he turned to look around the desert and spotting some broken and raised terrain he abruptly veered from his path towards it.

“We will hide over there among those rocks until they pass on by,” Corbulo called out as his companions followed. “Come on. Let’s see who they are. It may be nothing but it pays to be cautious.”

Dismounting in the shelter provided by the reverse slope of the high ground and the jumble of large reddish rocks Corbulo hurriedly secured his horses before quickly clambering back up the slope. Crouching at the summit among the rocks he turned his eyes to the north and the cloud of dust on the road. Moments later he was joined by Badurad and Linus. The two youths hastily dropping to the ground beside him. Stretched out on their stomachs. Their lower faces covered by their desert scarves. Their eyes fixed upon the road and for a while no one spoke. The desert utterly silent and still.

“You are right uncle,” Badurad said at last in a quiet voice. “I see them. Riders on horseback. I count about a dozen men.”

“I see them too,” Linus said in a tight voice.

Staring at the group of horsemen riding down the road towards them Corbulo’s concern suddenly gave way to alarm.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “They look like the men who we saw at that last fort along the Euphrates. The ones smoking cannabis.”

“Who are they?” Badurad said quietly, peering at the strangers. “What are they doing right out here in the midst of nowhere?”

But Corbulo was not paying attention to his cousin. Instead he had turned his head towards Linus, his eyes suddenly hard as flint. “The men inside the fort,” Corbulo snapped, “the ones who asked you what we were doing here. What did you tell them Linus?”

“I already told you,” Linus stammered, his keffiyeh hiding the sudden blush that had appeared across his cheeks. “I just told them we were heading for Palmyra…” but as he spoke the youth’s words were abruptly cut off as Corbulo seized hold of the young man by his throat.

“What did you tell them Linus?” Corbulo growled tightening his grip on the youth’s throat. “Tell me the truth or by the Gods I swear I will leave you out here to die on your own.”

Gasping for breath as Corbulo relaxed his grip a little, Linus looked close to panic. His eyes darting about.

“All right, all right, Corbulo Sir,” the youth wheezed. “I told them that we were heading for Palmyra. I also told them that you were a high ranking and very important imperial officer who was travelling to the city to conduct state business with king Odaenathus.”

“What the fuck did you tell them that for?” Badurad snapped frowning as he rounded on his friend.

“I didn’t think it would do any harm?” Linus stammered. “It’s the truth isn’t it.”

“No harm?” Corbulo snarled as he fully released his grip on Linus’s throat. “Oh you foolish boy. You idiot! Those men down there are most likely bandits who have come to waylaid us. To rob us.”

“But we have nothing of value on us,” Linus replied, blushing furiously. “What do we have that is worth stealing?”

“I am valuable to them,” Corbulo said giving Linus a murderous look. “They are after me. Don’t you understand boy! You told them who I was - an important imperial officer - and that made me a target. That must be why they are here. They followed us into the desert because they want to capture me for ransom. They will likely ransom me and kill the two of you and leave your bodies out here for the carrion birds - as you are of no use to them.”

Staring back at Corbulo, Linus’s eyes widened in horror and for a moment he was unable to speak.

“Oh shit,” the youth muttered at last looking away. “I am so sorry Corbulo Sir. I am so sorry that I got us into this mess.”

“Well lucky for us, we spotted them in time, before they could catch us,” Corbulo growled as he hurriedly turned his eyes back to the bandits. Out on the road the group of horsemen had slowed their pace as they approached the spot where their quarry had left the road. Then with Corbulo observing them from his hiding place the party came to a halt on the road as the mounted riders turned to study the desert around them.

“They know we have come off the road,” Corbulo said swearing quietly. “They must have a tracker.”

“What do we do uncle?”

“We can’t stay here,” Corbulo said as he studied the bandits. “We are going to have to leave the road and try and find a better place to hide. If we can evade them till nightfall we may stand a chance of getting away. Come,” Corbulo added as he started to slither back down the slope, “let’s get the fuck out here while we still can. Follow me!”

Cantering away across the flat arid expanse with Dog bounding on ahead Corbulo’s keffiyeh concealed his growing alarm. His two companions riding on each side of him. Their heads bent forwards. No one speaking. Their horses kicking up little clouds of dust in their wake as the party fled into the vastness of the desert. Swearing softly to himself Corbulo studied the horizon. His eyes darting about with increasing desperation but out on the featureless plain he could see no suitable hiding places where they could hope to lay low. Nothing. No high ground - not even a wadi. Just an endless landscape of stone, rock and sand as far as the eye could see. The terrain refusing to help and conceal him. The growing strength of the sun beating down on him as it rose towards its zenith. Reminding him that the night was still many hours away. That he could not count on the darkness to hide him.

“Corbulo Sir!” Linus suddenly yelled. “Look!”

Snatching a look over his shoulder Corbulo groaned as in the distance he noticed the dust cloud. They had been spotted. The chase was on. The bandits were moving fast. Racing after him - intent on catching up.

“Ride. Ride!” Corbulo cried out to his companions.

Picking up the pace the three of them broke into a gallop as they tore across the desert, their horses hooves pounding the ground. But behind them their pursuers were not giving up. The band of horsemen throwing up streams of dust as they raced after them. Staring ahead Corbulo suddenly knew it was useless. They were never going to outrun their pursuers. They were not going to escape. Eventually their horses would tire and slow and without a place to hide it was only a matter of time before the bandits caught up.

“Listen,” Corbulo cried out in a loud voice turning to Badurad and Linus. “When they catch up with us I want you to fight like hell. You fight! We are not going to surrender. Take as many of those bastards with you as you can. Go down with honour and fury in your heart. Show them who you truly are. Don’t fear death boys. It will come to all of us sooner or later. We have each other and we shall go down together. We go down together!”

Racing along on either side of him Badurad and Linus did not reply, their faces however were pale and there was fear in their eyes.

Swearing again Corbulo snatched another look over his shoulder and saw that his pursuers were gaining. The tiny figures on horseback were now visible in the hazy shimmering heat. Charging after him in an extended line. Each man and horse leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

Turning to look ahead Corbulo’s shoulders sagged as he could see nothing across the empty stony plain. Nothing to give him hope. Not even a small rise where they could hope to make a last stand. Lowering his eyes, his lips silently started to move as he began to recall his ancestors names and their deeds. His battle song lost to the world amid the frantic and rhythmic thud of horses’ hooves striking the hard ground and the furious clatter of displaced pebbles.

On they raced across the unforgiving plain and into the shimmering heat. Their horses gasping for breath, the sun beating down on them while behind them their pursuers were steadily gaining. The inevitable moment drawing closer and closer when they would have to stop, turn and fight.

Suddenly from the corner of his eye, in the distance, through the shimmering heat haze, Corbulo noticed a break in the monotonous plain. A rise in the ground. The hard floor of the desert sloping up into a jagged rocky outcrop that resembled the ruins of a stone tower. The red dusty rocks illuminated in the fierce sunshine. Instantly crying out to his companions he veered sharply towards the rocky high ground. And as the three of them raced towards it Corbulo snatched another look over his shoulder.

“We are going to make our stand on that high ground,” he roared. “We will fight them over there!”

Bursting up the stony slopes Corbulo grimaced as he sensed that his horse was spent. The poor beast struggling up towards the summit and the tumbled mass of reddish coloured rocks. Then he had made it and hurriedly sliding from his saddle he snatched up the bow and quiver of arrows which the spare horse had been carrying as Badurad and Linus came charging up the slope towards him. The youths looking flushed.

“Keep in the cover of those rocks,” Corbulo yelled as he notched an arrow to his bow. “They have bows.”

“What about the horses?” Linus cried out.

But Corbulo was not listening. Instead he had turned to face their pursuers who were racing towards them, now just a hundred yards away. Crouching beside one of the large rocks he raised his bow and took careful aim while moments later Badurad and Linus were crouching nearby, their swords and knives drawn. Their eyes wild and staring.

“Dog! Dog get over here,” Badurad roared but Corbulo did not have the time to see if the animal had obeyed.

As the bandits came storming up the slope towards him Corbulo released his arrow and shot the foremost man sending him tumbling to the ground. But before Corbulo could shoot again two arrows went whining over his head forcing him to duck. Then the first of the bandits were upon them but the slope and the mass of rocks broke the attackers momentum. Making it harder for them to get at their quarry. Slowing them down and forcing them to dismount. Dropping the bow Corbulo pulled his spatha long sword from his belt as two bandits came leaping and sliding into their position. But as the men appeared Badurad and Linus were onto them. The youths shrieking. Fear lending them strength as they repeatedly stabbed the attackers. Blood splattering their faces and tunics. Their arms pumping forwards and backwards as they drove their steel blades into human flesh. Gasping for breath Corbulo ducked again as a javelin slammed into the rocks nearby, clattering away harmlessly. His sword raised and ready to strike at the next man to come at him. But as he waited nothing happened and no one came. The bandits appeared to be holding back. Nearby he could hear Badurad’s and Linus’s heavy breathing and in the distance the barking of a dog. The youths were in a crouch. Their eyes darting about trying to spot the next attack. Their faces alive with a sudden savage and murderous determination.

“Come on out!” a voice suddenly yelled in Latin. “We only want the officer. The other two may go free and unharmed. You have my word.”

“Fuck off!” Corbulo bellowed. “If you want us, come and get us!”

“Come on out or we will kill all three of you!” the voice shouted sounding frustrated. “No one has to die out here! You are surrounded. We outnumber you. Your position is hopeless. You cannot escape. You have no water and we have taken your pack animal. We can wait, you cannot.”

Slowing his breathing Corbulo raised his head to get a better view and saw that the bandits had taken up positions in a semi-circle around the rocky summit. Their missile and throwing weapons trained on him. The men’s faces covered by their keffiyeh and behind them one of the men was holding the reins to his pack animal carrying all their precious water supplies. Peering at the bandits from the cover of the rocks Corbulo took a deep breath, then he lowered his eyes. The bandits were not bluffing. They could afford to wait until thirst forced him to surrender. Without water he and his companions were doomed. And no one was coming to his rescue. The desert stretching to the horizon in every direction. He was trapped. From somewhere behind him he could hear Dog’s barking, the noise incessant. Turning to the youths Corbulo caught Badurad and Linus’s eye and as he did something seemed to pass between the three of them.

“Go to hell swine!” Badurad suddenly cried addressing himself to the bandits in German. “We are not going to surrender!”

“We killed your comrades!” Linus roared in German. “And we will do the same to anyone else who thinks he can take us!”

As the youths fell silent, there was no response from the bandits. The desert silent except for Dog’s incessant and frenzied barking. The animal refusing to be silent as if the dog was trying to tell him something. At last with a frustrated frown Corbulo turned to look over his shoulder in the direction from which the barking was coming and as he did he froze. His eyes widening in shock. Then softly he swore to himself. To the south stretching across the horizon as far as the eye could see a huge billowing wall of sand was bearing down on them. The massive sand storm, hundreds of yards high, was sweeping straight towards him like a gigantic rolling wave. Crashing over the land. Unstoppable. Gobbling up the desert. Threatening to blot out the sun and plunge them into darkness. The power of the beast blasting sand and pebbles in all directions.

Staring at the sight, Corbulo heard Badurad and Linus gasp as they too spotted the storm. And out in the desert, directly in the path of the storm, down the slope fifty paces away, Dog was rushing up and down, leaping into the air and barking wildly like a demented spirit.

“Have you ever seen such a thing!” Linus cried out.

“Sandstorm,” Badurad shouted, his cheeks flushed. “The fury of the desert! The Gods are angry!”

Staring at the awesome and mesmerising sight Corbulo took a deep breath. Then quickly he turned his attention back to the bandits and as he did his heart skipped a beat. The bandits were fleeing. Mounted on their horses the men were racing off back the way they had come. They too had seen the storm bearing down on them and were not hanging around.

“They are retreating!” Linus shrieked in triumph, holding his bloodied knife. “We have been saved!”

Staring at the fleeing bandits Corbulo exhaled sharply. Alarm etched into his face. They had not been saved. One threat had just been replaced with another. Quickly he turned his attention back to the south. The huge rolling wave of sand was moving fast and he could already feel the disturbance in the air. The sand shifting uneasily around him as it awaited the coming of its master. The monster was about to engulf them.

“Get down in the shelter of the rocks,” Corbulo roared turning to his companions. “Bend your head to the ground and cover your nose and mouth and keep your eyes closed. It’s not only sand but flying stones. Its going to get rough. But you stay put! Do you hear me. You do not move! Whatever happens. Dog! Dog! Dog! Come here now!” Corbulo yelled frantically beckoning to the animal.

Still rushing wildly up and down across the desert floor Dog was staring at the approaching wall of sand, oblivious to the world. But there must have been something in Corbulo’s voice for suddenly the beast turned and came bounding towards him, finally leaping into their position with a snarl. Staring at the sand storm as it began to tower over him, hundreds of yards high, blotting out the sun, Corbulo gasped in awe. Then wrapping his arm around Dog’s neck he dropped down into a protective crouch among the rocks and hurriedly turned his face to the ground as moments later the storm was upon him. Crashing over him. The light instantly replaced with complete darkness. The only noise was the roar and furious maelstrom of flying sand and pebbles. The air was thick with debris and barely breathable. The world was transformed. Huddled among the rocks Corbulo closed his eyes, gripping Dog, grimacing as he was hit by a shower of pebbles. Trying to take short, shallow breaths.

​***

“Are you all right?” Corbulo growled as Badurad slowly staggered to his feet. The youth’s clothes covered in a fine coat of reddish sand. Nodding that he was Badurad said nothing as he spat out something from his mouth and reached up to rub his eyes. Hurriedly turning to Linus who had risen from the ground like some mythical sand creature Corbulo gave the youth a quick check up, but Linus too appeared to have come through the storm with just a few scrapes and bruises. Patting the young man on his back he paused as Linus wretched up some bile. Then with Dog coated from head to tail in dark red sand standing next to him, Corbulo sighed as he turned to survey the desert. It was afternoon and across the vast expanse of wilderness he could see nobody. There was no sign of the bandits and the sand storm had vanished without trace. The desert utterly silent and peaceful as if nothing had happened.

“You look like shit,” Badurad said turning to Linus with a disapproving look.

“Maybe, but I will always look better than you,” Linus retorted as he coughed up some more bile.

“So what now uncle?” Badurad said as he too turned to study the desert from their elevated position. “What do we do?”

“We lost our horses and all our supplies,” Corbulo replied sombrely before quickly glancing up to check the position of the sun. “We can’t stay here. Come we will have to walk back to the road and hope we meet some friendly travellers. It will be dark within a few hours.”

“And what if we run into those bandits again?” Badurad replied frowning. “Would it not be better to wait until dark?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Corbulo said lowering his eyes. “We don’t have the time. Without water we are going to be finished anyway. We have to try and get back to the road. That is our only hope.”

“We did well didn’t we, Corbulo Sir,” Linus said suddenly, staring. “We stood our ground. The three of us. We didn’t yield to those men.”

Pausing Corbulo turned to look at Linus and then at Badurad. Then silently he reached out to both of them and drew them into a quick three-way embrace. “Yes. We did well,” Corbulo replied in a fatherly voice. “And when we get back to the Colonia I will make sure that everyone knows about your bravery. Now come. Let’s go. We have to find our way back to the road.”

“The Gods of the desert spared us uncle,” Badurad called out trying to sound cheerful as the three of them, with a red Dog padding alongside, set out into the desert on foot. “They sent that storm because it is not yet our time.”

“No,” Corbulo said sharply as he led the way without looking back at his cousin. “We are not out of danger yet but if we do survive this then it was the Christian god who saved us.”

“Why would the Christian God do that, Corbulo Sir? We are not His followers.”

But crunching on across the stony desert floor Corbulo did not reply.

​***

It was morning and looking weary, his lips cracked and bone dry, Corbulo once again turned to check the position of the sun. Around him the desert however was an endless expanse of wilderness and there was still no sign of the road. No topographical feature he could recall passing. No milestones. No travellers. Not a single living being. Just sand, stones and rock. Had he got his directions wrong? Coming to a halt Corbulo sighed as he crouched and turned to look around him. All day yesterday and most of the night they had been walking. Using the stars and the sun to guide him. If he had got the direction wrong he would have just killed them all. But this was no time for doubts. Looking up at Badurad and Linus as the two young men came to a weary halt beside him he could see the growing fear in their eyes. If they did not find water soon they would be finished. The lack of water was already starting to weaken them.

Lowering his eyes as his two dispirited companions sat down on the ground close by to rest Corbulo hesitated pondering whether to tell Badurad the truth about how his kin, Gamo had died all those years ago. The truth about his own role in his step father’s murder. Badurad would not take the truth of what he had done lightly and it would destroy their bond of friendship Corbulo thought. It would be even worse for him when Hostes found out what had really happened to his brother. But if they were to die out here it would not matter anyway. But as he thought about it he could not bring himself to do it. Instead closing his eyes, Corbulo reached up and pulled the fish amulet from around his neck. Opening his eyes he turned to study the simple Christian amulet, his expression despondent.

“Where is your Christian god now uncle,” Badurad said quietly eyeing Corbulo, his hair and face covered in a fine coat of sand. The youth looking tired.

“We must have faith,” Corbulo said avoiding his cousin’s accusing stare. “If the Christian god wants us to survive, He will send us a messenger. A sign. If we are worthy we will survive. We cannot give up.”

“Faith,” Badurad muttered casting his eyes down to the ground. “I don’t think I have much left.”

“If we are to die here,” Linus said suddenly, “then I am glad that I am in the company of you two. This is where I wanted to be. I am happy.”

“Well said Linus,” Corbulo replied with a little weary smile. “That is the spirit.”

“Well I don’t want to die,” Badurad snapped moodily. “I am too fucking young to die and I am not dying because some Christian god thinks I am not worthy. I want to live!”

Corbulo was about to say something when at his side Dog suddenly and abruptly rose to his feet, his head turned to the south as if he had spotted something. Then before anyone could speak Dog barked.

“What is it?” Badurad and Linus exclaimed at exactly the same time as Corbulo hurriedly rose to his feet and turned to stare in the direction in which Dog was gazing. Across the desert floor the heat haze was shimmering, creating false illusions but as he squinted, suddenly Corbulo gasped as Dog barked again. And there in the distance, emerging from the shimmering haze, rolling steadily towards them were three horse drawn chariots and standing bolt upright in the vehicles were people.

“Bandits!” Badurad called out anxiously. “Have the bandits returned?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Corbulo replied, frowning. “This looks different.”

“Who the fuck rides on chariots these days,” Linus blurted out. “Those vehicles are so old fashioned.”

Saying nothing as the strangers advanced towards him Corbulo pulled the bow from across his shoulder and carefully notched an arrow but he did not raise the weapon. Instead he hesitated, his eyes fixed on the newcomers. Rolling towards him the three chariots and their horses came on at a steady trot and as they approached he could see the vehicles contained nine people in total. Three to a chariot. A driver and two attendants. Some of the men had bows and arrows trained on him. But from their clothes and the condition of the chariots they did not appear to be either Romans, Bedouin or Sasanians. The strange markings and symbols that decorated the chariots were alien and foreign.

Carefully encircling him and his companions, at last the three chariots and their occupants came to a halt and as they did a tense silence descended across the desert. With not even Dog making a sound. Studying the strangers Corbulo’s eyes finally came to rest on a slight, hooded and cloaked figure who was standing bolt upright in one of the chariots, holding the reins. A hunting bow and quiver slung across their back. And as he stared at the figure, Corbulo slowly lowered his bow and placed the weapon on the ground before raising both his hands, softly calling out to his companions to do the same.

“We’re Roman soldiers on our way to the city of Palmyra,” he called out in Latin. “We have business to conduct with king Odaenathus. But we were attacked on the road by bandits and have lost our way. Please will you help us. We need water and provisions. We can pay you in silver coin.”

For a moment there was no reply and silence reigned. The men mounted in the chariots not relaxing their vigil. Their bows and arrows trained on him. Watching for any sudden movements. The men looked like they were part of a hunting expedition Corbulo thought. Judging from their equipment and the exotic animal pelts slung over the sides of the vehicles.

Then with an abrupt movement the slight figure standing at the front of the chariot removed their hood and desert scarf and to Corbulo’s astonishment he saw that it was a young woman. The woman could not be older than twenty and she was impossibly beautiful. With striking black hair but it was her eyes that caught Corbulo’s attention and stopped him in his tracks. Her eyes were large. Rimmed with thick black make up. Blazing coldly she stared straight at him. Fearless and bold. With the look of a woman who was used to being obeyed. With the look of a woman who knew how to be cruel.

“Kneel Romans!” one of the men standing beside the young woman suddenly cried out in Latin. “Kneel before Queen Zenobia, second wife of the lord of Palmyra, King Odaenathus!”

Chapter Twenty - Palmyra

Reaching the summit of the mountain pass, riding his horse along the dusty track, Corbulo grunted in surprise as in the valley beyond he caught sight of the city of Palmyra. It was early evening and in the setting sunlight the extensive walls and watchtowers of the great and famous desert city gleamed a deep reddish colour. Reflecting the dying light. The city however was vast. Much larger than he had been expecting. Easily home to two hundred thousand people. The sand coloured buildings of the suburbs extending into the valley and up the slopes of the hills. The dense mass of houses nestling within the city proper bisected by a narrow wadi that ran west to east through the heart of the town. Dividing the place into northern and southern districts. The huge and magnificent stone columns of the temple of Baal visible even from a distance. The green fertile valley around the settlement dotted with farms, wells, irrigation ditches and groves of palm trees. While cattle and goat herds were moving about in the fields. The western edge of the city backed up against another dark mountain range. The eastern and southern approaches to Palmyra exposed to the flat wastelands of the Syrian desert.

For a moment Corbulo gazed at the city, marvelling at its size and magnificence, as the convoy ahead of him started to descend the twisting mountain track that led down into the valley and onwards towards the northern gates. Palmyra appeared to be a rich city. He could sense it even from a distance. This was an old and wealthy place. The epicentre of an extensive network of caravan routes, colonies and trading posts that extended across the east all the way to the Scythian steppes, to India and the Chinese empire beyond. The whole place built on merchant wealth. The merchant masters of the city signalling their success in the splendour of the city’s monuments and massive walls.

Built around an oasis Palmyra too appeared to have no lack of water. It had to come from underground springs Corbulo thought. The underground springs would be the reason that a city of this size could exist out here at all. And as he stared out across the valley he slowly shook his head in disbelief. The Palmyrenes had used the life giving water to turn the desert into bloom. They had created life where none had existed before.

At last Corbulo twisted round on his horse to look back at Badurad and Linus who were following, sharing a single horse. Both youths not looking too happy about the arrangement.

“Is that it?” Badurad called out in German as he gazed across the valley at the city. “Is that Palmyra?”

“Yes,” Corbulo nodded. “It is. We made it.”

“It’s big,” Linus said as he gazed at the city, respect etched into his voice. “Plenty of whores for you to bed Badurad.”

“Yeah well, we shall see,” Badurad replied sounding oddly uncertain. “Let’s get to know the place first. These foreigners have funny customs. I am just happy to be out of the desert. Give me a marshy German forest and some good frothy beer and I will be happy any day.”

Turning his attention back to the city as the convoy descended the mountain slope Corbulo lowered his keffiyeh as Dog came bounding down the track to catch up with him. The animal’s tail was swishing about excitedly. Its brown eyes were looking up at its master with a quizzical look. But as the party reached the valley floor the convoy of vehicles and horsemen came to an abrupt halt, strung out in single file along the track. Frowning Corbulo too came to a stop as he suddenly spotted queen Zenobia, mounted upon her chariot, riding back towards him. The young dashing woman was holding the reins of her horses. A hunting bow and quiver slung across her back. Bringing her chariot to a halt before him, with her attendants looking on, the queen paused for a moment to gaze across the fields towards her city. Saying nothing. Her expression was pensive. Then at last she turned to Corbulo. Her large and beautiful eyes sizing him up.

“I like to hunt,” Zenobia said in good but accented Latin. “Out in the desert I am mistress of everything that I survey. I bow to none. It is good to hunt would you not agree?”

“Hunting is good,” Corbulo replied stiffly, wondering where the conversation was heading.

“But inside my city,” Zenobia continued. “I am not my own mistress. I am but the second queen to king Odaenathus. I must obey and accept my position as his junior wife. Inside Palmyra I am not free to do what I please. As a soldier I expect that you will understand. You must after all carry out your orders. You must do what your superiors tell you to do.”

“I am used to it,” Corbulo replied.

“Do you always obey your orders soldier,” Zenobia said as a little coy smile appeared across her lips. “Do you always do as you are told?”

“I try to my lady,” Corbulo said averting his eyes. “Generally if a soldier or an officer does not do as instructed, then people die.”

“I see,” Zenobia said as she stood in her chariot holding the reins. “I see now why your superiors sent you to negotiate with my husband.”

“With respect,” Corbulo replied. “I am not here to negotiate with king Odaenathus. That is the job of my colleague Antoninus who is already inside your city. I am here to give him any support that he requires. I bear official instructions from the new Emperors.”

“Ah yes - Uranius Antoninus, magistrate of Emesa. War hero - as he likes to constantly remind everyone,” Zenobia said looking away with sudden distaste. “A large man with an even larger appetite. I could tell you what my husband really thinks of him but that would not be very polite and we must remain polite when at court.”

For a moment no one spoke, the awkward silence lengthening.

“I am most grateful for your help queen Zenobia,” Corbulo said at last inclining his head in a graceful and respectful gesture. “My companions and I are thankful to you for saving us out there in the desert.”

Staring across the fields towards her city Zenobia did not immediately reply. Her expression suddenly brooding. Then slowly, with the look of a hunter who had spotted its prey, she turned her eyes back to Corbulo and as she did there was a sudden steel in her gaze.

“You will do more than be grateful to me,” the queen snapped. “I saved your lives and you are now in my debt. Remember that Roman. You owe me. I shall call on you when I need your debt to be repaid and you will obey me. You will do what I ask when I demand it from you.”

​***

Leading his horse on foot behind the queen’s chariot Corbulo gazed up at the massive stone pillars that lined both sides of the Great Colonnade, the main thoroughfare of Palmyra. The fifty foot high Corinthian columns standing perfectly spaced apart. Rigid and immovable. Towering over him like an honour guard of giants welcoming him home. The Colonnade was forty feet wide and even at this late hour thronging with traffic and pedestrians, vendors, beggars, soldiers, prostitutes and gangs of scruffy street children. The side roads were lined by the magnificent flat roofed, multi-storey houses of the rich. While further along extending off in the direction of the walls were the mass of simpler dwellings of the poorer quarters. The city was alive with noise, activity and the exotic scents of the east. The populace hurriedly and respectfully moving aside as queen Zenobia, standing bolt upright in her chariot like a conqueror, slowly rode down the street towards the huge temple of Baal that marked the south eastern end of the thoroughfare.

Shifting his gaze away from the rows of magnificent stone columns Corbulo turned to stare at the people moving on past him. Marvelling at the diversity. The exoticness of the east. So different to the Colonia on the Rhine. Among the mass of locals were a smattering of brown skinned Indians chattering away among themselves. Scythians from the central Asian steppes wearing round and pointy fur caps. Persians, Sasanians and Arabs in their long, loose fitting garments and baggy trousers some leading plodding camels weighed down with trade goods. Black Nubians with gold rings piercing their noses and ears and also slant eyed Chinese with their distinctive drooping moustaches, clad in clothes the likes Corbulo had never seen before. The men talking in a language he had never heard spoken before. Smoking substances from pipes that he had never smelt before. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that Badurad and Linus were staring around them in open mouthed wonder. The two German youths silenced by the sights of the city as if Palmyra had reminded them how little they really knew about the world. How small and provincial Trajan’s colony on the Rhine was in comparison.

Up ahead spanning the width of the Great Colonnade, rising sixty feet into the air was a massive stone triumphal arch and as he followed the young queen down the street towards the arch Corbulo noticed a party of labourers standing on wooden scaffolding. The workmen were fitting a new decorated bracket to the arch that contained the bronze statue of a man striking a heroic pose. While beneath the bracket carefully carved into the stone was an inscription but it was too far away for him to read.

At last the young queen brought her convoy of chariots and attendants to a halt in the shadow of the Roman theatre with its rows of stone benches arranged in a perfect semi-circle. The raised stage was deserted. Coming to a stop Corbulo turned to look around. Taking in the large agora, marketplace with its terraced shops and stalls now closed and shuttered for the evening. The sober business of selling and buying goods replaced with the business of entertainment and pleasure. Groups of young and old were gathering around the taverns and restaurants looking for a good time. While a solitary slave armed with a broom was moving about in the market square clearing up the day’s mess.

Dismounting from her chariot, handing the reins of her horses to an attendant, Zenobia was suddenly approaching.

“I shall leave you here,” the queen said gesturing at a small building across the street from the theatre. “Your colleague Antoninus has his quarters over there. We have provided him with everything that he needs and you will be able to recover from your journey there.”

“Thank you,” Corbulo replied once again inclining his head in a respectful gesture.

For a moment Zenobia said nothing. “And you will remember what I said,” she snapped at last. “When the time comes I shall call on you and you will remember your debt to me.”

Then without another word Zenobia turned away.

Watching her go Corbulo did not move. Moments later Badurad was standing at his uncle’s shoulder, the youth eagerly eyeing the queen.

“Now that is a woman I would like to have sex with,” Badurad said quietly in German. “Good gods she is hot! What do you think she wants from you, uncle?”

“I don’t know,” Corbulo replied carefully rubbing his unshaven chin. “She is a canny one. But she is right. She saved us. We owe her.”

“Stop fantasising. She is not going to have sex with you Badurad,” Linus exclaimed playfully cuffing his friend across his head. “The peasants don’t get to sleep with queens.”

​***

“Corbulo!” Antoninus called out looking surprised and startled as he appeared in the doorway of the town house leading back into the small enclosed but pleasant garden. “Well this is a surprise, my friend. I was not expecting you. What are you doing here?”

“Orders,” Corbulo grinned as the two men quickly embraced and Badurad and Linus stiffly and respectfully got to their feet from where they had been sitting waiting. The garden around them was lit by lanterns that illuminated the darkness. While the night was disturbed only by the distant noise of revellers in the agora, the garden filled with the scent of jasmine and incense.

“Orders?” Antoninus exclaimed.

“Yes, Macrianus sent me,” Corbulo said quickly. “He is concerned about the lack of diplomatic progress regards the alliance between himself and king Odaenathus. He wants results and fast. So he sent me south. I am here to officially tell you to hurry the fuck up and conclude the alliance or take over from you if you had not made it to Palmyra.”

“Our masters grow impatient,” Antoninus responded turning to rub his large stomach. “I see. And Claudia, my wife. She is well?”

“She is,” Corbulo replied nodding. “I managed to speak to her before I left. She had a message for you. She told me that whatever happened, Macrianus and his sons must die.”

For a moment Antoninus said nothing as he lowered his eyes. Then at last his lips cracked into a little fond smile. “That sound like my Claudia,” he muttered. “Always so passionate. Always so strong. Always so certain of things. Maybe Macrianus should have sent her in my place, to handle the negotiations with the king. I am glad that she is well.”

“I tried to convince Macrianus to let her accompany me,” Corbulo said, “but he refused to release her. I was to remind you that the quicker you obtain the alliance with king Odaenathus, the sooner you will see her again.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Antoninus replied his voice hardening. “Macrianus was my friend once. He was a friend to Claudia too. But now. Now ambition has gone to his head. He has lost his way. Macrianus does not know who he can trust - now that he has made a play for the imperial throne. He sees enemies everywhere. He sees threats in every direction.”

“Maybe he is right to see enemies everywhere,” Corbulo said quietly. “Gallienus is the only lawful Emperor. He alone must rule.”

Eyeing Corbulo carefully, Antoninus paused. Then without speaking he reached out and grasped hold of Corbulo’s shoulder and nodded.

“We ran into some trouble crossing the desert,” Corbulo continued. “We nearly did not make it but we were rescued by queen Zenobia herself. She was out in the desert on a hunting expedition. We just arrived with her now. She says she knows you.”

“Queen Zenobia!” Antoninus blurted out, his expression changing. “Yes I know her. Tell me. How did she describe me?”

“She said you were a large man with an even larger appetite,” Badurad called out folding his arms across his chest before Corbulo had a chance to respond.

Turning his attention to Badurad, Antoninus’s expression was unreadable. As if it could go in any direction. Then abruptly he burst out laughing.

“My cousin, Badurad,” Corbulo said apologetically in way of introduction, “and that is his friend Linus. We travelled together. I did not want to leave Badurad behind as a hostage in Macrianus’s camp.”

“She said that did she,” Antoninus called out gazing at Badurad with a bemused look. “Well I have known the queen since she was still a wee little girl. Emesa is not far from Palmyra. We are neighbours and practically kin. I attended her wedding to the king when she was just fifteen and he was in his thirties. But if I am a large man with an even larger appetite, then she is a second queen with second rate ambitions. Zenobia thinks she is important but she is not. She has no power at court and her son will never be king. Odaenathus tolerates her only because she satisfies him in bed and when Herodianus, his eldest son by his first wife is finally crowned, as one day he will, the little queen and her son will quietly be done away with. No one is going to remember the vixen.”

“I see,” Corbulo said lowering his gaze. “And regards the alliance with king Odaenathus - what progress?”

Looking frustrated Antoninus threw up his hand as he sat down heavily in a chair under one of the glowing lanterns. “Macrianus grows impatient,” he snapped. “I get it. We all want to have this fucking alliance. The Sasanians must be stopped and king Odaenathus has a powerful army. We have a common enemy who threatens us all. And only together can we beat King Shapur. But striking an alliance with the king is proving difficult. I did warn Macrianus that it would not be easy. The king is his own man. I need some more time. The king is,” Antoninus added with a sigh, “proving hard to pin down. He is evading me, finding excuses not to meet. He is keeping me waiting and by doing so he is insulting me. You Corbulo are not versed in diplomatic protocol but trust me. Refusing to meet an official envoy is how a king tells you that you are a piece of worthless shit. But I should have an audience with him in three days time. If he does not postpone it again.”

“You think the king will agree to Macrianus’s demands?” Corbulo said. “You think he will bring his forces north?”

“I don’t like to speculate,” Antoninus replied, “but I am trying my best to convince him that this is the right thing to do. Like you,” Antoninus said lowering his voice as he gazed across at Corbulo, “I do not want Macrianus to succeed in his rebellion but right now we have bigger problems to deal with. The Sasanian invasion must be halted and reversed. Only after that can we turn to the matter of who rules the empire.”

“So we remain patient and bide our time,” Corbulo said eyeing Antoninus in turn. “Claudia says that her brother Probus will help us.”

“Yeah yeah,” Antoninus said dismissively. “Probus is a good man but he is far away in Greece and he on his own can do nothing without Gallienus’s approval. I would not count on Probus coming to our rescue. Claudia thinks the world of her brother but he is no fucking magician.”

“So we wait?” Corbulo said.

“We wait,” Antoninus said nodding. “Like I said. I should have an audience with king Odaenathus in three days time. To discuss the proposed alliance between him and Macrianus. Lets see what comes from that. The meeting will be followed by a visit to the theatre. You should be there with me. Bring your cousin too.”

“The theatre?” Corbulo exclaimed looking baffled.

“Yeah,” Antoninus nodded again suddenly avoiding Corbulo’s gaze. “You would be surprised to know how much business gets done at the theatre. I am,” Antoninus said pausing in a cryptic manner. “I am expecting to receive news by then. Important news. But you cannot tell a soul.”

Chapter Twenty One - The Court of King Odaenathus

The palace of King Odaenathus was packed with dignitaries, attendants, priests, slaves and soldiers. The silent gathering standing arranged on both sides of the aisle in the grand audience chamber where the King received his guests. Leaving the middle section open for petitioners to approach the king who was sitting on his throne on a raised platform. The great hall was laid out with exquisite Persian carpets and stone statues of the ancestors of the ruling Palmyrene dynasty that stood on plinths. Their cold stony eyes gazing down upon the gathered multitude in silent judgement. The air was filled by the scent of incense that came from a burning brazier. Standing beside Antoninus waiting for their turn to approach the king, Corbulo was gazing at the busts noting that two of them looked very much like Emperor Valerian and his son Gallienus.

“When he summons us let me do the talking unless he asks you a direct question,” Antoninus whispered turning his head to Corbulo. “When you approach you will bow your head once but you will not kneel. Nor do you call him king. Odaenathus may claim to be the king of Palmyra but that has not yet been confirmed by either Gallienus or the Senate in Rome. Officially he is still just the governor of Phoenice. His proper status is therefore a bit of a grey area right now. The language we will speak in is Latin. The king’s secretary wanted it done in Greek but I said that was not proper. It took us two days before we agreed on all the protocol.” For a moment Antoninus paused. “Great wealth is making these Palmyrenes think they are more important than they really are,” Antoninus added with a nervous sigh. “Some of them forget that they owe loyalty to Rome. They talk about starting their own Rome, their own empire.”

Nodding that he had understood Corbulo stared down the hall at the king who was busy receiving petitioners and hearing their pleas. Antoninus appeared to be nervous. He could hear it in his friend’s voice. Then his eyes came to rest upon queen Zenobia who was standing behind the throne holding a toddler in her arms. The boy could not be older than two and was playing with a gold bracelet that adorned his mother’s neck. But as she stared at the waiting people the young queen’s face was like a granite statue.

“The woman sitting to the left of the king,” Antoninus whispered, “is Odaenathus’s first wife. She is senior to Zenobia. The young man sitting on the king’s right is his first born and eldest son, Herodianus. He is the crown prince and likely next king of Palmyra. Beside him is his little brother Hairan. He and Zenobia’s son Vaballathus are the spares. And the young man standing beside Zenobia is called Maeonius. He is the king’s cousin.”

Remaining silent Corbulo observed the Palmyrene royalty sitting and standing arranged upon the raised platform. The sober and dignified faces of the family gazing back at the line of petitioners. As if they had done this a thousand times before. As if they knew the rituals and protocol to the last letter. Each one of them versed in what was expected of them. Clad in their finest clothes and jewellery, with their dark blend of Arab and Aramean heritage, the men and women on the stage exuded a calm competent power. Like a pack of wolves who knew no one could hurt them.

“Uranius Antoninus, lord of Emesa,” an attendant finally called out thumping the butt of his staff onto the stone floor as he summoned them.

Leaving their position Corbulo stuck close to Antoninus and as the two of them came to a halt before the raised platform they both dipped their heads to the king in a respectful manner. Sat upon his throne Odaenathus looked around forty years old. With the dark eastern looks belying his mixed Arab and Aramean race he sported a neatly trimmed pointy black beard and was wearing a gleaming gold diadem upon his head. His fine finger rings glittering in the light. A pair of intelligent eyes gazing back at his guests.

“Uranius,” king Odaenathus called out at last his lips breaking into a sudden grin. “Lord of Emesa. It is always a pleasure to greet my neighbour. We here in Palmyra hold our cousins in Emesa in high regard. You are welcome in my court. But where is your lovely wife Claudia. Are you hiding her from me again?”

“She could not make it this time,” Antoninus replied stiffly. “But she sends you her warmest regards.”

“A pity,” Odaenathus shot back. Then before Antoninus could seize back the initiative the king had turned to address the crowd of onlookers with a crooked grin. “A little story about my old friend Uranius here,” the king called out. “I have known him since we were young strapping lords. He was not as fat then as he is now,” the king added causing a smattering of laughter from the crowd. “It was I actually who introduced him to his first wife, Sarah. She was from our fair city, Palmyra. A fine woman with a most noble bearing. But that was not enough for Uranius here. No. No. He has an appetite this one,” Odaenathus continued pointing an accusing finger at Uranus. “So one day Sarah comes home to find to her surprise that her husband is already there. But she is suspicious so she goes through the whole house and who does she find hiding in one of her cupboards in her bedroom. None other than a naked actress whom Uranius had been entertaining while he thought his wife was going to be away! An actress!”

And as the king finished speaking the great hall erupted into peels of laughter, some of it real, some convected. While a blush of humiliation swept across Antoninus’s cheeks.

“Lord Odaenathus,” Antoninus called out at last as he mastered himself and the laughter finally died away. “Your wit and memory serve you well. But I have not come all this way to spin old yarns. Your time, like mine is precious. Both our cities are under threat of invasion and destruction. You have a responsibility to correct the current situation.”

“Yes I am aware of the military situation,” Odaenathus retorted. “And I know what my responsibilities are. More than you know.”

“I have been sent to your court by Macrianus, prefect of the imperial treasury,” Antoninus continued, bravely ignoring the mocking glances that were thrown in his direction. “Macrianus has taken command of what is left of our armies in the north. He has proclaimed his sons Junior and Quietus as co-emperors. He is determined to halt the Sasanian invasion and drive the King of Kings Shapur back behind his own borders. But he needs help. You help. So he proposes an alliance between himself and you. A military alliance. Together we can drive King Shapur from our land and force the Sasanians to withdraw. Macrianus also asks you to acknowledge his sons as the rightful Emperors of Rome and pledge an oath of allegiance to them.”

As Antoninus stopped speaking the great hall abruptly went quiet.

“Macrianus,” Odaenathus said at last in a neutral voice, casting his eyes down to the ground. “Yes I heard that he has raised his sons to the purple. He must do what he thinks is right for his family.”

“I ask you to consider the matter with the greatest urgency,” Antoninus continued. “Every day in which we delay gives the Sasanians more time to inflict death and destruction upon our people. King Shapur will not stop with Antioch or even Caesarea Mazaca and the good people of Cappadocia. Eventually he is going to turn his eyes to the south, to Palmyra and to Emesa. We need this alliance Odaenathus. The people need protection and leadership.”

“Macrianus asks for a new alliance,” Odaenathus replied raising his eyebrows. “But I already have an alliance with Rome. I already swore an oath. Palmyra is and will remain part of the imperial domain.”

“To Emperor Valerian, lord,” Uranus said hastily. “Who is no more. But we are now in a new situation with new Emperors which requires a new alliance.”

Looking thoughtful Odaenathus paused, his eyes still gazing down at the floor. Then at last he looked up but not at Antoninus. Instead his eyes came to rest upon Corbulo.

“You look like a proper Roman,” the king exclaimed. “A soldier by your bearing. Tell me then. What is your opinion of Macrianus? Do you think the master of the Antioch treasury has any chance of succeeding on the path he has embarked upon? What says Rome on this matter?”

Suddenly Corbulo was aware that all eyes in the great hall had turned to look at him. The king’s question putting him on the spot as was the intention.

“Macrianus is trying to do the right thing,” Corbulo replied lifting his head. “He wants to fight and fight the Sasanians we must. Antoninus is right. We all need this alliance. We need to drive the enemy back into their own territory. We need you to lead your forces north to confront the enemy for Macrianus is not strong enough to do that on his own. It is in your own interests to do so. It is in your interests lord that the Sasanian threat is destroyed. For King Shapur will eventually turn his eyes to the south, to Palmyra. Together we can stop him. But as for the other matter of who rules the empire. A man must do what his conscience dictates. Sooner or later he must choose his side and make his stand and accept the consequences of his decision.”

Staring at Corbulo, Odaenathus said nothing. Then slowly a little amused, cunning smile crept onto his lips.

“Haha!” the king exclaimed pointing at Corbulo. “I like this man. He walks the tightrope like an acrobat and talks like an actor from the circus. Balanced and reasoned but refusing to reveal his hand. Like a true Roman. It is my opinion that every politician should be trained like an actor. For we must all perform on a stage. You did well Zenobia to rescue this man from the desert,” Odaenathus called out glancing over his shoulder towards his young queen. “One of your more successful hunting trips I would say.”

“Lord Odaenathus,” Antoninus interrupted hurriedly. “What answer do you wish me to report back to Macrianus?”

Shifting his attention back to Antoninus, Odaenathus sighed and his expression changed.

“Rome. Rome. Rome,” the king called out at last sounding sombre. “Always making demands on me and my people. But at least they are not like the Sasanian empire who yearn for war and war and more war. Who wish to destroy Palmyra and take over our trade. Who cannot tolerate any rivals to their power. I refuse to believe that the genius of Rome has become diminished. It was the great Emperor Septimius Severus who first raised my ancestors to high office and since then my family have been loyal servants to the Emperors. We have done our duty to Rome. When Valerian first came east - seven years ago to deal with the Sasanian threat - he treated me with respect. He was my friend. He gave me increased responsibilities. That is the sign of man who trusted me. An ally. A good and noble man from an aristocratic Italian family. And now like many I mourn his early demise and capture. With Valerian’s loss we have all suffered a great blow from which it will take time to recover.”

For a moment Odaenathus’s expression remained sombre. Then abruptly it hardened and the warrior king emerged.

“And now Shapur, who dares to style himself as King of Kings thinks all the east belongs to him,” Odaenathus growled his face darkening in contempt as he gazed down at Antoninus from his throne. “That Sasanian usurper believes he can command me. He expects that he can embargo our trade across his lands forever and without retaliation. Causing our merchants massive losses. Disrupting our trade and our income. He thinks he can dictate terms to me as if I were his slave. Who does that man think he is! A god? So here is my answer!” Odaenathus said abruptly rising from his throne, his face like thunder, his eyes flashing like lightening. “Tell Macrianus this,” Odaenathus cried. “Tell him that he shall have his alliance. Tell him that I remain loyal to Rome and that I shall march north to his aid as soon as I can. Tell him that Palmyra will never waver or cease fighting against the Sasanians. That we shall not stop until the day King Shapur begs for peace at my feet. Tell him that Rome can count on her friends in Palmyra!”

“An excellent answer my lord,” Antoninus responded hurriedly, an excited blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I shall send my report to Macrianus at once. But on the final matter. Your recognition of Macrianus’ sons as co-emperors and your oath of allegiance to them, what answer shall I give?”

But on his stage king Odaenathus remained silent, refusing to answer the question. Instead folding his arms across his chest. The silence in the great hall lengthening as the king slowly sat back down on his throne.

“That will be all,” one of the king’s attendants finally called out once more thumping the butt of his staff onto the stone floor. “The interview is over. You may leave. Next!”

Chapter Twenty Two - Another Stage

Sitting high up on the stone benches of Palmyra’s open air Roman theatre Corbulo gazed down at the wooden stage upon which a troop of actors and actresses were performing their play. It was morning and the theatre was only half full. Most of the spectators taking up the more expensive seats closer to the stage which were reserved for the higher classes and wealthier citizens. Leaving the upper levels of the semi-circular theatre deserted except for a few scattered slaves and freedmen on their day off. Sitting together on the benches with only a couple of slaves at the far end of their row, Badurad and Linus too were watching the entertainment. Their faces looking puzzled as they tried to understand what was going on. While sitting beside them and completing the four man line up, Antoninus was carefully rubbing his protruding stomach. The lord looking tense and expectant. His eyes not on the play at all but roving across the theatre exits. As if he were looking for someone. As if he were expecting to meet someone.

Observing the play Corbulo sighed. Even from his cheap seat he could see that the actors were struggling. The story was rubbish and the actors knew it. Yet they were doing their best to get it done. And as he looked on one of the spectators rose from his seat and threw a stone at one of the actors in disgust. The mood among the spectators was growing increasingly disappointed and agitated by the quality of the entertainment they had paid to come and see. A riot appeared to be in the offing with some of the theatre security already moving into position to stop a stage invasion. The helmeted guards were carrying their large riot shields and wooden batons. Lowering his eyes Corbulo groaned. Antoninus had still not told him why they were here in the first place. Other than to say that he was expecting to receive important news. The lord from Emesa was keeping the reason secret. But whatever he was waiting for Antoninus appeared excited and nervous at the same time. The news had to mean a lot to him Corbulo thought.

“Listen,” Antoninus said at last quickly turning to Badurad and Linus. “There is a party happening this evening in a place I know. I would like you boys to come along. Would that be all right with you?”

“A party!” Badurad exclaimed grinning. “Sure. Linus and I don’t mind attending a party.”

“It’s not an ordinary party,” Antoninus said looking away. “You would be asked to do certain things. To perform.”

“Like actors?” Linus said with an innocent questioning look.

“Yeah,” Antoninus said taking a deep breath. “Yeah like actors. The party is more of a place where certain kinds of women go to be entertained by young men like yourselves. You would be asked to dress up too. It’s an exclusive party. Only for those who can afford it.”

For a moment both Badurad and Linus stared at Antoninus in shock and disbelief. Then at last a mischievous grin appeared across Badurad’s face.

“You are talking about an orgy,” he exclaimed. “We would be sleeping with the female guests?”

Saying nothing Antoninus simply nodded.

As the smile on Badurad’s face widened the youth suddenly turned to Linus and laughed.

“You pimping out my cousin now,” Corbulo said in a disapproving tone. “He is not a common prostitute.”

“No, he is a soldier who obeys orders,” Antoninus said looking serious, “but I need to be at that party in order to conduct some important business with important people who will be in attendance and the only way I can get in is if I bring someone. It is important Corbulo. This is about business, nothing more. It is related to the news I am expecting to receive soon. Your cousin and his friend would just need to perform for one evening. To do as they are told.”

“Business?” Corbulo snapped frowning. “What business? Why is this so important?”

“I will explain everything soon,” Antoninus said in a tight voice. “Well boys are you in?” he added turning to glance at Badurad and Linus. “Will you come with me to the party tonight?”

It was some time later when without warning and without saying a word Antoninus rose to his feet and hastened away down the side of the stone benches to the edge of the theatre. Watching him go Corbulo suddenly noticed another man sitting all alone in what a moment ago had been a deserted section of the theatre. The stranger seemed to have just arrived. Looking on Corbulo frowned as Antoninus sat down beside the newcomer and for a few moments the two of them appeared to converse before the stranger handed Antoninus something and then abruptly rose to his feet and headed for the exit. Returning to his seat Antoninus caught Corbulo’s eye and as he did Corbulo saw that the lord looked flushed with excitement. The fat man’s breath coming in short sharp gasps.

“So are you going to tell us what this is all about,” Corbulo said quietly, “or are you going to continue to torture us by making us watch this shit play?”

Sitting down beside Corbulo on the stone bench and ignoring Badurad and Linus’s inquisitive glances Antoninus took a deep breath.

“The news I was waiting for,” the overweight lord said carefully. “It has arrived and the news is good. Really good!”

Badurad was about to interrupt but spotting it early Corbulo quickly held up his hand silencing his cousin. His eyes resting upon Antoninus.

“What news?” Corbulo growled.

“News on what has become of Emperor Valerian,” Antoninus replied quietly looking around to make sure they could not be overheard. “I have just been told that the Emperor is still alive. He is being held as a prisoner of King Shapur. And now I know where Valerian is being held captive too. I know where the Sasanians are holding him.”

“What?” Corbulo said frowning again.

“The man who just arrived,” Antoninus said, “he managed to find out for me. I paid him and his associates to find out what had become of the Emperor. Valerian is being held in the Sasanian capital of Ctesiphon. They are keeping him alive. I don’t know exactly what King Shapur intends to do with his captive but it appears that he wants to keep him alive and not kill him. This is very good news!”

“Why is this good news?” Badurad blurted out unable to contain himself.

“Because the four of us are going to go to Ctesiphon and rescue Valerian,” Antoninus said turning to look straight at Corbulo. “We are going to free the Emperor and bring him back home.”

Staring back at Antoninus in shock, for a moment Corbulo was lost for words but he could see that Antoninus was deadly serious.

“You want to journey to the enemy capital and rescue the Emperor,” Corbulo said at last. “This is your plan.”

“Yes,” Antoninus replied looking like a man without a shred of doubt. “Now that I know he is alive and where the Sasanians are holding him - my plan becomes feasible. We journey to Ctesiphon and we rescue Valerian. Think about it Corbulo. Valerian is the legitimate Emperor. When he ruled, he governed uncontested. The Senate in Rome are on his side as is the army, as is his son Gallienus, as is Odaenathus. If we were to succeed in bringing Valerian back from captivity it would end Macrianus’s ambitions in one go. With Valerian’s return we should be able to stabilise the whole situation here in the east and across the wider empire. It would allow us to avoid civil war. It is the solution to all our problems.”

“Great Magusanus,” Badurad exclaimed in German.

“Rescue Valerian,” Corbulo said looking away. “Do you hear yourself Antoninus. We will never even get close to him. Apart from the minor issue of crossing hundreds of miles of enemy territory and slipping into their capital undetected the Emperor is going to be guarded by a whole army. He is going to be in the most secure of all dungeons. This is a suicide mission which you are proposing Antoninus and I cannot allow you to use my cousin for this. This mission. It is going to get all of us killed. We stand no chance.”

“No it won’t,” Antoninus said breezily. “We can do this. The four of us. I speak the local language. I have the money and I have friends inside Ctesiphon who will be able to help us. Think about the rewards Corbulo. If we are successful we will have changed the world and for the better. Valerian must return. Valerian must rule. He must remain our Emperor for only he can hold everything together. The alternative is going to be anarchy and civil war on an epic scale.”

“He would have to pay us a real large amount of money for this,” Badurad said eyeing Antoninus. “I mean so much money that we would never have to do another day’s work in our lives.”

“Badurad,” Corbulo said sharply. “Shut up! You do not know what you are talking about. This mission is impossible.”

“It is not impossible,” Antoninus countered.

“Really,” Corbulo replied. “Does king Odaenathus know about what you are proposing to do. Has he sanctioned this? That man who brought you the news. Can you trust him? I don’t like it Antoninus. This whole plan sounds like it was thought up during a night out drinking.”

“The messenger who brought me the news can be trusted,” Antoninus said nodding patiently. “He is a Jew and he and the Persian Jewish community have no love for the Sasanian dynasty. The Sasanians actively persecute and suppress the Jewish religion.”

“A Jew?” Corbulo exclaimed looking incredulous. “They don’t like anyone! You are aware that the Jews do not like Romans very much either. Not after Rome destroyed their temple in Jerusalem and Emperor Hadrian scattered their people to the four corners of the empire. The Jews are no friends of Rome. Why on earth would they want to help us recover a Roman Emperor from captivity?”

“Well these ones are willing to do business with me and I trust them,” Antoninus said folding his arms across his chest. “And as for Odaenathus,” he added turning to look away. “He has given his tacit approval to my undertaking. You heard Odaenathus earlier at court. He claims Valerian as his friend. Nothing happens here without the king knowing about it.”

“How do you know that the king approves of this mission?”

“Because if he didn’t,” Antoninus shot back, “he would have let me know by now. His silence is all the approval that I need. So I am doing this Corbulo, with or without your help!”

“Then without me and my cousin,” Corbulo said rising to his feet. “You are already using him as a common prostitute. I am not going to get us killed for nothing. You are crazy. We are done here!”

“Sit down my friend,” Antoninus said in a sudden and surprisingly strong voice. “Listen,” he continued as Corbulo hesitated before finally sitting back down. “All right. I understand. If you you do not wish to expose your cousin and his friend to the danger we shall leave them behind here in Palmyra. Instead the two of us,” Antoninus said gesturing at Corbulo and himself, “will go on alone and rescue the Emperor. We will do this. We both swore an oath of loyalty to Valerian. To protect the Emperor with our lives. We have a duty to try and rescue him. We shall do this because it is the right thing to do. We shall do this to avert civil war and save countless lives.”

“Nothing to do with fame and wealth then,” Corbulo retorted.

“If we are successful those things will naturally follow,” Antoninus said with a shrug.

“And what about reporting back to Macrianus?” Corbulo snapped. “Our task here is done. Macrianus has his alliance. Our orders now are to report back to Macrianus and rejoin the fight.”

“Rejoin the fight!” Antoninus said raising his eyebrows. “Rejoin the fight. Don’t you see. This is the fight. If we can successfully rescue the Emperor we win. If we do this we will be giving the empire it leadership back. Its proper, legal authority. We could avoid civil war. That is worth a whole army. And as for Macrianus, don’t worry about that fake, I have already sent messengers north to inform him of my success. He has what he wants.”

For a moment Antoninus paused. His chest heaving with rising passion.

“So are we doing this Corbulo?” he said at last. “You saved me and Claudia that day when we fled from Edessa. Sol Invictus directed you to spare me for a reason. This is why. The sun god wants me to do this. To save the Emperor. This is my fate. To be known as the man who brought the Emperor back and restored him to power. But I cannot do this without your help.”

“You are insane,” Corbulo said turning to look down at the stage where the odd desultory thrown stone had become a volley as the disgruntled spectators hurled abuse at the hapless actors.

“You are fucking insane,” Corbulo swore softly as he watched the theatre guards moving in to try and protect the actors and quell the riot.

“Are you in, Corbulo?”

“God-damn it,” Corbulo muttered turning to look away.

Chapter Twenty Three - Visiting the Persecuted

Sitting alone at the small outdoor table in the agora, brooding and nursing his cup of watered down wine, Corbulo was watching the crowds. It was evening and around him the city was coming alive once again with revellers. The locals were seeking refreshment and relaxation in the city’s taverns after a hard day’s work. The mood was jovial and excited as if no one cared that there was a war on. As if they were not worried by the multiple threats of invasion, pestilence, famine and anarchy that were ravaging the lands to the north. Eyeing the people moving about Corbulo took another sip from his cup. Badurad and Linus had gone with Antoninus to their party but he had refused to go with them. Saying that he had something else he needed to do and for the moment he was alone. The beggars, con artists and whores sensing that he best be left undisturbed.

At last gazing out across the market square as if he were searching for something his eyes suddenly settled upon a solitary woman, hurrying across the open space. Observing the stranger carefully, Corbulo’s eyes followed her until the woman vanished from view down a side street. For a moment Corbulo hesitated. Then rising to his feet he left the tavern and headed towards the spot where he had seen her disappear. Pausing at the entrance to the side street he quickly turned to look around but all seemed normal and no one was paying him any attention. The street filled with a few passers-by hurrying home and a small group of drunken youths singing and staggering away from him. There was however no sign of the woman. Slowly Corbulo started on down the street. His gaze searching the faces. The shop fronts and the vendors who were busy packing up for the night and closing their businesses.

Suddenly he spotted her again coming out of a doorway to a nondescript two storey building. Hurriedly turning to look left and then right the woman stepped back into the street and as she did she hastily slipped the wooden cross amulet that hung around her neck back under her tunic.

Watching her vanish down the street Corbulo hesitated. Then he turned his eyes to the building from which the woman had just emerged. A moment later a bearded, older man appeared in the doorway idly leaning against the wall, gazing out contentedly at the activity in the street. But as his eyes caught sight of Corbulo he froze and his expression changed. As if he had recognised danger. And a split second later he vanished.

Quickly Corbulo advanced towards the doorway but as he turned to peer into the building he saw that the front room was deserted. The man had gone. Entering the workshop he turned to look around but the simple dwelling did not contain much. A rickety wooden table, two chairs and a work bench at which earthenware pottery was made together with some stashed raw materials. The place seemed deserted. But just as Corbulo was about to push on into the back room, the door behind him slammed shut and suddenly a knife was hovering at his throat and he found himself surrounded by two men. One holding the knife, young and of fighting age. The other the older and bearded man he had spotted earlier. The two of them looking anxious and alarmed.

“What do you want, Roman?” the younger man hissed in heavily accented Latin as he pressed his cold blade against Corbulo’s throat. “You spying on us. What are you doing here?”

“It is not what you think,” Corbulo said, slowly and carefully raising his hands to show that he did not mean any harm. “I just want to talk.”

“And why should we believe you,” the younger man said. “One false move Roman and I will cut your throat.”

“You are Christians,” Corbulo said quietly. “I saw the woman just now. She carried the sign of the Christian god.”

“We do not know who that woman was,” the younger man snapped. “We had never seen her before. She was just making an inquiry. I ask again. What are you doing here Roman?”

Without speaking Corbulo carefully lifted his fish amulet from where it was hanging from his neck, hidden beneath his tunic, and showed it to the two men. And as the older man recognised it he exchanged a startled look with his colleague. Moments later the knife around Corbulo’s throat was removed and the younger man took a step back.

“You are a Christian?” the older man said carefully studying Corbulo. “Or just trying to trick us into believing you are?”

“Christians are outlawed,” the younger man said hurriedly. “The Christian faith is banned by imperial decree. Any found to follow its faith will be punished and persecuted. So says the law!”

“No, I am not a Christian,” Corbulo replied gazing back at the older man. “Nor am I trying to trick you. I just want to talk. Are you one of the priests of the Christian god? Is this place his temple?”

“Don’t answer him father,” the younger man called out in warning. “He is trying to get you to confess. It’s a trick. A dirty Roman trick.”

But gazing back at Corbulo the older man held up his hand. His eyes studying Corbulo in silence.

“To be a Christian in these times is a challenge,” the man said at last cautiously gesturing for Corbulo to sit down upon one the chairs. “It is dangerous to be a Christian. The Emperor has outlawed the faith. He has forbidden people from practising what they believe. Those caught doing so risk fines, loss of property and death. Many have become martyrs for the cause. But God teaches us to be kind and merciful, to welcome strangers into our home.”

“I understand your caution,” Corbulo replied taking a deep breath. “And I assure you I am not here on any official business. I am not here to arrest you or obtain evidence against you. I am here because I am curious. I want to know more about the Christian god. So please, let us start by being honest with each other. I was told that the Christian god is near by when you see an act of goodness, of kindness. So let me be kind to you and pay for your time.”

But as Corbulo placed a few silver coins onto the table the older man gently pushed his hand away before sitting down on the remaining chair and gesturing to the younger man that it was all right. Backing away to guard the door the man’s son folded his arms across his chest.

“We do not want your money,” the older man said quietly turning to Corbulo. “Yes I am a Christian and so is my son and the woman you saw. There is a community of us here in Palmyra. Like in every city and village. Across the empire our faith is outlawed, forbidden. We are officially persecuted. The Emperor fears us. He fears our faith and our growing numbers. So we must practice our religion in secret, underground if you like. But lucky for us king Odaenathus is a tolerant ruler. He obeys the imperial instructions of-course but here in Palmyra he does not actively persecute us unless we become too brazen. We survive. How and where did you get that amulet?”

“It was given to me,” Corbulo replied glancing down at the fish amulet that hung from around his neck. “By a Christian woman. Is it true that if I turn to the Christian god He will forgive me? What about the other gods?”

“It is true, the older man said nodding. “If you turn to god, if you confess and repent your sins, then god will forgive you. But you must confess and repent and you must stop believing in all the false idols. There is only one god.”

“I,” Corbulo said lowering his eyes. “I killed a man once.”

“You are a soldier?”

“Yes but this was before,” Corbulo nodded. “I was just fourteen. I was the first to strike the blow. I murdered him.”

“Who did you kill?”

“My father,” Corbulo said looking up, staring. “I murdered him because he was violent and abusive to me and my brothers. He made us do the most horrible sadistic things. He pushed us too far until I could no longer stand it…” Corbulo said his voice abruptly trailing off.

“It was my idea to kill him,” Corbulo continued at last. “It was my plan we followed. I was the eldest. Munatius my youngest brother lured our father into the trap. My brother Veda delivered the killer blow. But I struck first. All three of us were involved but it was my plan. We would not have done it if it were not for me. So I am responsible for murdering my step father and I have been lying about it ever since. But I grow tired of the lies. I grow tired of this burden that I must carry. It weighs on me.”

Staring across at Corbulo the older man remained silent. Then sombrely he lowered his eyes.

“Jesus died for all of us and by doing so took away our sins,” the man said. “If god wishes it He will forgive you and lessen your burden. Do you repent for what you did?”

“No,” Corbulo said shaking his head. “My stepfather was not a good man. He deserved everything he got. I do not regret what I did.” For a moment Corbulo paused suddenly looking weary. “But I regret having to lie to the living,” he continued. “I must constantly lie and I am tired of lying. I have lied to Hostes for most of my life. I have lied to Badurad his son. They are good men and they revere me. Hostes raised me. I owe him everything and yet he does not know that it was I who killed his brother. He and Badurad are my kin. As close to me as my brothers. They are my friends. But I am a liar. I killed one of their own. I cannot tell them the truth for it will destroy them and then they will kill me. They will kill me if they knew what I had done.”

“God will give you the strength to overcome,” the older man said looking grave. “He teaches us forgiveness and to be good to each other. But you must be ready to open your heart to Him. You must find a way to repent for your sins. Only then can you enter His kingdom.”

“How?” Corbulo said with a shrug.

“Doubt is the first challenge you must overcome on the path to becoming a true Christian,” the man replied looking down at the ground. “We all have had doubts. We are all of us imperfect. We are all weak but the Christian faith will make you strong. Once you believe you will understand. My advice to you soldier is to give it time. You have already made the first step by confessing. God has heard you. He will show you the way to the true faith.”

Saying nothing Corbulo looked down at the table.

“You wish to become a Christian?” the man said quietly. “You wish to be baptised into our faith? I can arrange it.”

But sitting at the table Corbulo did not reply. Then stiffly he rose to his feet, turned to the doorway and opening the door he left the building.

Chapter Twenty Four - The Parthian Station

Sitting upon his horse waiting for Antoninus to return Corbulo, clad in the long flowing clothes of the Bedouin, his lower face covered by his keffiyeh, gazed out across the broad waters of the Euphrates. It was afternoon and beyond the narrow green strip of vegetation that ran along both sides of the river the vast wilderness of the desert stretched away to the horizon. The heat was shimmering and baking the land. Out on the river two fishermen were quietly sitting in their small reed boat while lying on the ground in the shade, beneath a tree, Dog was surveying the peaceful scene as if he were the master of all he could see. The animal’s tail was swishing about contentedly. Its ears were pricked. His long red tongue was hanging from his mouth.

Crouching at the water’s edge a group of women were washing clothes, singing as they did. Their soft voices were carrying across the still, placid waters. The tranquil scene was only disturbed by the nearby sight of the ruined city of Dura-Europos. The tumbled and fire blackened walls of the destroyed city testament to the violence with which the settlement had been besieged, assaulted and burned. The streets were deserted. The houses with their caved in roofs were empty. The city was abandoned to stray dogs, hermits and a few die-hards who refused to leave.

Lowering his keffiyeh Corbulo took a swig of water from a pouch that was strapped to his horses’ saddle. Then dismounting he secured his horse to the tree before coming over to crouch beside Dog, gently stroking the animal’s head and causing Dog to look up at him with an inquisitive look. Corbulo’s sombre eyes however were fixed upon the placid river. Then he sighed. He could still not fully believe that he had agreed to Antoninus’s plan to try and rescue Emperor Valerian. But he had. For here he was in no man’s land camped at the last outpost of the Roman empire. Out on the old desert frontier.

Antoninus had appeared supremely confident that his plan would work. That they could do this and his relentless confidence and optimism had been infectious. Stilling his doubts. Giving energy, purpose and impetus to their mission. The Emesan lord refusing to be daunted by the challenge. Refusing to be cowed by the dangers and the slim chance of success. So the two of them had left Badurad and Linus behind in Palmyra with instructions to await their return and together with a small escort had set off across the desert heading due east until they had reached the ruined city of Dura-Europos on the banks of the Euphrates. Their journey across the desert had been fast and uneventful. A good and easy start.

At last spotting Antoninus riding back towards him accompanied by another man Corbulo sighed again and straightened up as Dog barked once. Eyeing his friend as Antoninus and the stranger rode up, Corbulo prepared himself, his expression hardening, his fingers tightening their grip on Dog’s neck.

“We’re all set,” Antoninus called out to Corbulo as he dismounted and lowered his desert scarf from around his face, looking pleased. “This here is Asher. The Sasanian nobleman I was telling you about earlier. He will be our guide and get us into Ctesiphon. He is a native of the city. We will hide in his house once we are inside the metropolis. Asher is practically a member of the ruling class,” Antoninus added in a joking voice. “The Sasanians will never suspect that we would be hiding with him.”

“Asher,” Corbulo said guardedly extending his hand in greeting. “My name is Corbulo, prefect of the first cohort of Salian Franks.”

Grasping his hand in return Asher nodded shyly but said nothing. Quickly looking away. The man was of slight build, clean-shaven. His head was covered by a soft Phrygian conical cap with the apex bent forwards. He appeared to be in his early thirties. Clad in a smart but old fashioned Parthian trouser suit and long sleeved coat he was carrying a small curved Sasanian knife tucked away into his belt while around his neck he was wearing a hamsa, a palm shaped amulet with an eye embedded into it.

Staring at Asher Corbulo frowned.

“Antoninus informs me,” he began. “That you are a Sasanian lord from a noble family but at the same time you are also a Jew. He says you are going to help us. But how can this be so?”

“Well he is right. I will help you get into Ctesiphon and hide you in the city,” Asher replied turning to Corbulo and speaking in quiet accented Latin. “I know where they are holding Valerian.”

“Yeah so about that,” Corbulo said sharply, his hand dropping to rest on the pommel of his long sword that hung from his belt. “The three of us are not going anywhere until I have received satisfactory answers to my questions.”

“Such as?” Asher said with a frown.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Corbulo I already told you who he is!” Antoninus called out but Corbulo was not listening. His eyes were fixed upon Asher.

“You want to know who I am? Well I am a Persian Jew as you can see from the amulet that I wear,” Asher replied with shrug. “I am a Parthian nobleman. I have a town house in Ctesiphon and a country estate to the south. I own slaves including Roman citizens. My children bear the names favoured by the Sasanian clans as does my wife. But we are not them. We are Jews. Long ago the Parthian kings raised my family to the rank of nobility. My ancestors,” Asher continued, “have served the monarchy faithfully for many years but my family never forgot their heritage. We have remained true to God even though we now serve the King of Kings.”

“Yeah so this is my problem,” Corbulo said sharply, addressing Asher and taking a step towards him. “You just said that you serve Shapur, the King of Kings and Uranus says that you are part of the Sasanian ruling class. So why should I trust you? You are the fucking enemy!”

“I was joking, Corbulo,” Antoninus called out hastily trying to intervene but swiftly raising his hand Corbulo silenced his friend.

“You are wrong,” Asher said calmly meeting Corbulo’s gaze. “I may be a Sasanian lord but I am not your enemy, prefect. I hate Shapur as much as you do. I want him dead and gone. As a nobleman I have however no choice right now but to follow and serve the King of Kings if I want to remain alive. If I want to retain my rank and property. The old Parthian kings were famed for their tolerance and wisdom. They raised my family and rewarded us. They were good to Jews and we supported them in return. But since the Sasanians took over things have steadily got worse. The old tolerance has gone. The Zoroastrian priests are now in the ascendancy supported by Shapur and they are fanatics.”

“I told you, Corbulo,” Antoninus burst out. “Asher is legitimate. Support for Shapur is not absolute within the Sasanian empire. The king has internal enemies. Not every Sasanian lord supports the King of Kings. Some are jealous of the king’s power and want to take it for themselves. Other’s like Asher do not like the policies of the present government. He seeks to change them. Asher seeks to restore a Parthian king to the throne. To restore the previous tolerance.”

“So you are a traitor then,” Corbulo snapped. “You are willing to betray your own people.”

“I am not a traitor,” Asher said calmly, refusing to be offended. “It is the Sasanians who are the traitors. Years ago they seized power and overthrew the Parthian dynasty. The Sasanians have turned my homeland into a prison for us Jews. They broke with us. Not the other way round. Shapur may claim to be a lukewarm believer in the Zoroastrian religion but nevertheless he supports the Zoroastrian priests. He allows those priests to impose their religion and rules upon us. He allows the priests to persecute us. To oppress us. They say that there can only be one religion. Theirs! We would all be better off if the old Parthian monarchy were to be restored. I am a Jew and there has been a Jewish community in Persia for over a thousand years. We have been living in this land a lot longer than the Sasanian kings who now rule over us.”

“Corbulo!” Antoninus exclaimed looking aghast.

“I am just making sure,” Corbulo said sizing Asher up. “Because that last bunch of Sasanians who I met were actively trying to kill me. Maybe you are who you say you are. Maybe not. But right now there is war going on between Rome and the Sasanian empire. And I just want to make sure you are on my side.”

“He is,” Antoninus said blushing.

“You are aware of what is required of you?” Corbulo continued unperturbed by Antoninus. “You are aware of how dangerous this mission is going to be? The consequences if we are caught?”

“I am,” Asher replied. “Are you?”

“Corbulo,” Antoninus tried to interrupt but Corbulo would not allow him. His eyes fixed upon Asher.

“No! I am not yet done. I need to know why a Jew, a Sasanian lord would want to help us,” Corbulo called out. “This is important! I am putting my life in this man’s hands. I have a right to know who I am dealing with. With who I may end up fighting and dying alongside. I have been betrayed before. It is hard to know who to trust these days.” Then to Asher. “Why are you doing this? Why have you agreed to help us?”

“Why?” Asher replied coolly gazing back at Corbulo. “Because Uranius is my friend. Because he asked for my help. Because I am preparing to lead a coup. An uprising against the King of Kings. I am going to overthrow him. If Valerian escapes King Shapur will look weak and incompetent. He would be humiliated and that would help my cause. Shapur must be overthrown. You do not know Sasanian politics like I do. The empire is far more fragile than it appears. The nobles are always restless. There are many competing factions among the nobility and priesthood who are seeking power. The nobles will only follow Shapur as long as he has their respect and can produce success.”

“But the Jews are no friends of Rome either,” Corbulo retorted, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “For three hundred years there has been trouble. War. Rebellion. Assassinations! Rome too has sought to suppress your people and religion. Much blood has been spilt. So I ask again. Why would a Jew wish to help rescue a Roman Emperor?”

Seeing that Antoninus was once more trying to intervene Corbulo raised his hand again - warning him to stay out of it.

Gazing back at him Asher paused. Then slowly he licked his lips. “It is true,” he said at last. “There is little love lost between us and Rome and I doubt there is anything that I can say which will convince you prefect. So all I can say is that you shall just have to trust me.”

“Trust!” Corbulo said unhappily. “Right.”

“Corbulo,” Antoninus said finally intervening. “Asher is a good man. I trust him and I too am risking my life. That should be enough for you.”

Looking unconvinced, Corbulo stared at Asher. Then he shifted his gaze back to the river and remained silent as if biting back his tongue. While Asher sombrely turned his eyes to the ground. The two minds - not meeting.

“Like I was saying,” Antoninus continued hurriedly seizing back the initiative. “We are all set. So this is my plan and its going to work. I have arranged two dugouts for us and supplies. The boats are over there hidden among the reeds beside the water. We will use them to travel downstream. The Euphrates will take us most of the way to Ctesiphon. The last twenty miles we can do on foot. Now to minimise the chance that we will be discovered we shall travel only at night. Lying up and resting during the day. If we are forced to explain ourselves our story is this,” Antoninus said quickly glancing at Corbulo and Asher. “That we are on our way to Ctesiphon to attend a family wedding and that you Corbulo are accompanying me as my Roman slave. People should believe that,” Antoninus said rolling his eyes. “Since the debacle at Edessa the Sasanian empire will be awash with Roman prisoners of war. Everyone of any means and wealth will have a Roman as their slave by now. The slave market will be utterly saturated with them. Then once we get to the Sasanian capital,” Antoninus continued. “Asher will gain us entry into the city and hide us in his town house while we plan the Emperor’s rescue and our escape. We leave tomorrow night.”

“Why tomorrow night?” Corbulo said sharply, turning to Antoninus. “Why not tonight?”

“Because it is the Sabbath tomorrow and I do not work on the Sabbath,” Asher said before turning away and walking off towards the river.

“Oh great,” Corbulo muttered.

“Listen,” Antoninus said turning to Corbulo once the two of them were alone. “I know you are suspicious and that you don’t easily trust people but I have known these Persian Jews for a long time. You can trust him. Only Asher knows the true purpose of our mission and I have sworn him to secrecy. He will keep his word. The Zoroastrian priests have been persecuting these Jews for decades with the connivance of the Sasanian monarchy. The Zoroastrian state priests threaten them constantly. They claim only their religion can exist and no other. They suppress all others. Trust me. It’s a really shit time to be a Jew in Persia right now. But without Asher and his friends I cannot get this done. So please, try to be nice to him. We need his help.”

“The wedding?” Corbulo said. “Is it real?”

“Yes its real,” Antoninus said nodding quickly. “If the authorities were to make inquiries they would discover that our story is true. One of Asher’s cousins is getting married in Ctesiphon soon. A big wedding. So you see. I have planned this mission to the last detail.”

“Plans go awry,” Corbulo murmured. “Even the best laid plans. I should know.”

“No. Not my plan,” Antoninus said shaking his head. “I am optimistic. We are going to succeed. My plan is sound. I have thought about everything, to the very last detail. I have contingencies for everything that could go wrong.”

“Like you keep saying.”

Sighing Antoninus turned to look away.

“Well this is your last chance to change your mind, Corbulo,” the fat lord exclaimed. “It is still not too late for you to go back to Palmyra, but I am going on to Ctesiphon regardless. I am doing this and when I succeed I am going to become one of the most famous men in the empire, in history!”

“Fame,” Corbulo said lowering his eyes. “Fame either gets you killed early or it lends you tremendous power.”

“Power, yes,” Antoninus said smiling. “What else is there.”

For a moment Corbulo said nothing. Then at last he turned to Antoninus and nodded. “All right then count me in,” he murmured. “How long will it take us to reach Ctesiphon?”

“Good man,” Antoninus said looking pleased before quickly patting Corbulo on the shoulder and casting his eyes to the river. “By my reckoning it is some two hundred and fifty miles downstream from here to Ctesiphon,” Antoninus continued. “For nearly all the way we shall be out in the desert and in hostile territory. I have only done the journey once when I was still a boy. The Euphrates is slow and ponderous so if we only travel at night I have calculated it will take us something like seven or eight days to reach the city.”

“Right,” Corbulo said.

For a moment he stared at the Euphrates before turning his eyes towards the destroyed city of Dura-Europos, remaining silent as he contemplated the ruins. His expression sombre.

“Ah yes poor Dura,” Antoninus said sadness entering his voice as joining Corbulo he turned to survey the abandoned city. “In the old texts they used to call it the Parthian station. It used to be the eastern most outpost of the empire until King Shapur besieged and destroyed the place a few years ago. I fear the city shall never recover. Such are the times we live in. The gods have cursed this place and now the sand reclaims it. The Sasanians deported the whole population as is their custom and no one has come back since. But once Dura was a splendid and vibrant settlement. I know because I saw it when it was still beautiful.”

Gazing at the city Corbulo watched in silence as a party of men removed the cut stones from a derelict building and placed them onto a cart. Then at last he turned to Antoninus. “One of my ancestors was here,” Corbulo said. “His name was Fergus. He rose to become legate of the Twentieth Legion. He helped capture this city during the reign of Emperor Trajan. I think I am the first of his descendants to have been back here since his day.”

Chapter Twenty Five - On the Euphrates

It was noon and high in the clear blue sky the sun reigned supreme, baking the land with ferocious heat. Stilling the desert and sending any animal scurrying into whatever cover they could find. All living beings patiently awaiting the coming of cooler temperatures. Stretched out on the ground in the shade provided by a copse of date palms that rose close to the peaceful river bank where they had made their camp, Corbulo’s head was resting on his blanket. His eyes were idly staring up at the tree canopy. While nearby Antoninus was asleep. The Emesan lord snoring gently. His large protruding stomach rhythmically moving up and down as a cloud of black flies hovered over it. Sitting upright opposite him, his back resting against a tree trunk, Asher was praying to his Jewish god. His head slowly nodding forwards and backwards, his lips moving, but uttering no sound. The three men were waiting for darkness before starting on their journey downstream.

Studying the Sasanian lord Corbulo watched him for a while. Then looking bored he turned his eyes back to the tranquil and broad waters of the Euphrates. The banks of the river were covered by tall lush reed beds and stunted trees. While nearby a goat herder was attending to his bleating flock and inside Dura Europos a few people were poking about among the ruins. But no one had bothered him except a boy who had tried to sell them some cannabis.

Suddenly without warning Dog sprang to his feet from where he had been lying on the ground and barked. The animal was gazing inland as if he had spotted or smelled something. Frowning Corbulo turned to look in the direction in which Dog was staring. Something had caught Dog’s attention but as he peered across the deserted fields dotted with clumps of trees he saw nothing untoward. Nothing out of the usual. Then Dog barked again, his tail swishing about excitedly and as he did Corbulo slowly got to his feet as he suddenly spotted two figures emerging from the shimmering heat haze. The men looked like Bedouin and they were heading straight towards him, leading two camels on foot. Their faces and heads were wrapped up in tight desert scarf’s. Their bodies were clad in long flowing clothes. Hunting bows and quivers filled with arrows were strapped across their backs.

“Oh no,” Corbulo muttered as the two men approached and Dog barked again. “Oh no,” Corbulo repeated as his heart abruptly sank.

“Uncle!” Badurad called out cheerfully in German raising his hand in greeting. “It’s us! We have come to join you.”

Looking stunned Corbulo was unable to speak as Badurad and Linus came up to the spot where he was camped. Lowering their keffiyeh and revealing their unshaven faces the two youths grinned at him. Their clothes were stained and covered in fine sand and dust. Their camels were looking on impassively, the beasts mouths working sideways, chewing on something.

“God-damn it,” Corbulo swore at last recovering from his shock. “I told you to stay in Palmyra! It was no request. It was a fucking order, Badurad! So what are you doing here?”

“So you did uncle,” Badurad said nodding and refusing to be cowed, his voice strangely confident. “And I apologise for that but you see, here we have a conflict between two instructions. I found myself caught. For when my father first packed me off to the east, to join you and become a soldier, he told me that I should take care of my uncle. He told me that I was always to remain at your side because “we are family”. So you see,” Badurad continued cheerfully. “I had to either choose to obey you uncle or Hostes my father. I could not do both. So with respect uncle I could not just allow you to go on this expedition on your own. Hostes would have a fit if he heard that I had allowed you to do this on your own. My father would want me to go with you.”

“Because “we are family,” Corbulo exclaimed, his face darkening. “Hostes said that! He told you to remain at my side.”

“He did - didn’t he?” Badurad replied turning to Linus who nodded enthusiastically.

“Hostes would not want you to come with me,” Corbulo snapped shaking his head.

“He would,” Badurad replied.

Staring at the two youths Corbulo remained silent as behind him Asher and Antoninus quietly got to their feet and Dog barked again.

“You are not coming with us to Ctesiphon!” Corbulo said abruptly pointing a finger at his cousin. “I forbid it. It’s too dangerous.”

“We are not children, Corbulo Sir,” Linus replied. “We are soldiers. We have killed men. We know the risks.”

“I am going with you uncle,” Badurad said stubbornly raising his chin. “My place is at your side. If you leave me behind I will just follow. Just like Linus and I followed you here.”

Swearing out loud Corbulo took a threatening step towards Badurad, his hand raised as it ready to strike his cousin.

“Is there a problem?” Asher said quietly from where he was standing behind Corbulo as he folded his arms across his chest.

“They can come with us Corbulo,” Antoninus said quickly. “There is space in the dugouts and they can pretend to be Roman prisoners of war just like you. We could do with the extra hands. It’s not a problem.”

“Stay out of this Antoninus, this is family business!” Corbulo retorted.

“We brought our own supplies and weapons,” Badurad said gesturing at the gear stowed on the camels backs. “And once we are on our way Linus and I will do exactly as you tell us to do uncle. But we are coming with you. There is no way you are doing this on your own.”

Staring at his cousin Corbulo remained silent. Then he swore again.

“Nothing ever goes according to plan does it,” Corbulo said sounding exasperated. “From the start you two have done nothing but get me into trouble.” Then turning to Linus Corbulo sized him up with a sour look. “And I suppose I do not need to ask why you are here do I!”

​***

Sitting slumped in the back of the small narrow boat, his paddle stowed alongside, Corbulo was resting. His eyes were half closed against the glare of the morning sun. While at the front of his craft Badurad appeared to be asleep. The youth was slumped forwards, his chin resting on his chest. The two stationary dugouts gently floating on the brackish water. Hidden among a dense forest of tall reeds that stretched away along the banks of the Euphrates. For a while Corbulo lay there dozing while around him the reed beds were quiet. The only noise was the soft refreshing breeze rustling through the vegetation and the gentle lap of the water against the side of the hull. The wide river was deserted. The desert beyond silent as a mouse. The sun was climbing steadily, blazing with light and heat.

At last Corbulo glanced over at the second dug out where among the three occupants only Asher appeared to be awake. The Jew silently and obediently performing his prayers. The night journey down the river had been uneventful and they had encountered no problems, nor had they come across a single soul. The country south of Dura appeared to be sparsely inhabited. The desert was growing drier and more arid. The strip of vegetation along the banks was narrowing. For a moment Corbulo observed Asher. Then turning his gaze towards the shore, he sighed as he tried to peer through the thick green cover. The vegetation however preventing him from getting a good view. After they had set out on their journey downstream Dog appeared to have tried to follow them on land at first. Making his way along the edge of the river and during the night on occasions they had heard the animal’s bark. But since they had moored up among the cover of the reeds, to lie up during the day, he had not seen or heard from the beast.

It was afternoon when Corbulo woke with a start. Some survival instinct kicking in. Hurriedly sitting up he turned to look around him and as he did, in the other boat, Asher quickly and silently raised a finger to his mouth. Signalling for him to remain silent. Then Corbulo heard it too. Human voices upon the river. The voices were growing clearer and closer. Drifting across the water towards him. Quickly he turned to peer in the direction from which the sound was coming and through the reed beds he caught a glimpse of a small wooden boat, not unlike their own, drifting slowly towards them. The three men inside the craft chatting to each other in a foreign language he could not understand while one of them casually threw a fishing net over the side. The boat and the three men were heading straight for the spot where he and his companions had hidden themselves. Would they see him? Would they notice the dugouts?

At the front of his boat Badurad silently reached for his bow and notched an arrow before slowly raising the weapon and training it on the fishermen who were now just ten or fifteen yards away. Their boat was still out on the open water, drifting towards them on the slow current. While in his dugout Antoninus looked flushed, perspiration covering his forehead. Silently pulling his knife from his belt, Corbulo held his breath, his eyes fixed upon the newcomers, waiting for the inevitable cry that would signal that they had been discovered.

Coming to a gentle halt at the edge of the reed beds which concealed the two Roman dugouts, now less than six or seven yards away, the fishermen paused. Their boat was resting against the thick reed barrier. If they pushed the reeds aside they would see him. But none of the men was looking in their direction. Their attention was elsewhere. Something seemed to be wrong for a moment later one of the fishermen slung his legs over the side and dropped down into the river with a splash. Holding onto the side of his boat with one hand, with his other he appeared to be trying to untangle the fishing net.

Snatching a look at his companions sitting rigid and motionless in their dugout, Corbulo saw Antoninus carefully clutching his paddle. Ready to propel the narrow craft straight at the fishermen. While at the front Linus was clutching his sword, the youth’s eyes excited like those of a cat preparing to pounce upon its unsuspecting prey.

Suddenly from the river Corbulo heard a shout which swiftly turned into a high pitched shriek of terror. Hurriedly turning his eyes back to the fishermen, through the dense vegetation, he caught sight of broiling water. The sleepy river had abruptly come alive with movement. The brackish water transformed into a splashing, crashing torrent of violence. The screams of panic and fear rising to a fever pitch. Something was attacking the fishermen. Something was in the water and it appeared to have caught hold of their colleague. His eyes’ widening in growing horror, out in the river, Corbulo suddenly caught a glimpse of a huge sleek olive coloured scaly beast thrashing about. The animal twisting furiously in a spiralling death roll, grasping one of the men in its jaws, tearing the fisherman to pieces with its powerful jaws. The fisherman standing no chance. Staring at the marsh crocodile at it continued to roll and thrash about in the water and the remaining two fishermen fled in panic, rowing away as fast they could, Corbulo took a deep breath. His companions struck dumb in terror at the gruesome sight and the ferocious beast. At last the attack appeared to be over and as the Euphrates returned to its peaceful setting, nearby Corbulo was suddenly aware of a large scaly head and two eyes lurking low in the water, as another monster slowed drifted on by before vanishing from sight.

​***

It was night and covering the entire desert sky the darkness was punctured by a vast array of stars. As if the heavens had put everything on display. The far off constellations were glowing different shades of blue, red and white like clouds of light interspersed by spidery veins of blackness. The whole sky was a mass of strange unearthly colours, some bright, others dim. The dull star light reflecting upon the still water. The universe exposing itself in all its true glory and beauty. The wide and placid Euphrates was silent and deserted as the two small Roman dugouts slowly stole downstream.

Pushing his paddle into the water Corbulo gazed up at the night sky while at the front of his boat Badurad was doing the same. The exotic beauty of the clear night silencing them both. The only sound the soft gentle splash of their paddles in the river. The darkness that veiled the Euphrates ahead of them slowly peeling away to reveal more water. The smell of rotting matter and decay coming from the river marshes filling Corbulo’s nostrils.

“Have you ever seen such a night sky, uncle,” Badurad whispered at last. “It’s magnificent.”

“No I have not,” Corbulo said quietly.

“It’s the desert,” Antoninus called out softly from the other dugout. “The skies are without clouds. That is why you get this uninterrupted view.”

“There,” Linus said quietly pointing up at the heavens. “That is the constellation of the Phoenician Bear.”

“The Phoenician Bear?” Badurad said quickly turning his head in Linus’s direction. “What are you talking about?”

“Follow the constellation of the Phoenician Bear and it will always lead you north,” Linus whispered. “Follow those stars and they will lead us home.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Badurad murmured.

“I read it in the library back in the Colonia,” Linus responded. “The Phoenicians used it to navigate when they were beyond the sight of land.”

“If you could fly,” Antoninus said quietly, digging his paddle into the water, “and you took to the skies at night and you went very high. You would see all the east like the gods see the world. The coast of the middle sea would twinkle with many lights from all the cities there. The desert in between us and the Sasanians would be pitch black until you came to the Sasanian province of Asoristan which would be aglow with light.”

“There are many people and cities where we are going?” Badurad asked.

“Many,” Antoninus replied from the darkness. “Asoristan is the cradle of civilisation. The first ever cities were born in the land between the rivers. Ctesiphon is like nothing you have ever seen boy. The city is twice the size of Rome. It is the largest city in the whole world.”

“Asher,” Corbulo called out softly in Latin as the two dugouts drifted downstream side by side. “If the Sasanians oppress your people, if things have become so bad for the Jews, then why do you not take your family and leave?”

“Leave,” Asher replied quietly from the darkness. “No. I will not leave. Ctesiphon is my home. Why should I leave? Where would I go? My ancestors have lived in the city for hundreds of years. I will not let our new masters drive me out. It is they who are the newcomers, not I.”

“Why do they hate you?” Corbulo said glancing in Asher’s direction. “Why do the Sasanians persecute you?”

“For the same reason that you Romans hate us,” Asher responded coolly. “It is because we are different.”

“You deny the existence of all the other gods,” Badurad said intervening. “You Jews are just like the Christians. You are fanatics! How can there be just one God? What gives you the right to deny all the others.”

“And yet there is just one God,” Asher said calmly from the darkness. “All the others are false idols.”

“So you claim,” Badurad retorted. “But you Jews are still fanatics. Rome in contrast is moderation. The Romans never imposed their gods upon my ancestors. They allowed us free worship. They told us that our gods were the same as theirs but just with a different name.”

“Badurad,” Corbulo said sharply in German signalling him to shut up.

“You ask me why they hate us, Corbulo,” Asher replied after a brief pause. “It is because we Jews have kept our own identity and traditions even after hundreds of years. We are different. We may speak Persian. Some of us may have taken Sasanian names but we remain true to our own God and his commandments. We remember Abraham, Moses, Isaac and all the others. We have our books. We have our customs and traditions. We have our laws. They have not changed in hundreds of years. And the Zoroastrian priests who administer the Sasanian state religion do not like that. They see us a threat to their own faith. They try to stamp out our identity because they wish there to be only one religion in the empire. The Sasanian priests,” Asher said before pausing again, “are the worst of the worst. Filth of the earth. They beat and raped my sister because she refused to renounce her faith.”

“They beat and raped your sister,” Linus blurted out. “But you are a lord. A nobleman. Did you not seek compensation?”

“I tried to do so,” Asher replied solemnly. “I complained directly to Shapur himself. I petitioned his council of ministers. But to no avail. The Sasanian priesthood is immensely powerful and influential. Their power is only second to that of the king. They control the bureaucracy. They police the streets. They have informants everywhere. No one is interested in the complaints of a single Jew. Even when he is a lord. Nothing was done. No one was punished for her rape. Such is the situation which now exists in my city for us Jews. But it was not always like this,” Asher added with a sigh. “When the Parthian kings still ruled, there was tolerance. When your Emperor Trajan tried to conquer us a hundred and fifty years ago we Jews did everything we could to support the Parthian dynasty. It because of our support that the Roman invasion eventually failed.”

“My ancestor Fergus was part of that invasion,” Corbulo said. “He said the same. That the Jews were hostile.”

For a while no one spoke as the two dugouts stole on down the river, the darkness cloaking them. The night pregnant with unresolved tension and conflict. The mood stuck fast, positions immovable.

“So much religious strive,” Linus whispered at last. “So much hatred between religions and peoples. What then is the solution?”

“There is no solution,” Antoninus muttered from the darkness. “Believe me. We shall go on hating and competing with each other until the end of time. But I am the leader of this mission and as long as I am, we are going to trust each other and work together. So from now on there will be no more discussions about fucking religion. Got that! The topic is banned. I do not want to hear any of you mentioning it again. If we are caught we are all going down together anyway.”

“Uncle,” Badurad whispered from the front of the dugout, switching to German. “I do not trust this man. This Sasanian lord who accompanies us. Something does not feel right. I think he is going to betray us.”

Chapter Twenty Six - Into the Lion’s Den

“Move! Move. Faster!” Corbulo hissed furiously digging his paddle into the water as out on the Euphrates directly ahead of him the Sasanian dhow had without warning emerged from the darkness. The ghostly galley with its single mast and lateen sail and rigging sitting motionless in the water. The vessel was cloaked by the night. It’s appearance silent and unexpected like a nocturnal hunter patiently waiting for its prey to appear.

Veering sharply away from the dhow and towards the rocky river shore, frantically digging their paddles into the river, the two Roman dugouts fled as silently as they could. Their paddles and arms working furiously. Propelling them through the water. Hurriedly Corbulo turned to look back at the enemy vessel but in the darkness he could see no one aboard. Nor did any cry of alarm rent the night. The sentries had not spotted them.

“Sasanian naval patrol,” Antoninus whispered from the darkness close by, gasping for breath. “God-damn guard ship. We will have to sneak around them and hope they don’t see us.”

Swearing softly Badurad forced his paddle into the water and moments later the nose of the little dugout slid onto a narrow gravelly beach, the wood grinding softly over the stones. Coming to a halt along the shore Corbulo quickly stowed his paddle and reached out to grasp hold of a rock. Steadying the flimsy craft against the high embankment. His chest heaving from the sudden unexpected exertion. The other dugout swiftly joining them. The soft gasping breath of his companions and the gentle lap of water against the shore the only noise to disturb the night. For a few moments no one spoke as they recovered their breath and turned to stare in the direction of the darkened dhow which appeared to be anchored in the middle of the Euphrates. Then softly Corbulo swore.

“That was close,” Badurad murmured in German, his relieved grin lost in the darkness. “Fucking scared the shit out of me.”

“There will be others like them,” Asher whispered. “The ships guard the river. We must be approaching the first villages. The desert stretch of our journey is behind us my friends. We should be encountering more people from now on. It will get harder to stay hidden.”

“So how far still to go?” Antoninus asked quietly.

“It is still a few more days to the place where we will leave the river, “ Asher replied. “For now we should continue on downstream under cover of darkness but once we are properly back in civilisation and among people we should switch to travelling in daylight. It won’t matter then if people see us. But the time approaches Antoninus when we will need to start treating the Romans as our slaves. We will need to get out the chains and take away their weapons.”

“What?” Badurad hissed. “You want to chain us and take our weapons. No fucking way!”

“The two young ones should be chained by their hands,” Asher continued unperturbed addressing Antoninus as if the others were not there. “They are to keep silent unless asked a question. Corbulo as an officer will not need to be chained but he must look like he is your prisoner Antoninus. He must learn to look like a slave. Right now he looks like he is still in command. A free man. We cannot have that. For us to get into the city we must appear authentic. The gates are well guarded and everyone entering the city is checked. The Sasanian empire is a highly centralised state. The bureaucracy has rules for everything. The Romans must be able to pass as real prisoners of war.”

“If that twat tries to chain me,” Badurad whispered in German. “I am going to thump him. He is going to betray us uncle!”

“You heard that Corbulo?” Antoninus said softly turning to Corbulo, his face hidden in the darkness.

“I did,” Corbulo murmured. “We will do as you suggest but once we are inside the city the chains come off. I have seen prisoners of war moving about on their own quite freely in Antioch and other cities.”

“Agreed,” Asher said quietly as from the front of the dugout Badurad groaned. “We just have to get into the city.”

Asher was about to say something else when the five of them froze as nearby they heard a sudden snort of a horse. Turning to look up at the rocky embankment Corbulo blinked as he tried to see beyond but the steep ground prevented it. Then once again he heard the sound of horses and moments later voices speaking in a language he could not understand. The voices were horribly close. Somewhere on the cliff above him. Barely daring to move. Looking up. Feeling his heart thumping wildly in his chest Corbulo pulled his knife from his belt. What was this? Had they stumbled onto another enemy patrol. This one a cavalry patrol. But as he looked up a torch burst into life and to his horror a figure suddenly appeared on the edge of the embankment directly above him and began to wave the flaming torch about. As if he were signalling to someone. Slowly turning his head to look out across the river Corbulo blinked as moments later in reply a waving and flaming torch appeared upon the dhow.

Staring at the silent signalling between the dhow and the shore Corbulo held his breath. The patrol on the cliff above them had not spotted them but if the soldier looked down… Slowly the seconds ticked on by before abruptly the signaller vanished from view and Corbulo heard voices calling out to each other. The soldiers appeared to be preparing to leave. But just as he was about to exhale with relief a new noise rent the night. The distant and excited barking of a dog. The noise rapidly drawing closer. His eyes widening in horror Corbulo heard Badurad emit a soft groan. It was Dog. The loyal animal must have caught their scent and was now rushing towards them. Trying to catch up. Happy to be reunited with its master. But Dog was about to give them away.

“We got to go,” Corbulo whispered as he hurriedly pushed the dugout off the gravelly ledge and back into the river. And moments later the two small craft were once again stealing away downstream. Like ghosts. Silently slipping past the Sasanian guard ship leaving Dog and the danger onshore behind them.

​***

Swimming in the river close to the shore the group of children were shrieking and shouting in delight. The kids splashing and messing around. But as the two Roman dugouts came paddling past they stopped what they were doing to stare at the five men in sudden silence. The children’s inquisitive glances taking in the strangers clothing, boats and equipment. It was morning and along the banks of the Euphrates the lush, green and olive coloured fields with their multitude of straight, neat irrigation ditches and earthen dykes stretched as far as the eye could see. The plots of cultivated land were divided up into squares. The rich, fertile looking land criss-crossed with abundant secondary water channels filled with brown muddy water. Fruit trees standing in well tended orchards while out in the fields hordes of labourers were at work among the crops.

Gazing across the water at the children Corbulo remained silent, looking grim as in the other boat Linus raised a lame hand in greeting which was not returned. Up upon the road that ran along the top of the high earthen dyke a black water buffalo with its massive curved horns was plodding along pulling an empty cart. The driver of the wagon wearing a wide brimmed sun hat. The man was taking no notice of the traffic out in the river.

At last shifting his attention away from the children, Corbulo turned to gaze at a sleek galley that was heading in the opposite direction, up stream, the oars of the ship were working the water with rhythmic intensity. The barge laden with bushels of wheat and barley. Passing the two dugouts Corbulo saw the captain of the barge standing at the back of the craft observing him as on each side of the vessel the rowers heaved and strained at their oars. Then they were past each other and up ahead Corbulo noticed a wooden jetty sticking out into the Euphrates. A solitary fisherman was sitting at the end, his legs dangling into space as he worked on repairing his fishing net.

“Here?” Antoninus said softly turning to look round at Asher.

“Here,” Asher replied nodding as he began to steer the dugout towards the jetty on the eastern bank.

Coming alongside the jetty Corbulo hurriedly stowed his paddle and then reached out to grasp hold of the wooden structure before stiffly heaving himself up onto it as his companions did the same. Moments later the five of them were standing on the jetty. Turning to look around Corbulo took a deep breath. Eight days had past since they had left Dura and now here they were about to enter the den of the lion. Deep inside enemy territory. But so far so good. There was however no sign of Dog. The animal had been on the wrong side of the Euphrates when they had last heard him and it was unlikely they would see the stray again.

As Antoninus busied himself collecting their remaining belongings from the two dugouts Asher approached Corbulo. The Jew surreptitiously reaching up to hide his eye amulet beneath his tunic. Coming to a halt at Corbulo’s shoulder, Asher’s gaze was fixed on the village further inland.

“Tell your colleagues to kneel,” Asher said quietly. “Then do so yourself. You are my slaves now so you will need to act like you are. Speak only when asked a question. Keep your eyes lowered. The priests will be looking for signs of insubordination. From now on you and your companions will do exactly as I and Uranus tell you to do. Understood?”

“As long as you do not start enjoying yourself too much,” Corbulo murmured.

“If we are caught my head will be right next to yours on the spike,” Asher replied quietly. “You are not the only one risking your life.”

Saying nothing Corbulo slowly got down on his knees gesturing to Badurad and Linus to do the same. Giving him an unhappy look Badurad took a deep breath but he and Linus did as asked.

Standing on the jetty behind the three kneeling Romans, Asher turned to Antoninus who handed him two short slavers chains. Staring straight ahead at the village in the distance Corbulo remained silent as Asher proceeded to pin Badurad and Linus’s arms behind their backs and clamp them in iron chains. The two youths suffering the humiliation in silence.

“Up,” Asher commanded at last. “Let’s go. We have a long day’s walk ahead of us before we reach Ctesiphon.”

Obediently rising to his feet Corbulo began to follow Asher as the Jewish lord started out towards the village.

Turning to study the villagers working the fields on either side of the gravel covered road as the five of them, with Asher leading and Antoninus bringing up the rear, started out towards the village, Corbulo frowned. The labourers were mostly locals with black hair and an eastern appearance. The men and women clad in long unbelted Greek style tunics. Some with short sleeved tunics. Most of the people were bare footed while some of them were wearing caps. But among them too were men who did not fit. Tall, pale faced and blond haired. Foreigners! Some of the labourers clad in white Roman legionary tunics, their arms adorned with army tattoos. Others too appeared to be of European origin but from the fringes of empire. Foederati. Roman treaty bound allies from Germany, from Africa and from the peoples beyond the Danube.

“See that,” Corbulo whispered quickly turning to Badurad and gesturing at the men working out in the fields.

Nodding that he too had noticed the Roman prisoners, Badurad said nothing. Looking deeply unhappy with his lot. While at his side Linus was moving his head about as he tried to batter away a cloud of flies.

For a while as he walked Corbulo gazed at the prisoners working in the fields. Then at last with the party approaching the first of the houses he shifted his attention. The village up ahead was large and extensive. Protected here and there against flooding by man made earthen embankments and revetments. The homes occupying a raised area of ground that was bisected by a canal. While from somewhere out of sight a dog was barking. The dense cluster of simple one storey reed and mud brick houses with flat roof’s containing just one or two rooms. Some of the homes were boasting small wooden structures upon their roof’s. The grandest building in the village appeared to be a storehouse made of solid stone.

Coming down the road towards him heading in the opposite direction two women were carrying trays with freshly baked bread and a pitcher of beer. While at the edge of the road a cripple without any legs was lying asleep in the verge. The women casually glancing at Corbulo and his companions as they moved on by. No one speaking a word.

As they entered the village Corbulo saw older women sitting in the doorways of their homes chatting away with their neighbours as they went about their domestic chores. While a lone older man sporting a thick white beard and clutching a staff was sitting on a stool outside his home staring at the party of newcomers with a grumpy unwelcoming expression. The women in the doorways were preparing, moulding, repairing and weaving. Some of them wearing veils while the older village children were looking after the newborn and toddlers. Playing with them in the meagre shade cast by date palm trees. No one was giving the strangers much attention apart from the odd glance. As if the locals were used to the sight of foreign prisoners. The earthy stink of manure hanging in the still, hot air.

Moving on through the village, up ahead, Corbulo suddenly caught sight of a crowd of men gathered around the ruins of a bridge across the canal. Drawing closer he saw that the wooden bridge had collapsed into the canal but that the waterway was still fordable if you clambered across the debris one at a time. Standing in the midst of the crowd of locals was a tall man dressed in finer and grander clothes than the villagers. A soft round Persian cap adorning his head. But as the man noticed the approaching party he hurriedly broke away from the gathering and came marching up to Asher. Obediently coming to a halt behind Asher as the Jew engaged in conversation with the tall man in a language he could not understand, Corbulo was suddenly aware that the crowd of men had turned to stare at him and his companions. Their silent observant gazes unsettling and uncomfortable.

At last peeling away Asher came up to Antoninus and Corbulo, looking troubled.

“The tall man over there,” Asher said quietly, “is a local bureaucrat. An important man in this village. He asked me if my Roman prisoners knew how to repair a bridge. He is looking for engineers to fix the bridge. It was washed away and apparently there is a shortage of skilled labour.”

“We are not engineers,” Corbulo said quickly.

“I told him that,” Asher said. “But now he wants to know what you can do. He wants to know what skills and trades you possess. There appears,” Asher continued with a sigh, “to be fierce competition for Roman prisoners with specific civilian skills between the local bureaucrats. Engineers. Farmers. Builders. Scribes. Stone masons. Shipbuilders. Wagon makers. They are all in demand. Everyone and every district is trying to get hold of the best prisoners. The Roman prisoners are prized for their trade skills and knowledge and apparently there are not enough of them to go around.”

“We are your prisoners,” Corbulo said looking unimpressed. “Just tell him that we are not for sale.”

“I am very good with my right hand,” Badurad muttered giving Asher an unhappy look. “Is that valuable too?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Asher said nodding at Corbulo, ignoring Badurad. “We must be careful. This man belongs to the imperial bureaucracy. If he wanted to he could create trouble for me. He could force me to sell you to him at a discounted price. He has that power.”

“What, that fucker,” Badurad whispered darkly as he turned to stare at the tall bureaucrat.

“Deal with him,” Corbulo said glaring at Asher before remembering to lower his eyes. “Tell him that we are bad slaves. Rebellious and that we do not do as we are told. Handle it! That is your job.”

Sighing Asher paused for a moment. Then without another word he turned away and strode back to the spot where the waiting bureaucrat was standing in the road looking on with a stern expectant frown. Raising his head as Asher spoke to the man again, Corbulo looked on as with a little surreptitious movement Asher handed the official a little pouch of coins which quickly vanished into the man’s pocket. Then turning to his companions Asher gestured for them to follow him. But as they past on by heading towards the collapsed bridge, Badurad could not resist making a silent face at the tall bureaucrat.

​***

The emporium of Vologesocerta was a hive of activity, even at this late hour, Corbulo could see as he and the others made their way down the busy suburban street towards the water front. The suburb and river port of Ctesiphon was strategically located on the western bank of the Tigris river - at the junction where the Royal canal connected the river to the Euphrates, twenty miles to the west. The city and waterfront with its mud brick, low, flat roofed buildings was teeming with people as a constant stream of barges and water craft came and departed from the harbour. The vessels moving up or descending the Tigris or heading out along the Royal canal. Transporting people, animals and goods. The tops of the white lateen sails of some of the larger dhows were visible as they slowly moved on by behind the buildings that lined the embankment.

In the maze of narrow urban streets around Corbulo, merchants, sellers, artisans, soldiers, sailors, beggars, gangs of children and slaves were going about their business. Carrying, unloading, cleaning, guarding, haggling, eating, repairing, selling, recording and buying. The people were hanging around or hurrying on by without so much as an inquisitive glance. No one was speaking to them. No one showing any interest in the newcomers. Everyone wrapped up in their own affairs, tasks and problems, oblivious to the world around them.

Gazing about him Corbulo noticed Indian and Chinese merchants standing about in small groups chatting away excitedly in their foreign language as they smoked their pipes. But there was no sign of any Roman, Greek, Egyptian or Palmyrene businessmen. The war having halted all trade across the Syrian frontier - breaking that section of the Silk road. And while some of the slaves were in chains and had their necks branded by their owner’s mark; others appeared to have secured more privileged positions and were acting as accountants and supervisors for their masters. The port and market square were alive with human voices, barking dogs, the rattle of wagon wheels on the paving stones and the loud mooing of cattle. The smell of unwashed bodies and human excrement competing with the strong scent of spices coming from the spice market. It was early evening but the heat still lingered, only grudgingly giving way.

Joining the queue to board the ferry Corbulo looked on as Asher purchased their tickets for the short two mile trip upriver to the heart of the city. Ctesiphon he could see was a vast metropolis. Acres upon acres of urban sprawl. A massive place. The capital of the Sasanian empire was not just one city but seven cities who had grown and fused together. The suburbs of Ctesiphon stretching in every direction and also across the river to the western bank of the Tigris. The huge conurbation like nothing he had ever seen before. Even the city of Rome could not compare for size. Eyeing the people around him as he waited to board, Corbulo frowned as he noticed two men sporting tattoos of a cross, the symbol of the Christian god, on their forearms. Peering at the strangers as they vanished into the crowd Corbulo grunted. The followers of the Christian god were here too.

“Asher is going to betray us,” Badurad said quietly in German as he came to stand beside his uncle, the youth’s arms bound and pinned behind his back. His expression unhappy. “Mark my words, uncle. You should not trust that man. He’s a Jew.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Corbulo murmured in German, his eyes carefully roving over the people around him, “but if Asher was going to betray us then why has he not handed us over yet? If he was going to betray us, we could have been arrested as soon as we set foot on land.”

“He’s waiting,” Badurad replied unperturbed. “He is waiting for the right moment. Maybe he wants to find out if Antoninus has other supporters inside the city so that he can unmask them as well. I am telling you. Asher is going to betray us. You cannot trust a Jew. You cannot trust an Arab. You cannot trust a Christian. They are all fanatics and thieves.”

Taking a deep breath as the queue of passengers started to shuffle forwards and onto the river ferry Corbulo said nothing as he laid a fatherly hand upon Badurad’s shoulder.

​***

The sun was sinking in the west and its reddish dying light was reflected from the placid and mighty waters of the Tigris. Standing at the front of the ferry, packed in with the other passengers, Corbulo had turned his eyes to the north as the oarsmen slowly propelled the craft upstream towards the eastern bank. The rowers were working to the rhythmic beat of a drum. Staring across the water at the ruins of Seleucia on the Tigris that had appeared on the western bank, Corbulo muttered something to himself. His eyes taking in the ruined, fire blasted and abandoned city. The remaining derelict buildings now inhabited by a few squatters and strays. Most of the salvageable stones and mud bricks looted a long time ago. The spot slowly being reclaimed by nature.

“They never rebuilt it,” Antoninus said quietly seeing what Corbulo was staring at. “Once Seleucia was the centre of Hellenism in Mesopotamia. A fine cosmopolitan city where west met east. Capital of an empire and one of the greatest cities in the world. But its Greek citizens did not like their Parthian overlords much so the Parthians built Vologesocerta downstream so that it could steal Seleucia’s trade and population. Then finally our Avidius Cassius completely destroyed the city a hundred years ago. And when he did the last of the Greek influence in these parts went with it. There has been a Greek city here since the time of Alexander but no more. Now the easterners have fully taken over. This is their land now. The memory of Alexander and his successors has gone. The Sasanian kings decided to build their new capital across the river over there,” Antoninus added turning to point to the opposite eastern bank of the Tigris where the mighty walls of Ctesiphon rose up close to the water’s edge. “The course of the Tigris has shifted eastwards over the years as you can see.”

“My ancestor Fergus was here,” Corbulo said quietly gazing at the spot where Seleucia had once stood. “When he was part of Trajan’s invasion force he came here. The Emperor put him in charge of the city garrison. His task was to hold Seleucia on the Tigris for Trajan. But there was a revolt and he had to get his men out quickly which he did successfully.”

“Your ancestor was the city garrison commander of Seleucia,” Antoninus exclaimed looking impressed. “Wow!”

“For a short while,” Corbulo said before turning to Antoninus. “Compared to him I have achieved little of any consequence.”

“Well if we are successful,” Antoninus said lowering his voice as he turned to gaze at the river harbour of Ctesiphon as the ferry approached the eastern bank, “that should all change.”

​***

Waiting outside the city gates to enter Ctesiphon was another queue and as Corbulo and his companions left the ferry and walked the short distance from the harbour to join it, Corbulo noticed that Asher was suddenly looking nervous. The Jewish lord was fidgeting with the buttons of his tunic. As if he had seen something he did not like. His eyes were fixed upon the armed guards at the gates. And as Corbulo turned to observe the soldiers, he saw that they were checking everyone entering and leaving, even inspecting the goods wagons. And supervising the whole process was a young Zoroastrian priest who was accompanied by a few junior clerics wearing face veils. The official was clean shaven. Unlike many of the locals who were bearded, and his sharp eagle like eyes were roving over the population with a harsh, suspicious demeanour. As if he were searching for something or somebody. Clad in the traditional robes of a Zoroastrian priest the young man exuded power and as they shuffled on past the locals appeared frightened of him.

“Not good. Not good,” Asher whispered urgently as he lent in towards Corbulo. “That priest over there. His name is Kartir. I know him. He is a fanatic and a rising star of the Zoroastrians. He hates us Jews. He hates anyone who does believe in the Wise Lord.”

“What do we do?” Antoninus said quietly, looking alarmed. “Find another gate into the city?”

“No. No. Too late,” Asher muttered. “We will just have to pass on through. Let me do the talking and remember what we said. You are here for my cousin’s wedding Antoninus and these three are my Roman slaves.”

As the five of them slowly shuffled towards the gates and awaited their turn to enter the city Corbulo gazed up at the walls of Ctesiphon. Taking in their construction, height, layout and the materials used to build the fortifications. The position of the sentries. As if he were already planning his escape. Before at last he shifted his attention back to Kartir, studying the priest’s clothing, the strange fire and water amulet around the man’s neck and the coiled whip that hung from his belt. Suddenly without warning Kartir was staring straight back at Corbulo, picking him out, as if the man had sensed he was being watched. His gaze was unfriendly and authoritative as if he feared nothing and was accountable to no one.

For a moment Corbulo held the priest’s stare before coolly he turned to look away but as his turn finally came to be checked into the city, Kartir suddenly cried out and pointed straight at him. The priest’s harsh cry bringing the whole entry process to a halt. The soldiers pausing. Barring the way. Hurrying up to the priest Asher blushed as he spoke briefly in a language Corbulo could not understand and was rewarded by a few displeased sounding words. Then Asher turned back to Corbulo, the Jew looking anxious.

“The priest wishes to know what rank you had in the Roman army,” Asher said quietly as people stopped to stare at them. Annoyed by the hold up and the delay. “Lower your head to me when you reply. Show your master respect. Your companions too.”

“Tell him that I was a prefect in command of a contingent of Salian Franks,” Corbulo replied lowering his eyes as he spoke.”

“Tell him that he can stick it up his arse,” Badurad whispered in German as he and Linus also bowed.

Turning back to Kartir, Asher once again spoke to the priest and as Corbulo slowly raised his eyes he saw that the man was still glaring at him. And he did not look pleased. He looked angry. Kartir’s eagle eyes were examining him, his lips curled in contempt. Then the priest spoke, his words landing like physical blows. One after the other and as he did Asher went pale. A moment later the young priest was approaching with his veiled juniors following and Asher hanging at his shoulder and as they came up to him Corbulo saw that Kartir was undoing the whip from around his belt.

“Kneel Roman,” Asher cried out savagely in Latin. “Kneel before the priest and show him some respect. You are a prisoner. You are nothing. Your are less than the sand beneath his boot.”

Obediently Corbulo got down on his knees in the street as all around him people had stopped to stare. No one speaking. No one intervening. All traffic into the city halted. Standing over him Kartir spoke again and moments later two of the priest’s veiled helpers had seized hold of Corbulo and had pulled up his tunic, revealing his naked back. Closing his eyes in shock as he realised what was about to happen Corbulo braced himself. Then Kartir’s whip came crashing down on his back. The wicked leather strap sending searing pain shooting through his body. Then again and again the whip cracked. Lashing him. Twack. Twack. Twack. The leather trying to elicit a reaction from him but keeping his eyes shut all Corbulo did was grimace and emit a low growl as he struggled with the shooting pain.

Then it was over and opening his eyes Corbulo groaned again as he stared down at the paving stones. Pain still coursing through his body. Footsteps moving away from him.

“Up. Up. Up on your feet. No. Don’t look at him. Follow me,” Asher said harshly but as he stiffly struggled back to his feet, Corbulo noticed a brief glimpse of sympathy in the Jew’s eyes. Asher playing his role.

“What just happened. What the fuck did he do that for?” Corbulo murmured as the five of them past on through the gates and into the city of Ctesiphon. Corbulo limping, his face creased with pain, while Badurad was at his side, the youth looking concerned.

“Kartir did not like the look you gave him,” Asher muttered, hurriedly turning into a side-street and moving out of sight of the gates. “He said you did not seem to know you had been defeated. So he whipped you to remind you. You were lucky. He could easily have beaten you to death right there and then. I have seen him do that on occasions. He is a violent man. So now you know what we Jews have had to endure.”

Chapter Twenty Seven - The Emperor’s Fate

Leading the party into the enclosed courtyard of the smart town house, with its brick lined walls, flat roof and tower like appearance, Asher called out and swiftly raised his hand in greeting as in the doorway to his home a man appeared. The figure was illuminated by the flaming torches which were fixed to the walls at intervals, bathing the enclosure in a reddish flickering light. Fending off the growing darkness of the night. Clad in a tunic with long sleeves and wearing simple slippers on his feet the man appeared to be around the same age as Badurad and Linus. In his late teens and as Corbulo followed Asher towards the entrance of the house he saw that the stranger had the dark handsome looks of the Bedouin.

Spotting Asher in turn the young man abruptly cried out before rushing over to him. The youth hurriedly getting down on his knees and respectfully bowing his head to Asher as he jabbered away in his foreign language. His words alien and foreign to Corbulo but his tone sounding joyous and relieved by Asher’s return. However the Jewish lord appeared to be having none of it and with a good natured laugh and a few words that Corbulo could not understand, he pulled the youth back to his feet before the two swiftly embraced.

“My man servant,” Asher said turning to Corbulo in way of explanation. “His name is Fadel. You can speak freely in his presence. I trust him with my life and so can you.”

“Fadel,” Corbulo repeated slowly as he gazed at the young man. “Right.”

“He is Bedouin,” Asher said with a sigh. “Slavers kidnapped him from his tent out in the desert when he was still very small. He does not remember it of course. I bought him directly from the slave market some years ago and he proved a good investment. He never tried to run away. He has been loyal to me and my family. He has become like the son that I never had.”

“Does he speak Latin, Greek?” Corbulo replied sizing up the youth.

“No,” Asher replied shaking his head.

“Good morning. My friend,” Fadel suddenly blurted out in broken German, smiling as he did. His pleased eyes fixed upon Corbulo.

“What the fuck,” Badurad hissed gaping in shock.

For a moment Corbulo said nothing.

“You speak German,” Corbulo exclaimed at last frowning. “But you are Bedouin. How can this be so?”

“Fadel has learned some of your language, some only,” Asher said intervening with an amused look. “He tells me he is not yet fluent. He learned it from some German speaking prisoners of war he befriended. I knew that would shock you. Fadel has a gift for picking up languages. A real talent. So be careful around him next time you decide to speak in your language and you think no one can understand what you are saying.”

“That’s insane,” Badurad said.

Staring at Fadel Corbulo slowly shook his head in disbelief.

“Speaking of your family,” Corbulo said shifting his attention back to the tower like town house, oblivious to the silent private look of recognition that passed between Linus and Fadel, “where are they? Are they not coming out to greet us?”

“I sent my wife and daughters to our country estate in the south,” Asher said briskly leading the way into the house. “They will be safer there. In case something goes wrong. It’s just me and Fadel right now. Welcome to my home. You can stay here and rest while we plan the next stage. The rescue of your Emperor and your escape from the city.”

Coming to a halt just inside the square main room of the house Corbulo turned to look around, inspecting the furniture and the expensive rugs that had been placed across the floor. Taking in the gleaming Jewish candelabra standing upon a wooden chest. The round stone stairway leading up to the second floor. The small annex that contained a kitchen. The beautiful Russian blue cat sitting upon a stool watching him in haughty silence.

Then at last Corbulo turned to Asher.

“Free them,” Corbulo said quietly. “Undo my companions chains now.”

Saying nothing Asher raised his eyebrows. Then producing an iron key he turned to Badurad and Linus and did as asked.

“Never again,” Badurad said darkly waving a finger at Asher in warning as his arms were finally freed from where they had been pinned behind his back. “That is the last time anyone chains me. I swear it!”

“Good,” Antoninus said clearing his voice as he moved to take centre stage. “Well done all of you. We made it to Asher’s house without incident. This is a good start gentlemen. Asher,” Antoninus added turning to the lord. “Thank you for getting us this far but I am going to be in charge of the next stage. This is my plan. It was my idea to try and rescue Valerian. But right now we are all tired from our journey. So I suggest that we get something to eat and rent some whores for the evening, so we can relax. Then tomorrow we start work.”

“You want to start work already tomorrow,” Badurad replied unhappily. “Can’t we have at least another day off? My feet are killing me and my uncle can barely sit down without grimacing in pain.”

“There is no time to waste young man,” Antoninus said unperturbed. “We start work tomorrow. Asher tells me that Valerian is being held a prisoner in the dungeons under the White Palace. Asher?”

“That’s right,” Asher said smoothly taking over the narrative as he turned his attention to Corbulo. His expression suddenly grave. “My house is in the Veh Ardashir, the western district of Ctesiphon. The White Palace is one of the residences of the King of Kings. It lies in the old city in the eastern part of town. Not too far from here. My sources tell me that the Roman Emperor is being held in the royal dungeons. And with Shapur away leading his army in Syria the order of Zoroastrian priests has taken charge of guarding the prisoner. The Emperor is their charge right now. But we do not know for how long they plan to keep Valerian there in the dungeons. So we must move fast. Time is of the essence. If the priests decide to move him, or execute him, we will have lost our opportunity. So we start work tomorrow.”

“So this is my plan,” Antoninus said picking up the thread as Asher fell silent. “Tomorrow Corbulo and I will do a reconnaissance of the royal palace. To get an idea of what we are up against. You two,” Antoninus added pointing at Badurad and Linus, “in the meantime will go with Asher and familiarise yourself with our escape route out of the city. Asher will show you the best route out. Our lives will depend on getting this right, so pay attention. We will all then meet back here tomorrow evening to compare notes.”

“All right,” Corbulo said nodding in approval.

Corbulo was about to speak again when to his surprise Fadel interrupted him. The young Bedouin slave turning to Asher his master and speaking rapidly in a language Corbulo could not understand. And as he listened to his man servant Asher frowned before at last turning to Antoninus and then to Corbulo.

“Fadel tells me that since I have been away,” Asher began, “the Zoroastrian priests, they have opened up the royal dungeons to the public. For a small fee anyone can join the queue and file past Valerian’s cell. To look at him. To see him in flesh and bone. To speak to him. The priests - they have put the Emperor on display to the public.”

“Why would they do that?” Badurad blurted out.

“To humiliate Valerian. To rub salt into his wounds,” Antoninus replied quickly, sombrely lowering his eyes. “By putting him on public display they are showing how ordinary the Emperor is. How stripped of his power he is. They are mocking the man who was once the most powerful being in the world.”

“Fuck, but they say the Emperor is a god,” Badurad replied wide-eyed. “So anyone can enter the palace and get a look at him? We can actually talk to him?”

“It seems so,” Asher nodded.

But as the room went silent Corbulo was not paying attention to his companions. He had turned to stare at Fadel and as he did his face darkened.

“How the fuck does he know why we are here?” Corbulo hissed jabbing an accusing finger at Fadel. “How does he know that we have come for the Emperor? This mission was supposed to be secret. Only you Asher knew our true purpose,” Corbulo added rounding on the Sasanian lord.

“I may have told Fadel why I was going away,” Asher said blushing slightly. “I may have told him that I would return with Roman guests. Like I said. He is like the son that I never had.”

“Aaargh,” Corbulo cried out clenching his hand into a fist, “you told him our purpose! You put us all in danger by doing so!”

“No,” Asher said defiance entering his voice as he squared up to Corbulo. “Fadel may know our purpose but he would never betray us. I know him. He just would not do that.”

“Yeah but I don’t know him,” Corbulo cried out jabbing another accusing finger at Asher. “And I am putting my life on the line too. What else are you not telling me? What else are you hiding?”

“It’s going to be all right,” Antoninus said hurriedly stepping in to maintain the peace. “If Fadel was going to betray us he would have done so already. The priests could have swooped and arrested us at any time since we entered the city. But we are still free so I must agree with Asher. The youth will not betray us. So lets all of us just stay calm and get this done.”

Staring back at Asher Corbulo looked angry and unconvinced but he said nothing and as the sullen silence in the room started to grow, so did the tension.

“All right,” Antoninus said at last raising his hand in the air in an attempt to defuse the matter. “It has been a long day and I am fairly stressed right now. Asher - will you please organise some food and whores for us. I think we all need some time to unwind.”

Chapter Twenty Eight - The Imperial Palace of Ctesiphon

Rising from among the dense urban sprawl of mud brick buildings and narrow twisting streets of the old city that spread outwards along the eastern bank of the Tigris, the White Palace dominated Ctesiphon. The main building of the vast imperial palace complex reaching four storeys high. Its facade decorated with graceful arches and columns. But it was the enormous brick built arch in the middle of the building which had caught Corbulo’s attention. The massive unsupported arched hall open on the facade side. Forty yards high, thirty across and fifty deep. The largest arch he had ever seen. A most impressive sight. And it appeared the builders had not yet finished working on it for pressed up against the structure were wooden scaffolding towers containing an army of labourers. The shouts of the workers were ringing out. The smell of the wood fired kilns making mortar for the concrete drifting across the street and into the city park.

It was morning but already Corbulo could sense the growing power of the sun overhead. The dry dusty heat was building. Baking the land. Sucking the moisture from the air. Standing in the park in the shade of a clump of date palms he gazed up at the magnificent arch of Ctesiphon in silence. Looking on as a new batch of mud bricks stacked upon a wooden platform was hoisted up to the workers standing on the roof. While down the main thoroughfare  a convoy of supply wagons loaded with fuel for the kilns trundled into view. At last with a grunt he turned his gaze to the people enjoying the palace gardens with its soothing olive greenness. The lush plantations, grass, flowers, irrigation channels, trees and stone statues making for a pleasing sight. A welcome change to the drab sameness and monotonous sandy colours of the endless urban sprawl.

“He’s in there,” Antoninus said quietly staring at the White Palace with a grave look as the overweight Emesan lord gingerly reached up to rub his chin. “Valerian is being held inside that building. Good gods - were so close.”

Shifting his attention back to the palace entrance Corbulo observed the soldiers guarding the building and the long queue of people waiting their turn to enter. The queue was long, snaking out of sight around the corner of the palace. And the people in it appeared excited and expectant. As if they were on holiday. Children laughing and squealing.

“You ready?” Antoninus said glancing at Corbulo.

“Yes. Let’s go,” Corbulo said pulling his keffiyeh up to cover his lower face before starting out towards the palace as Antoninus too reached up to cover his face and hastened after him.

Joining the back of the queue to enter the imperial palace, Corbulo turned to look around but no one was paying them any attention. The family directly ahead of him was jabbering away excitedly to each other in their foreign language. The people eating home made snacks that they had brought with them. As if they were having a day out with the children. Shaking his head as an opportunistic street vendor selling apples tried to offer him one, Corbulo lowered his eyes as the queue slowly shuffled forwards.

It was sometime later, with just a short distance to go before they entered the grand building, when Antoninus suddenly nudged him. Turning to look in the direction his friend was gazing in Corbulo froze. Striding straight towards the palace entrance were a gaggle of Zoroastrian priests and leading them was Kartir. The clean shaven priest who had handed him a beating the day before. But as the party of priests swept on past they did not notice the two Romans standing in the queue. Raising his eyes Corbulo silently watched Kartir vanish into the palace and as he did he was reminded of the stiffness and rawness across his back. The priest’s whip having left ugly scars across his skin which had given him a sleepless night.

Then it was their turn. Mounting the broad steps that led up to the arched gate Antoninus handed an official the required coins. Looking bored the bureaucrat dropped the money into an iron strong box before handing Antoninus two marked pebbles and gesturing for him and Corbulo to move on. Approaching the next barrier Corbulo grimaced as he stiffly raised his arms in the air allowing the palace guards to quickly and expertly conduct a body search. Antoninus doing the same. Then the two of them were through security and hastening to rejoin the queue of people entering the building.

Looking up as he and Antoninus entered the palace, following the queue through the gates and into the cool shade of a large hall, Corbulo grunted as the first thing he was confronted with was a massive banner hanging from the ceiling. The royal Sasanian flag depicting a lotus on a purple field. The second shock being the vast array of captured Roman army battle standards carefully lined up inside the hall so that everyone could see them. The discs, crescent moons and the silver and golden eagles that decorated the standards looked forlorn and lost. The third shock were the heads of Roman officers stuck onto spikes. The gory sight abruptly silencing the visitors as the queue slowly shuffled on by. Mothers pulling the younger children close and hurriedly clasping their hands over their eyes. The earlier excited family banter no more.

For a moment Corbulo gazed at the extraordinary sight. His keffiyeh hiding his expression. Then coolly he turned his eyes towards the doorway at the far end of the hall and the corridor beyond. Ignoring the armed soldiers and guards who were stationed everywhere.

And as he approached the doorway into the corridor he suddenly heard raised voices. The people crying out and shouting as if a riot had just broken out. These were not like the voices from earlier when he had been waiting outside. Instead of excitement the voices were angry. Filled with venom, contempt and glee. As if they were shouting abuse. The mood of the queue abruptly changing as they left the hall and entered the corridor beyond. Then it was his turn and as Corbulo stepped through the short and narrow passage he saw that in the large room beyond a cage had been placed on a raised platform. The iron barred cage guarded by a soldier standing at each corner and sitting on the floor inside the cage was a man. And as he spotted Valerian, at Corbulo’s side Antoninus groaned, unable to hide his dismay. Moving along in front and behind the cage the queue had split into two streams as the public slowly filed on by towards the exit. The people staring at the Roman Emperor. Some of the visitors screaming and hurling abuse. Others shaking their fists and trying to get close to spit at Valerian. While the rest of the public were staring at him in silent awe. Fascinated by the sight. As if they had never seen anything like it.

Inside his cage, sitting with his legs drawn up, his bare feet resting upon the soiled imperial purple cloak, Valerian was semi-naked, his chest showing. His eyes downcast as he silently endured the humiliation. The abuse and the ridicule of the public as they filed on by. The queue of people waiting to see him showing no sign of ending. Shuffling along Corbulo stared at the Emperor. His heart pounding. But Valerian refused to move, to look up or challenge the public. Instead the man looked utterly broken and defeated. A shadow of who he had once been. As if the will to live had been utterly sucked out of him.

Moving on past, at last Corbulo lowered his eyes. But just as he and Antoninus were about to leave the room, following the queue towards the exit, Antoninus suddenly turned round and cried out in Latin. The overweight lord unable to control himself any longer. His voice joining the chorus of abuse.

“Gallienus your son lives! He rules. Have hope!”

Then the two of them had left the room and were heading for the exit and as they did Corbulo leaned into Antoninus subjecting him to a quick, furious look as he surreptitiously thumped him in his ribs making the lord gasp in shock. But among the general tumult and noise no one appeared to have taken notice of them and no one challenged them.

​***

Emerging from the imperial palace Corbulo hurriedly turned to look around him as he and Antoninus hastened back into palace gardens. But no one appeared to be following them. The street just as they had left it. The queue of people waiting to see the Roman Emperor still as long as when they had first joined it.

“What the hell did you have to do that for?” Corbulo said angrily rounding on Antoninus as the two of them finally came to a halt in the park close to a dried up irrigation ditch in which three men were working - clearing it of debris. “Are you mad. Do you want us to get caught?”

Taking a deep breath Antoninus sat down heavily on a nearby boulder and turned his eyes back to the palace. Looking upset. Then composing himself he took another deep breath. “I have met Valerian before,” Antoninus said quietly. “I know him well and he knows me. Those that claim that years ago I made a bid for the imperial throne are talking nonsense. I was always loyal and Valerian understood that. He never treated me badly even when he could. At heart he is a noble and honourable spirit. A good man. He became a friend. So to see him now. Like that. Sitting in that cage like some captured beast. It hurts. His humiliation is mine too. We must get him out. We must rescue him and restore him to power. I cannot rest,” Antoninus added quietly, turning to Corbulo, “until it is so.”

Corbulo was about to reply when he suddenly froze, his expression changing as he slowly turned round to look at the three labourers working in the trench behind him. The workers quietly talking among themselves as they went about their task. The men oblivious to Corbulo’s sudden interest. Then quickly raising a finger to Antoninus in warning Corbulo rose to his feet and approached the workers, crouching at the edge of the trench.

“You speak German,” Corbulo called out softly to the men. “I heard you speaking German just now. Who are you?”

Halting their work in the ditch the men hesitated, looking suddenly uncertain as they gazed back at Corbulo. Two of the men were in their twenties while the third was older, around forty. While all three of them did not look like locals. Their long blond hair, pale faces and Germanic features out of place even though they wore Sasanian clothing. For a moment the men did not speak. Then one of them cast a quick glance at the solitary Sasanian supervisor who sitting nearby in the shade, slumped up against a tree - fast asleep.

“I grew up on the banks of the Rhine,” Corbulo continued quietly in an encouraging voice. Crouching along the edge of the trench and speaking in German. His eyes resting upon the three men - a little smile playing upon his lips. “Near Colonia Ulpia Traiana. The river goddess was my first love. Great Magusanus was my hero and I am bound, my friends, for the feast tables in the halls of the eternal gods.”

“My name is Ove,” one of the younger men replied in German. “My companion and I belong to the 2nd Cohort of Batavians. Detached for service in the east. The two of us were taken prisoner at Edessa. But Carlman over there,” Ove said gesturing at the older man, “he was captured years ago. He has been here a lot longer than us.”

“Second cohort of Batavians,” Corbulo said his face lighting up. “No way. I had an ancestor who served in that unit. His name was Marcus. He fought in the battle of Mons Graupius. He became a Roman senator.”

Quickly the two younger men exchanged startled glances.

“You are free,” Carlman said quietly as the older man took a few careful steps towards Corbulo, his rugged, tanned features creasing into a frown. “You are not a prisoner are you? You are not like us. Who are you? You are a long way from home brother. What are you doing here?”

Quickly turning towards the guard sitting slumped up against the tree Corbulo paused, but the man was still asleep. Then he turned back to Carlman and nodded. “It’s a long story for another time,” Corbulo said in a quiet voice. “My father,” he continued, “his name is Vennus. He served as a centurion, first cohort of the Twentieth Legion. He was sent east twenty five years ago during the reign of Emperor Maximinus Thrax. Just like you he and his company were on detached service from their unit. But he never came home. He is still listed as missing. I was wondering,” Corbulo said before pausing. “I was wondering if you had heard his name mentioned at all?”

As Corbulo fell silent the two younger men quickly glanced at Carlman who was studying Corbulo with a thoughtful, appraising look. Then at last the older man shook his head. “I have been here for nine years,” Carlman said quietly in German. “And I have never heard of this name. But I do remember something. You said your father was part of the vexillation from the Twentieth. Well some years ago I met a soldier, a prisoner who claimed all those boys from that unit were sent east. To man the steppe frontier and to build fortifications for their Sasanian masters. He mentioned a name. A city. Antiochia in Margiana. The locals call it Merv. Yes that was what it was called. Merv.”

Gazing at Carlman, Corbulo paused, hiding his disappointment before at last nodding his gratitude.

“And now you can do something for me,” Carlman said quietly as he came towards Corbulo looking up at him from the trench. His expression grave. “I have a wife. Back in Frisia. On the shores of the German sea. Her name is Fenne. So please. From one soldier to another I ask you to seek her out if you manage to make it back. Tell her that I love her and that I am alive and well. She will have had no news from me for over nine years. Here give her this,” Carlman said carefully reaching out to pull a little cord up from around his neck - attached to which was a beautiful gleaming engraved ring made of bronze. “Give her this,” Carlman continued, “and tell her she must continue with her life. She must forget about me for I am not coming back. She will never see me again.”

Accepting the ring Corbulo stared at it noting the tiny engraved letters in the bronze. Then closing his fingers around the object he turned to Carlman with a frown. “You do not wish to escape,” Corbulo said quietly. “You do not wish to return home one day? I don’t understand.”

“Life is not so bad here,” Carlman said shrugging and looking away. “I do not mind remaining here and escaping is difficult and dangerous. They always catch you and when they do the punishment is harsh. No. I do not want to go back. This place is my home now.”

​***

It was a balmy night and high over the vast city, innumerable stars glowed in the darkness. The constellations were clearly visible. The night sky illuminated in beautiful and mysterious patterns. The hour was late and the city quiet - the populace asleep. The scent of burning incense was hanging in the air. Standing upon the flat roof of Asher’s town house, holding a cup of wine, Corbulo silently surveyed Ctesiphon,with a pensive look. The tall tower like building giving him an excellent view of the metropolis. The flat roof had been turned into a small garden with plants in pots and trays stashed everywhere or hanging down over the sides. A barrel used to catch rainwater placed in a corner. Nearby, visible in the glowing light of an oil lamp, Asher was sitting on a stool, gently holding and stroking his cat. The Russian blue purring contentedly. Its large haughty green eyes staring at Corbulo as if the animal owned the place and he was a mere guest. While Antoninus was on his feet, his back turned to his companions as he stared out across the city, the lord taking furious puffs from a Cannabis pipe to still the stress.

“So these are the famous hanging gardens everyone has been talking about,” Corbulo said at last breaking the silence, turning to Asher.

“A little project of mine,” Asher replied nodding and turning to look around at his roof garden. “Green is a special colour in my city. We revere water for from it comes all life and all beauty.”

“You should see the aqueducts that supply the city of Rome then,” Corbulo said quietly before taking a sip of wine. “They are still the greatest structures ever built. Nothing can compare.”

“Not even the pyramids of Egypt?” Asher said raising his eyebrows.

“What purpose do the pyramids serve,” Corbulo said with a shrug. “Other than to venerate one man, a king. They have no practical use. Our Roman aqueducts on the other hand make our cities possible and provide water to millions.”

“Listen,” Antoninus said abruptly turning around in a puff of cannabis smoke, sounding stressed. “I still don’t like the fact that we have to wait two more days. Our plan to rescue the Emperor is a good one. But the longer we wait the more dangerous it becomes. Can we not move it up?”

“Like I told you,” Asher replied with a weary sigh, “my contact inside the palace will not be ready. He needs more time. Move too soon as we risk screwing everything up. We have no choice but to wait. I know it is frustrating but it is how it is. I cannot make it go faster.”

“Corbulo?” Antoninus said hurriedly turning towards him for support.

“Asher is right,” Corbulo replied. “We must do this properly so we must wait. We stick to the original plan. Asher says his cousin’s wedding is in two days. So we wait and go in that night immediately after the wedding. Patience Antoninus. I have not come all this way just to fuck things up at the last moment.”

Growling in frustration Antoninus took another draw from his pipe. Then silently shaking his head he turned to look away.

“Uncle,” Badurad said in German as the youth suddenly poked his head up through the square hole in the roof, “a word please. It’s urgent.”

Frowning Corbulo stared at his cousin. Then hurriedly draining his cup of wine he placed it on a little table and headed over to the opening and started to descend the ladder that led down to the floor below. Reaching the bottom he turned to see Linus standing beside the opening leading down to the ground floor. The youth looking strangely stiff and tense. And as Badurad joined his friend Corbulo saw that Badurad too was looking apprehensive, as if something had happened. The two youths appearing unsettled and nervous.

“What’s going on?” Corbulo said speaking in German, his eyes quickly shifting between Badurad and Linus.

For a moment both Badurad and Linus said nothing as they glanced at each other.

“Linus, uncle,” Badurad began. “He…ah he and Fadel have become friends. They have got to know each other - if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Corbulo said sharply. “Get to the point. What is going on?”

“It is like this Corbulo Sir,” Linus broke in. “Fadel is my friend now. But it is not about that. It is what he told me.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Fadel talked about Asher,” Linus said swallowing nervously. “He told me things about his master. Well you remember when Asher told us that the Zoroastrian priests raped and beat his sister because she would not abandon her faith. Well Fadel told me that Asher does not have a sister.”

“What?” Corbulo exclaimed, his face darkening.

“Asher lied to us,” Badurad said hurriedly in German, his eyes widening. “He lied to us about having a sister. Why would he do that if he was not planning to betray us uncle. I warned you. We cannot trust that Jew. He is going to hand us over to the priests on a plate.”

Swearing softly Corbulo quickly lowered his eyes. Then he turned to look at Linus again but the youth appeared to be telling the truth.

“We have to do something,” Badurad whispered as he cast an urgent and ominous look at the opening in the roof above him. “Asher is going to betray us. That Jew cannot be trusted.”

“Are you sure of this?” Corbulo snapped staring at Linus. “Fadel told you Asher did not have a sister. You did not mishear him?”

“I am certain Corbulo Sir,” Linus replied nodding vigorously.

Swearing softly again Corbulo abruptly turned on his heels and started back up the ladder with Badurad quickly following. And as he emerged back onto the roof garden Corbulo turned his eyes towards Asher who had not moved. The nobleman still sitting on his stool holding his purring cat.

“Do you have a sister or not?” Corbulo called out as he advanced towards Asher.

“What? What are you talking about?” Antoninus exclaimed as he turned around to stare at Corbulo.

“You told us that your sister was raped by the priests,” Corbulo continued pointing an accusing finger at Asher who was regarding him coolly. “You told us she refused to abandon her faith. But now. Now I learn from your own man servant that you do not have a sister. So did you lie to us? Explain yourself before I throw you from this very roof!”

“You would throw me from my own roof,” Asher replied in a surprisingly composed voice, his cool eyes fixed upon Corbulo. “After everything I have done to get you here. After all the risks that I have taken. The hardship and expense that I have had to endure to get your wretched Emperor back to you. Now you threaten me in my own home,” Asher said lowering his cat to the ground as he rose to his feet to confront Corbulo. His eyes gleaming. “Maybe it is I who should be throwing you off my roof instead.”

“Just answer the question,” Corbulo snapped as the two men squared up against each other. Their heads just inches apart. The tension rapidly rising.

For a moment Asher said nothing. His expression hard and cold as stone. Refusing to back down. Then at last Asher took a deep breath.

“Fadel is both right and wrong,” Asher said in a controlled voice. “I did have a sister. Her name was Hannah and I did not lie to you when I said the priests raped her because she refused to convert. A few days after they violated her my sister killed herself. She downed herself. She could not live with what they had done to her. But suicide is forbidden by our faith. It is a sin by our law. So our priests they have prohibited me from mentioning my sister’s name. From honouring her memory or speaking about her. For them - she does not exist. Fadel was just repeating this because he does not know you.”

Chapter Twenty Nine - Linus Saves the Day

It was afternoon and looking composed, standing beside the parapet in the roof garden of Asher’s house, Corbulo was ready for action. Silently observing the wedding that was taking place below him in the courtyard of the neighbouring house, where Asher’s cousin lived. Clad in a short sleeved tunic that ended just above his knees, his dark cloak was fixed at the throat by a fibula. His keffiyeh was lowered around his neck. His spatha sword and pugio knife were concealed upon his body. The laces of his boots were done up tightly. A small leather kit bag and a coil of rope were resting on the floor at his feet.

The mood among the four men loitering about in the roof garden could be cut with a knife. The tension was building like the sun’s heat as the four of them waited for the coming of darkness when their operation to rescue Valerian would begin in earnest.

Down below in the courtyard of the neighbouring house the Jewish wedding ceremony for Asher’s cousin was progressing and as Corbulo watched the groom crushed a glass vessel under his boot. The glass shattering and cracking into a thousand pieces. The act was followed by clapping and cries of joy from the assembled guests. Standing in the crowd of twenty or so wedding guests Asher was beaming at the happy couple. Clad in his smart Parthian trouser suit. His Jewish amulet to ward of the evil eye on full display around his neck. His relaxed demeanour giving nothing away as to the momentous night ahead.

“You ready?” Antoninus said nervously for the second time in as many minutes as he paced up and down through the garden.

“Yes,” Corbulo said quietly without taking his eyes off the wedding. “Tell me. Why does the groom crush the glass under his boot?”

“It’s to do with the destruction of the second temple in Jerusalem,” Antoninus replied as he moped up and down. His forehead lathered in beads of sweat. The overweight lord clad in a dark cloak and carrying a bunch of iron keys stuffed into the belt that constrained his large stomach. “The Jews - they remember the destruction of their temple by Emperor Titus two hundred years ago. It is to remind them to be mindful of unhappiness even at a time of great joy.”

“Good gods,” Badurad exclaimed from nearby where he and Linus were sitting observing the wedding in the neighbouring courtyard. “Even their wedding rituals are anti-Roman.”

Saying nothing Corbulo observed the wedding for a moment longer. Then looking grave he turned his attention to the low urban sprawl around him. The city of Ctesiphon extending away into the shimmering heat haze. The flat roofed mud brick homes had been erected close to each other leaving narrow gaps between the buildings. And moving about or reclining upon the flat roofs of their homes people were going about their business. Washing clothes, tending to their gardens, pottering about, playing board games, reading books or just enjoying the sunshine. No one paying their neighbours any attention. The scene was tranquil and quiet. The dominant noise coming from the nearby wedding.

“I still don’t trust him uncle,” Badurad said quietly as he rose from his seat and came to stand beside Corbulo. The youth looking ready for action. A neat row of small sealed pouches containing animal fat hooked to his belt. The incendiary bombs soaked in petroleum. “Asher is going to betray us. He’s a Jew. That stuff he was saying about his sister. It’s suspicious.”

“You ready?” Antoninus said turning to Linus who was leaning forwards and sniffing the bowl of wet mud they would be using as face camouflage later that night. The youth’s nose wrinkling in disgust.

“He is ready,” Corbulo said intervening and turning to Antoninus with a sharp annoyed look. “We have been ready for hours. Our plan is sound so why don’t you get some rest downstairs. You are beginning to get on everyone's nerves and we have a long night ahead of us!”

“Yeah I may just do that,” Antoninus replied grumpily before heading for the opening in the roof and the ladder that led down to the next floor.

Watching him go Corbulo said nothing. Then at last he turned to Badurad. “The waiting is always the worst,” he murmured. “Before battle, like now. You alright? You ready for this?”

“Yes uncle,” Badurad nodded, lowering his eyes.

“Remember the desert and those bandits who had us cornered,” Corbulo said switching to German, “remember what I said then. If this all goes wrong and we are trapped. We will all go down together. The three of us. You me and Linus. We shall descend together. That is how Hostes would want it to be. We stick together the three of us - all right.”

Nodding that he had understood Badurad said nothing as Corbulo quickly turned to Linus - the youth nodding that he had heard too. The silence suddenly heavy and ominous.

Turning his attention back to the wedding, Corbulo took a deep breath. Fidgeting with Gamo’s gold ring on his finger. In the courtyard of the neighbouring house the religious ceremony appeared to have been concluded and a wedding band made up of flute players and a singer had started their performance. The guests were mingling as they sat down at the banquet table. The courtyard was alive with peels of laughter and happy, joyous voices. The guests were enjoying themselves as slaves brought out dishes of food and earthenware pitchers filled with drink.

“Do you think you will ever get married, uncle?” Badurad said giving him a little sly look.

“I need to find a woman first before that happens,” Corbulo replied quietly, his eyes resting on the wedding.

“I could introduce you to some,” Badurad said.

“No. The only women you have known are cheap whores.”

“What about my sister, Jutta?” Badurad continued unperturbed. “When I was still a boy I always thought you and her would get together. She is not that bad you know.”

Lowering his eyes Corbulo paused for a moment. “No,” he said at last in a decisive voice. “Not Jutta.”

Badurad was about to speak again when there was a sudden commotion in the neighbouring courtyard below him. The disturbance was swiftly followed by a growing chorus of shrieks and cries of alarm coming from the wedding guests. The men and women leaping to their feet in shock and trying to get away as without warning a party of soldiers burst into the enclosure. The violence of the sudden assault nearly knocking the gate off its hinges. The armed men’s voices were harsh and aggressive as they fanned out and rushed forwards to arrest the assembled wedding party. Some tackling the panic stricken guests to the ground. Others pinning the desperate people against the wall. Chairs tumbling over. Plates of food crashing to the ground. A man howling in pain. A woman screaming in a high pitched voice. A slave carrying a pitcher of wine dropping it in terror and raising their hands. Asher boldly punching one of the soldiers in the face before he was tackled to the ground and vanished under a scrum of bodies.

Suddenly more soldiers had appeared in the backyard, climbing over the border wall. Their wicked steel blades gleaming in the fierce sunlight. Trapping the remaining wedding participants who had rushed back into the house. And as the wedding descended into shrieking chaos with a few guests still rushing about trying to escape, a party of Zoroastrian priests came striding into the courtyard. Some of the holy men wearing full face veils and as he stared at them, unable to move, his horror growing, Corbulo suddenly groaned as he recognised Kartir among the party. The young clean shaven priest unmistakeable among his bearded colleagues. And as he stared at Kartir the priest seemed to sense his presence for moments later he looked up and caught sight of Corbulo staring down at him from the neighbouring roof. The two making direct eye contact.

“Corbulo! Corbulo!” Antoninus was suddenly yelling as he came rushing back up the ladder. “Soldiers! Down below. They are breaking into the house. We’re trapped!”

Wrenching his eyes away from Kartir, snatching up his kit bag and the coil of rope, a moment later Corbulo was standing beside the opening in the roof as Antoninus, looking flushed, scrambled on through and up onto the roof. The overweight man was gasping for breath. Hurriedly peering past him down the ladder at the floor below Corbulo suddenly heard the noise of wood splintering and giving way and men’s harsh excited voices. The noise was followed by the pounding of boots rushing towards him.

“They are inside the house,” Corbulo snarled as he hurriedly pulled the ladder up through the opening.

“What do we do?” Linus yelled.

Biting his lip Corbulo dropped the ladder on the floor and turned to the nearest parapet, taking a quick peek over the side. The flat roof of the neighbouring house was just a couple of yards below them and there was no sign of any soldiers. The roof was deserted except for a woman asleep in a hammock.

“Follow me,” Corbulo snapped and before anyone could protest he had swung his legs over the side of the wall and had dropped down onto the neighbouring roof below. Landing well he was swiftly followed by the others. Their sudden and unexpected appearance causing the sleeping woman to wake and tumble out of her hammock with a startled squeal. Ignoring her Corbulo was already on the move. Racing across the flat roof he boldly leaped across the narrow gap that separated the buildings and onto the next roof where a man, tending to his plants, turned to stare at him in alarm. The man rooted to the ground and unable to speak. Storming through the little neat roof garden, sending pots and trays of plants tumbling and crashing to the floor in their haste, the four of them fled. Leaping boldly from one roof to the next, leaving a trail of devastation, furious cries, outrage and shock in their wake.

Leaping onto the next roof, with no plan and not knowing where he was going, Corbulo suddenly heard shouting. Turning his head he caught sight of parties of soldiers and priests dashing down the adjacent street. The men’s frantic, excited voices were ringing out. Their fingers were pointing at him. They had been spotted. The men were giving chase. Trying to cut off his escape. Veering away. Abruptly changing direction he jumped and landed onto another roof where an old lady with a toothless mouth was sitting watching him from a comfortable, cushioned chair. The lady cackling in delight as if she found their sudden appearance and the whole chase amusing. Rushing past her with his companions following Corbulo launched himself across the space and landed on the next roof where a man and a boy appeared to be preparing a fire sacrifice. The father and son silently retreating in dismay behind the table adorned with an exquisite table cloth and upon which sat a small sacrificial bowl containing a fire.

“Badurad. The flames. Use them!” Corbulo cried in German as he paused to catch his breath, his eyes fixed on the man and the boy.

And Badurad did not need to be told twice. Instantly understanding what his uncle had in mind. For there was no time to waste. A moment later Corbulo yelped in shock as a javelin went hurtling past him, missing narrowly. The projectile was closely followed by a sling shot, the bullet whining past before ricocheting off a nearby wall.

“Move. Move. Move!” Corbulo yelled as he leaped across the next gap. He had just made it to the far end of the deserted roof when the narrow street behind him erupted with a whooshing sound which was instantly followed by startled and horrified screams. Then smoke. Then more high pitched screaming. Hurriedly turning to look back Corbulo saw Badurad raise his arm and fling another of his small incendiary bombs down at their pursuers. While Linus had liberated the small sacrificial bowl from its previous owners and was using the flames leaping up from the resin to light the incendiary bombs that Badurad was handing him. The two youths working together as one incendiary pouch after the other went hurtling into their pursuers down in the street. The flaming pouches filled with animal fat and drenched in petroleum causing chaos. Sending the soldiers rushing for cover and one setting a priest alight. The holy man frantically beating at his clothes, trying to extinguish the flames. His comrades trying their best to help him. The aerial assault was buying them some time.

Turning to look ahead Corbulo suddenly noticed a larger building. It looked like a warehouse of some kind. Yelling at his companions to follow him Corbulo charged towards it leaping from one roof to the next. Sending furniture tumbling and panicked people frantically scurrying to get out of his way. Ignoring the barking dogs and wailing babies. Then he had made it to the warehouse and was hurriedly scrambling up onto the flat roof of the large building. And as he did so he was suddenly aware of a strong and strangely familiar gas like smell. But there was no time to dwell on it. Making it up onto the roof as another slinger’s bullet went whining past his head he hurriedly reached down and pulled Antoninus up after him. The Emesan lord gasping for breath, his face flushed with exertion. The iron keys on his belt scraping against the mud brick.

As his companions scrambled up onto the roof Corbulo hurriedly turned to look around. But there was no way out. Nowhere he could hide. The flat roof deserted and empty except for an open square hole that appeared to lead down into the warehouse below. Rushing across to the parapet on the far end, pausing beside the solitary barrel used to catch rainwater, he quickly turned to look down and grunted as he saw that the alley below was deserted. There was no one about. Working furiously Corbulo started to wrap one end of his coil of rope around the barrel tying it off before taking another quick look over the side. But the alley below remained deserted.

“I am out,” Badurad cried as he came rushing over. “I used all the fire bombs. Linus,” the youth shouted. “We don’t need the flames any more. Get rid of the fucking bowl you fool!”

Saying nothing, still clutching the ceremonial bowl he had stolen earlier, the resin still alight, Linus looked flushed as hurrying across the roof he abruptly dropped it straight through the square opening in the roof. The ceremonial bowl instantly vanishing from sight.

Flinging the other end of the rope over the side of the building, Corbulo quickly yanked at it but the knot and the barrel appeared to be able to take his weight. It would have to do.

“Over the side. Into the alley. Hurry,” he gasped as his companions struggled to get their breath back. Giving them no time to think Corbulo swung his legs over the parapet and clutching the rope he went down. Slithering and half falling. The rope breaking the impact as he finally hit the ground. Pulling his pugio knife from his belt he hurriedly crouched, turning to look up and down the alley but except for a sleeping beggar there was no one about. Moments later Antoninus was following him down. Then Linus and finally Badurad.

Turning to look down the alley Corbulo hesitated. But there was no sign of the soldiers or Kartir and his priests.

“Badurad, Linus,” Corbulo said in an urgent voice. “Asher showed you the escape route out of the city. Where is the safe house where we were supposed to wait? I do not know the way but you do.”

“Uh yes we know the way,” Badurad replied quickly exchanging a look with Linus.

“Show me,” Corbulo snapped. “We head for the safe house and hide there. Show me the way. We need to go now!”

Saying nothing, a sudden blush spreading across his cheeks, Badurad took the lead as the four of them darted down the alley and deeper into the maze of mud brick buildings. Their boots pounding the paving stones. The four of them ignoring the silent curious people peering back at them from windows and doorways. They had just reached an intersection with another alley when behind them from the direction of the warehouse, there was a sudden roar as if something had exploded and moments later as the four of them dived to the ground in shock, a huge sheet of flames leaped into the sky. The flames like nothing Corbulo had ever experienced before. The impact sending people scurrying for cover in terror, shaking the very earth and plastering the nearby homes with small pieces of debris and clouds of billowing dust.

“What the fuck was that?” Linus cried out as the four of them turned to look in the direction where flames and dense smoke was rising into the air. The flames towering over the low buildings.

“Who knows,” Corbulo snarled. “Let’s get out of here.”

Sprinting on down an alley Badurad suddenly came to a screeching halt. The blush on his face rapidly deepening. For a moment he paused. Then abruptly he was reversing course. “Sorry not this way,” the youth hissed as he went racing past Corbulo back the way they had just come. “I think it is this way.”

Rounding a corner in the alley Corbulo cried out as he nearly collided with a solitary Zoroastrian priest. The man was as surprised as himself but before Corbulo or the priest could react, with a sharp furious cry, Antoninus lunged at the man, punching one of his iron keys straight into the man’s eye. Then the four of them were racing away again leaving the howling priest behind on his knees with the key still embedded in his eye. Hurtling around another corner Badurad came to an abrupt confused halt as ahead the alley ran into a market square. And just visible beyond the busy square, a hundred or so yards away, a tall mud brick tower rose up dominating the low urban sprawl.

“That is the tower isn’t it,” Badurad said hastily turning to Linus. “That’s the tower Asher showed us isn’t it? The safe house should be nearby, right?”

“I think so,” Linus gasped, his chest heaving from exertion. “I think so.”

“Do you remember what colour the door was?” Badurad said frowning, turning to his friend. “It was either red or brown. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention any more at that point.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Antoninus hissed shaking his head in growing despair. “You were supposed to know our escape route by heart. You were supposed to know how to get to the safe house. That was your fucking job!”

“It was a red door,” Linus gasped coming to Badurad’s aid. “Red door. The business is a money lending office. But they went bankrupt so no one goes there any more. The safe house is the vault below the building. We can go round the back. Asher told us we could get over the wall if the door is locked.”

“Get us there now,” Corbulo snapped cuffing Badurad over his head. “God damn it boy! This is no time to be loitering in these streets.”

​***

“We were betrayed,” Antoninus whispered as the four of them sat in the dark vault beneath the derelict money lenders shop. Their backs leaning against the cool earth. Their legs were stretched out. Corbulo was slowly tending to the dying flickering oil lamp they had found among the discarded rubbish. Badurad and Linus were resting. Their eyes were closed. The only noise coming from the sound of their own breathing, the faint hiss of the flickering lamp and the distant noise of people in the street outside. The short flight of stairs leading to the closed trap door in the floor above their heads was covered in a thick layer of dust as if no one had been down here in a long time. The vault feeling claustrophobic.

“You are god damn right that we were betrayed,” Badurad hissed without opening his eyes. “Asher betrayed us. He was always going to betray us. That fucking Jew!”

“Asher got arrested too,” Linus murmured, “and I saw him punch one of the soldiers. He put up a fight. It did not look like he wanted to be arrested.”

“It was all a show,” Badurad said moodily. “Asher was just pretending because he knew we were watching. No he did it. He is responsible. How else can you explain that raid? How else did those fucking priests know where to look and who they were looking for. They knew about us! Asher betrayed us.”

Sighing Antoninus turned to look at Corbulo. “This is not how I expected things to go,” the overweight lord muttered. “We were supposed to be rescuing Valerian tonight. How can things have gone so badly wrong?”

“We must give up on the plan to rescue the Emperor,” Corbulo said as he leaned back against the earthen wall. “Our cover is busted. I saw Kartir with the priests and they have taken Asher and probably Fadel as well. They will make them talk. We cannot stay here. It is only a matter of time before the priests learn about this hiding place. We have to try and get out of the city tonight.”

“You want to give up on rescuing Valerian,” Antoninus said in a despondent voice. “But that is the whole reason why we came here in the first place. All this effort. We can’t just give up now.”

“We do not have a choice,” Corbulo replied harshly. “When Asher talks and he will eventually even if he does not want to, Kartir will learn about our mission and the priests will then move Valerian. We failed. Just accept it. The best and only thing we can do now is try and escape.”

“And how do we do that Corbulo Sir?”

“I haven’t got a fucking clue,” Corbulo said sourly, turning to look away.

​***

Corbulo had lost track of time and was dozing when over his head in the building above he suddenly heard a little noise. It had sounded human made. Instantly he was wide awake. Whispering a warning he hastily killed the weak light coming from the lamp as his companions hurriedly freed their weapons and backed away into the shadows. Crouching. Ready to attack anything that came down the short flight of stairs. All eyes peering up at the square trapdoor that was set into the ceiling of the vault. The tension was rapidly mounting. For a moment nothing happened before Corbulo heard the noise again and with a soft creaking noise the trap door swung open allowing a cool stream of fresh air in. But in the darkness in the room above, Corbulo could still see nothing. It had to be already night. Then suddenly he sensed movement in the darkness and moments later from the stairs a pair of large glowing green eyes were staring back at him.

“Are you down there? Don’t stab me,” a voice called out quietly in German. “It me. Fadel.”

But down in the vault no one spoke.

“I am coming down,” Fadel called out softly. “Please. Don’t stab.”

Suddenly Corbulo was aware of a dark figure cautiously descending the steps towards him. The man muttering to himself in his native language before pausing to pick up the Russian blue cat, whose green glowing eyes were still fixed upon Corbulo. The haughty animal observing him in the darkness with the ease of an accomplished nocturnal hunter. But as Fadel made it to the bottom of the stairs holding the cat, Corbulo lunged. Catching hold of the man servant he roughly threw him back against the earthen wall - Fadel crying out in shock and fear as Corbulo’s pugio knife was suddenly pressed up against his throat.

“Were you in on this?” Corbulo hissed in German. “Did you betray us?”

“No. No. Not me!” Fadel gasped as the cat slipped from his grasp and the animal went shooting up the stairs and out through the trap door.

“Then who did? Asher?” Corbulo snapped. “Are you alone?”

“No,” Fadel yelped as he felt the steel biting into his skin. “I alone. I come and help you. I can get you out of the city. I friend. Please. I friend.”

Breathing heavily Corbulo hesitated as his companions crowded around.

“Let him go Corbulo Sir,” Linus said at last. “I believe him.”

“If he was going to betray us Corbulo,” Antoninus said quietly. “He would not have come alone. We would all be under arrest by now.”

Taking a deep breath Corbulo murmured something to himself. Then abruptly he withdrew his knife from Fadel’s throat and relaxed his grip.

“What happened?” Corbulo said. “Where is Asher?”

“I not know who betray us,” Fadel said hurriedly. “But it was not me or Asher. I swear. Asher - a good man. He like father to me. Priests take him away. I lucky to remain free. I hear priests came looking for just two men. At first they only wanted Asher and Antoninus. They not know at first about you three Romans. You surprise to them. But now priests are looking for you everywhere. They angry. They post your description and place bounty on your heads. They say you dangerous men. You set fire to naphtha factory. Destroy whole building. Set fire to the city. Kartir says he will have you torn apart by horses.”

“That explains the great fire ball we saw,” Antoninus exclaimed his eyes widening as he turned towards Linus. “You dropped that ceremonial bowl through the hole in the roof while it was still on fire. The flames must have set off the naphtha stored inside the building. Sol Invictus - we are truly lucky to be still alive.”

“Well at last you got something right Linus,” Badurad grinned slapping Linus across his back.

“It’s interesting,” Antoninus said hurriedly turning towards Corbulo. “That the priests do not appear to have been looking for you three initially. As if they didn’t know about you or didn’t think you were important enough. That’s odd to say the least. We all entered the city together after all. Why only go after me and Asher? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Why did you come back for us?” Corbulo said speaking in German. Ignoring Antoninus, his eyes fixed on Fadel. “Why should we trust you?”

For a moment Fadel remained silent. Then the slave took a deep breath. “I come back to save my good friend,” he said at last. “I save my friend Linus. I can get you out of the city but we must go now. The priests will soon come here. There are many watching eyes.”

“You came back for me,” Linus gasped choking back a sudden emotion.

“Looks like you have just saved the day Linus,” Badurad said in a sudden subdued voice.

“Yes,” Fadel said nodding in Linus’s direction. “I came for you my friend.”

“We already know the way out of the city,” Corbulo interrupted, frowning. “Asher showed Badurad and Linus the escape route.”

“No,” Fadel said shaking his head as he turned his attention back to Corbulo. “The priests will know about that route. They will be waiting for you. My route a better one. You must come with me now. We do not have much time.”

“Wait,” Corbulo said. “They know about our escape plans because Asher told them?”

“The priests take Asher,” Fadel said in a patient voice. “They torture him. He speak eventually if not already. Escape route compromised. But the priests do not know about Fadel. I have another way out.”

“And what about Asher,” Antoninus said taking a step towards Fadel. “What will become of him?”

“When they are done with him,” Fadel replied. “They will hang him in public. As a warning to the others. All I know so far. Someone betrayed him and you. The priests were warned by someone.”

Swearing softly Antoninus looked away, the darkness hiding his consternation.

Lowering his eyes Corbulo hesitated.

“We were wrong about Asher,” he said at last turning in Badurad’s direction. “Jew or not. We judged him too soon.”

“We go now,” Fadel said moving towards the stairs. “It dark now. You follow me. Stay close and trust Fadel.”

Emerging from the vault Corbulo could see that darkness hung over the city making it impossible to tell the hour. The street outside was quiet and deserted. Gathering around the door to the derelict, abandoned bank he waited as Fadel quickly and quietly turned to look around, softly calling out to something in his native language. And a moment later the cat reappeared, silently jumping up onto a table. Its large green glowing eyes giving Corbulo a reproachful look. Scooping the cat into his arms Fadel opened the door, paused to listen to the night before silently slipping out into the street.

Following the Bedouin man servant down the narrow street, Corbulo hurriedly turned to look around him but everything was quiet and no one challenged them. The city was asleep. Hastening onwards the five cloaked figures made their way through a bewildering maze of alleys pausing to hide only once as a patrol of soldiers carrying flaming torches moved on by. The soldiers boots crunching harshly across the gravel. Then they were gone.

At last - after what seemed like an age and still carrying the cat - Fadel came to a halt at the end of an alley before dropping into a crouch and as he did Corbulo and his companions did the same. The five of them crouching along the alley, cloaked by the darkness. Waiting. Their ears and eyes training to decode the night. Across the street ahead in the faint light of a torch fixed to the wall, was a simple shop with a sign over its door. The darkness however making it impossible for Corbulo to read the name. Abruptly rising to his feet Fadel turned to look left and then right before softly whistling. And after a short pause he whistled again. For a moment nothing happened. Then with creak the door to the shop swung open and a man holding up a lamp appeared in the doorway.

Calling out softly to the man in his native language Fadel hurriedly crossed the street and disappeared through the doorway and into the building followed by his companions. Coming to a halt inside the front room, still clutching his knife as the door was quickly shut behind him, Corbulo grunted as he saw that the shop was filled with stacks of neatly rolled carpets. Then quickly he turned to face the man who had let them in and to Corbulo’s surprise he saw that he was Bedouin. An Arab like Fadel. The grave looking man was gazing back at him in solemn silence as he slowly folded his arms across his chest.

“You put weapons away now,” Fadel said sounding relieved as he turned to Corbulo. “You safe now. You with my people now.”

“Bedouin,” Badurad murmured uneasily. “Oh great.”

“What’s the plan Fadel?” Corbulo said quickly. “Why have you brought us here?”

“These my people. My community,” Fadel said with a sudden hint of pride in his voice as he turned to face Corbulo. His eyes were gleaming as two more Bedouin men and a woman appeared in the doorway that led to the back room of the building. The newcomers saying nothing, but their expressions making it clear that they had been expecting their guests. “They help you get out of the city,” Fadel continued. “Now you wait. Safe here. Outside not safe.”

“How? How will we get out?” Corbulo said.

“Two days,” Fadel said quietly as he handed the cat to one of the men. “In two days merchant caravan will depart the city. My people make and sell carpets. This their factory. They will smuggle you out of the city. We roll you and hide you among the carpets. The priests, not expect.”

“Just like queen Cleopatra of Egypt was smuggled into her palace to meet Caesar!” Linus exclaimed his eyes glowing with sudden excitement.

“Just so,” Fadel replied giving Linus a fond excited look. “So now you wait. You stay here. You safe here.”

“You seriously want to roll me into one of those,” Antoninus exclaimed casting a dubious eye at the stacks of rolled carpets. “You have seen my size. I am a little larger than Cleopatra was.”

“You are coming with us right?” Linus said quickly turning to Fadel. “If Asher is going to be executed then you have no reason to stay here any longer. The priests will be looking for you too.”

“Yes,” Fadel said smiling back at Linus. “I come with you. I not stay here in Ctesiphon. Asher is a good man. He treat me well but now he die. I go home to the desert. I look after his cat now.”

Turning to look at the Bedouin who were watching him Corbulo said nothing. His expression grave. Then at last he placed his knife back in his belt.

“Thank you,” he murmured in German. “We will pay you. It is only fair after the risks you have taken for us.”

“No,” Fadel said swiftly, “no money. I do this for him,” he added pointing at Linus. “For my good friend.”

Chapter Thirty - The Goodbye

It was morning and on the western bank of the Euphrates the crossing point was full of people and frenetic activity. The wide and calm waters of the river contrasting sharply with the noisy chaos of the gathering place - where the green strip of vegetation abruptly gave way to the stony desert. Where several Bedouin caravans were preparing to set off into the desert. The nomads, Sasanian merchants, slaves, wives and armed guards were clad in their veils, long flowing kaftans and sandals. Some with their faces half hidden beneath their keffiyeh. Curved knives and blades hanging from their belts. Fingers counting prayer beads that hung from cords around necks. The men and women were chatting away. Haggling, smoking, resting or inspecting and securing their trade goods. The camels were sitting or standing about, grunting and humming. The beasts with their large bulging eyes and their sideways moving mouths were chewing on fresh grass. The Arabs were milling about. Calling out to each other. The encampment bursting with excitement.

Standing with Badurad at his shoulder, his keffiyeh covering his lower face, Corbulo was gazing around at the multitude of people. Taking in the strange exotic sights, scents and the habits of the desert Arabs. There was still no sign of Antoninus who had gone off to speak with some of the Bedouin tribal leaders.

“Well that was a ride! We got out, uncle,” Badurad said at last speaking quietly in German. His eyes fixed on the Arabs. His lower face covered by his scarf. “Out of Ctesiphon anyway. Wait till the girls of Antioch here about my adventures. That will be a riot. Fadel’s people kept their word. The little arse fucker actually spoke the truth. I will grant him that. But I still don’t know,” Badurad added slowly shaking his head as if torn. “Right now I cannot stop thinking about Arif’s head on that spike. What is to stop these Arabs from selling us into slavery once we are out in the desert?”

“I remember Arif too. But Fadel has earned my trust,” Corbulo said without taking his eyes of the people around him. “And Asher too. Life is constantly lived on the very edge of catastrophe. Disaster and death are always close. But I will not dwell on it and neither should you. What will be will be. We have no choice but to trust these Bedouin.”

Seeing Fadel approaching with one of the men who had helped get them out of the city, Corbulo turned to face the young man. Taking in the bag strapped across the youth’s chest out of which poked a cat’s inquisitive head.

“Corbulo. There is a caravan heading west straight across the desert to the city of Petra,” Fadel said smiling brightly. “I arrange for you to go with them. They are good people so no worry. You pay them. They take you across desert. Back to your home. No problem.”

“You are not coming with us?” Corbulo asked.

“No,” Fadel replied sadly shaking his head. “I go south. Back to my people. I look for my family now.”

“So this is goodbye then,” Corbulo said nodding.

“Yes,” Fadel said lowering his eyes. For a moment the youth paused. Then his eyes turned towards the blue coloured waters of the Euphrates and the green strip of vegetation along its banks. “The Parthians. The Sasanians - they not like my people much,” Fadel continued frowning. “They say that we are bandits, murderers and raiders. That we cannot be trusted. That we only know how to steal. They try to confine us to the wastelands but one day we shall burst out from the desert and take their land. And then my people will rule between the rivers. We shall conquer Ctesiphon. We shall conquer Rome too,” the young man added with a sudden smile.

“Yeah you can try,” Corbulo said raising his eyebrows. “Thank you for getting us out of the city.”

Nodding Fadel turned away and walked off towards where Linus was standing on his own staring at the people around him. The youth was looking a little lost and out of his depth. Watching the two youths as they conversed, Corbulo frowned. But he was too far away to hear what was being said between them.

“So what is it going to be Linus?” Badurad said out loud in a strangely resigned sounding voice as he stood beside his uncle and gazed across at the spot where Linus and Fadel were talking. “What are you going to do? Right now uncle,” Badurad added, “Fadel is asking Linus to come with him. To stay with him instead of us. We may have to say goodbye to him too.”

“You serious?” Corbulo exclaimed turning to Badurad in surprise. “Fadel is asking Linus to go with him?”

“Yup,” Badurad said in a tight voice as he looked on.

“He’s your friend. What’s Linus going to decide?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” Badurad shrugged. “I have known him since we were small boys but right now I don’t know what is going through his mind. I think those two really like each other.”

Staring at the youth’s Corbulo frowned again. Then suddenly he spotted Antoninus returning through the crowd. And as he saw the expression on his friend’s face Corbulo felt a sudden pang of unease. Coming up to him Antoninus paused as he reached up to rub his chin, looking solemn. His eyes avoiding contact as if he were mulling on a secret.

“I have just been speaking to some of the tribal elders,” Antoninus said at last ending his sentence with a sigh. “There is news. Asher was hanged. They executed him in public. The charge was treason. I got my friend killed for nothing.”

Swearing softly Corbulo looked away.

“Ah this was my fault,” Antoninus said sombrely lowering his eyes. “If I had not got Asher involved he would still be alive now. I killed him. My ambition got my friend killed. I am responsible.”

“He knew what he was getting involved with,” Corbulo said. “He knew the risks. He was a brave man. I was wrong about him. But you did not betray him Antoninus. You did not get him killed. The priests did that. The enemy did this. And we were betrayed.”

And at the mention of the word betrayal, Antoninus’s expression abruptly changed. “About that,” he said hastily. “About who betrayed us. I have some more news and you are not going to like it Corbulo. The tribal elders,” Antoninus said taking a deep breath. “The ones I just spoke to. They claim that the Sasanian priests were specifically looking for two Roman spies. That these men had come to Ctesiphon to rescue the Emperor. The priests knew about our mission. They were looking for me and Asher and they knew about us because someone tipped them off about our plans. The rumour doing the rounds is that the person who betrayed me is none other than queen Zenobia.”

“Queen Zenobia!” Corbulo exclaimed in a startled voice.

“Why would she do that?” Badurad said turning to Antoninus with a confused frown. “Isn’t she supposed to be on our side?”

“It seems,” Antoninus said turning to look away with a brooding look, “that not everyone was thrilled by the possibility of Valerian’s return to power. Queen Zenobia evidently did not want to have him back. But I am not giving up. That ambitious royal bitch be damned. I will find another way in which to rescue the Emperor,” Antoninus added with growing resolve. “This is not over!”

Chapter Thirty One - The Roman Counter Offensive

Autumn - The Cilician Gates, Southern Turkey

Crouching beside a pine tree in the forest Corbulo’s expression hardened as he peered down at the Sasanian infantry in the gorge below from his concealed position higher up the slope. It was a cool morning and the rugged Taurus mountains, with their snow capped peaks and forest covered slopes stretched away northwards and eastwards. Some of the mountains rising to over fifteen thousand feet. Their pinnacles of rock, like fingers, clawing at the overcast sky. Clad for battle Corbulo was gripping a javelin in his right hand while his left arm was strapped into a oval Roman infantry shield. His torso was protected by a coat of tight fitting mail body armour. His plumed cavalry helmet resting upon his head. His German curved horn made from bone dangling across his chest on a cord. A long spatha sword hanging from his belt. Crouching at his side one of his bodyguards was was holding the war banner of the 1st separate cohort of Salian Franks. The forest of pine and oak trees around him hiding the silent men from the 1st company of the 1st Cohort of the Thirtieth Legion. Nearly a hundred strong. The Roman infantry were waiting for the signal to attack.

Down in the gorge, moving up the steep, narrow and tightly twisting mountain track that led to the top of the pass at the Cilician Gates, the enemy seemed oblivious to the mortal danger lurking along their flank. The column of a thousand or so Sasanian infantry and lightly armed skirmishers advancing up the path. As if they did not expect to meet any resistance. The companies of Persian spear men were clad in their padded leather body armour, conical fur hats were carrying their short spears and rectangular shields. While the parties of Syrian foot archers and Kurdish javelineers were lightly armed with bows, small round shields and bundles of javelins. The soldiers wearing their baggy trousers, kaftans and short woollen cloaks. None of the infantry were equipped with metal body armour or helmets. Plodding alongside the infantry column too were dozens of mules and pack animals dutifully carrying supplies across their backs in swaying side panniers. The mountain track being too difficult for wheeled vehicles to handle.

Observing the enemy column as it wound its way up the narrow track, Corbulo slowly exhaled. Sensing his men’s impatience.

“Wait,” Corbulo whispered. “We wait.”

Crouching beside the pine tree he peered down at the Sasanians. Feeling his heart thumping in his chest. His fingers tightening around the long slim shaft of his javelin. The forest silent - pregnant with growing expectation and explosive tension. Then at last on the track below Corbulo spotted the Sasanian rear guard. The contingent of horse archers were slowly moving up the path in single file. The enemy riding their horses with their round shields slung across their backs and their curved composite bows stashed away in their protective casing. Swords were hanging from their belts. The riders were clad in low pointed felt caps. The beasts snorting. Their hooves clattering along the stony uneven track.

Then slowly Corbulo rose to his feet.

“First company!” he bellowed. “Attack! Attack! Now!”

Then he was off storming down the forested slope straight towards the winding track below with his bodyguards surging after him. And within seconds the peace and calm solitude of the mountains had been shattered as with a great triumphant roar the hundred Roman infantry men went charging down the slope. Bursting out of the forest and onto the path. Raising his javelin and pointing it at the enemy as he came rushing towards them, Corbulo picked out a rider wearing a captured Roman helmet and flung his missile at him. The javelin punching straight into the soldier’s chest and knocking him clean out of the saddle. The man tumbling away down the side of the gorge with a startled shriek.

Pulling his spatha free from his belt, Corbulo snarled as another horse archer tried to turn his horse around to confront him. But as the desperate Sasanian yanked his sword from his belt he was hit by two Roman javelins simultaneously. The force of the blows knocking the man from his horse. Leaping onto him Corbulo finished him off with his sword. Driving the blade deep into the soldier’s throat and causing a fountain of blood to spurt forth. Then rushing to the aid of one of his men Corbulo plunged his sword into the unprotected side of a horse, causing the beast to collapse to the ground and throwing its rider. Staggering backwards Corbulo’s eyes suddenly widened in horror as a panic stricken riderless horse came charging straight down the path towards him. The frantic animal trying to get away. Its brutal momentum and size sending anyone in its path careening out of the way. But just as the beast was about to reach him it stumbled and went crashing and rolling over onto its back. Its legs sticking up into the air before its momentum sent it flying over the edge of the path and down the steep ravine to the river below. The horse vanishing with a terrified scream.

Grimacing Corbulo hurriedly turned to look around him. But the fight along this section of the path appeared to already be over. The Roman ambush had achieved complete surprise. The volley of javelins had wreaked carnage upon the vulnerable horse archers of the Sasanian rearguard. Destroying them. Leaving the mountain path strewn with the bodies of dead men and horses and the wounded. The rocks stained with blood and gore. The ground littered with abandoned weapons, shields, caps and other equipment. The mountains echoing with screams of pain and pure terror. The rest of the Sasanian column now trapped along the path. Cut off from retreat and acutely vulnerable.

Gasping for breath, with his bodyguards milling around him, Corbulo hurriedly transferred his bloodied sword to his shield hand before reaching for his curved horn. Blowing on it he sent a deep mournful sound ringing out across the rugged terrain. The signal summoning the rest of his nine hundred strong battle-group into the attack from where they had been laying in ambush further up the pass. But there was no time to rest. Suddenly one of his bodyguards was hit square in the forehead by a slinger’s bullet. The stone killing him instantly. The attack swiftly followed by harsh cries from further up the track. And moments later Corbulo saw the first parties of enemy infantry charging back down the path towards his position. The Sasanians now aware that their line of retreat had been cut. The enemy desperate to break through and make their escape.

“Shield wall!” the centurion commanding the first company roared as he came rushing on by. “Form a shield wall. They must not be allowed to pass. We must hold them!”

Hurriedly turning to look down the path in the direction from which the enemy had originally come Corbulo saw that there was no one behind his position. The mountain track clear except for a few fleeing and escaping slaves, mules and Sasanian stragglers. Quickly turning back to look up the path in the direction of the enemy infantry, Corbulo grunted as he saw that several squads of legionaries, led by their centurion, had hurriedly moved up and had begun to form an overlapping wall of shields. The legionaries taking up position beside a Roman mile stone that stood along the edge of the track. The soldiers swords raised and drawn back, poised to stab anyone coming at them. The small force blocking the narrow path. The ground to their right falling away sharply to the cascading river below.

“With me. With me!” Corbulo cried out to the remainder of the first company who were milling about finishing off the enemy wounded. Then he was hurriedly clambering back up the forested slope.

“Form a line. Protect the flank,” Corbulo roared as he took up position beside a tree and turned to stare at the enemy infantry.

Along the track the numbers of enemy skirmishers was rapidly growing as more and more of them appeared hurrying back down the path. The Sasanians frantically yelling at each other. Their consternation at being attacked and becoming trapped audible and clear as they launched volley after volley of missiles at the small Roman blocking force. But the hail of missiles that was smacking and thudding into the shield wall was doing minimal damage. And the Roman infantry on the track refused to budge. The men grimacing under the furious bombardment. While from further up the twisting pass, out of sight, the sound of furious fighting taking place could be heard.

“Come on, come on,” Corbulo hissed to himself. “Where are you Harald! Where the hell are you?”

Hastily turning to look at his men taking up positions among the trees Corbulo bit his lip in sudden frustration. He should have allocated more than one company of infantry to the blocking force. For the men with him were pitifully few. If the Sasanians realised how weak his flank was they would be able to break through and escape. But it was too late to dwell on it. He would just have to make do with the men that he had got with him.

And as if on cue suddenly ahead of him Corbulo spotted parties of Sasanian skirmishers advancing towards him. The enemy soldiers hurriedly clambering across the slopes, flitting in between the trees as they sought to flank his position. To occupy the high ground from where they could hit the small Roman blocking force from the flank and rear. Bearing his teeth Corbulo hesitated. His heart thumping away in his chest. Then with the skirmishers approaching Corbulo suddenly cried out and came charging out from behind the cover of the tree. His raised shield protecting his body. His spatha poised to strike. Nearly colliding with an enemy soldier Corbulo reacted on instinct. Thrusting the razor sharp point of his sword straight into the man’s face. Killing him instantly.

“With me!” Corbulo roared as he leaped forwards over the body of his slain enemy, leading the counter attack. “Drive them back!”

And the Romans needed no further encouragement. Storming into the fray, following Corbulo. Their shields were crashing into their opponents - the momentum of their charge knocking the enemy to the ground. The soldiers swords jabbing and stabbing in a frantic frenzy of violence. Bodies tumbling to the ground. Blood splattering across the earth. Roman voices screaming in savage delight and triumph as they charged forwards through the trees. Slaughtering all in their path.

Thrusting his shield boss into the face of a man who came at him with a knife, for a brief moment the two of them grappled with each other. His opponent trying to rip his shield away. The two of them fighting for their lives before at last Corbulo’s sword found an opening and slid deep into the man’s exposed flesh. Rapidly pumping into it before with a cruel twist of the steel blade, Corbulo pulled it free and kicked the dying Sasanian to the ground. Grunting in shock as nearby a javelin suddenly thudded into a tree Corbulo staggered backwards, gasping for breath. His face splattered with someone else’s blood. His eyes wide and staring. But his counter attack had done its work. The heavier armed and better protected Roman legionaries were driving the lightly armed skirmishers back in disorder and disarray. The enemy scampering away through the trees and back down to the path. All thought of flanking the Roman blocking force abandoned.

“Back!” Corbulo roared as stiffly he began to fall back to his starting position. “Back!”

Corbulo had just taken up position behind another tree when he suddenly noticed movement in the forest to his rear. Crying out in alarm as armed men appeared, rushing towards his position, Corbulo was about to face them when he saw that they were Romans. Legionaries led by a centurion. And among the soldiers were Badurad and Linus. The two youths armed with infantry weapons. Spotting him they came hastening over.

“Harald sent us uncle,” Badurad cried out. “He sent the second company to reinforce your position. Looks like he was right. You needed the reinforcements!”

Saying nothing Corbulo stared at his cousin. Then quickly he turned to look down at the track where the small Roman blocking force was under intense pressure. The shield wall now being attacked by Sasanian spear men. The valiant band of legionaries having been pushed back behind the mile stone. The enemy infantry frantically trying to batter their way past. To break through and make their escape. The path littered with growing numbers of their dead. While some of the wounded were trying to crawl away leaving trails of blood and gory entrails in their wake. The shrieking - high pitched and incessant.

“Centurion,” Corbulo yelled catching the officer’s attention. “Take your men down onto the track and reinforce our position down there. The enemy must not be allowed to break through and escape. I want the whole fucking column. What news from Harald and Crastus?”

“They are coming Sir,” the centurion of the 2nd company cried out. “Harald says to hold fast.”

Then the officer was gone crying out to his men to follow him down towards the fighting on the road.

“We have them trapped!” Badurad exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement as he and Linus hastily crouched down beside Corbulo. The two youths clutching their oval shields and swords. “We are going to destroy them! A thousand enemies! Your ambush is going to work, uncle.”

“Fucking hope so,” Corbulo growled darkly. “It was a good plan.”

It was sometime later when Corbulo at last grunted in relief as he spotted the first of his Salian Franks charging down the track towards him. The German horsemen of the 2nd and 3rd companies led by Harald driving the survivors of the enemy column before them in terror and flight. The path behind them strewn with the corpses of their enemies. The men hacked to death. Stabbed. Trampled. Crushed and bludgeoned. The enemy resistance now swiftly collapsing as seeing no way out the survivors started to surrender en masse. The Sasanians throwing down their weapons and falling to their knees. Their arms raised in the air. Their pitiful cries ringing out across the mountains. While here and there a few die-hards preferred to leap into the river gorge and to their deaths.

Looking on Corbulo took a deep breath. The fight was over. He and his men had just destroyed an entire Sasanian column. They had wiped out a thousand men. For a moment he paused to survey the wreckage and death that lay strewn along the mountain path. Then he turned and started to make his way down the slope to the path where his triumphant but exhausted Romans were moving forwards to meet Harald’s German horsemen. The Romans casually dispatching the enemy wounded. Rounding up the prisoners and robbing the defeated. Spotting Harald coming down the path upon his horse Corbulo raised his hand.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he bellowed in German at the officer as a little smile appeared across his lips.

“I had to take care of the mistakes you made on the way Sir,” Harald called out in German as he rode up. His face creasing into a grin. “I told you that one company of infantry would not be enough to hold the track and I was right. One again Sir I saved your arse.”

“Well that is why I keep you around,” Corbulo said in a good-natured voice before turning to look at the carnage around him. “But you sure did take your time getting down here. What news from Crastus?”

“He is still busy mopping up the enemy remnants further up the track,” Harald called out grinning again. “He will be along shortly with his men. We took these fucking Sasanians by surprise. Cut them to pieces. A lot of them went over the side of the cliff. Appears they were really not expecting to face any resistance. The fools! Now they are dead. I think Crastus enjoyed himself this time,” Harald continued. “At least I did not hear him moaning about no longer being in command of the vexillation now that you are back Sir. I think he is coming round. He may actually be coming round to the reality of his demotion.”

“Yeah well about time he did,” Corbulo snapped. “His period in command was always going to be temporary. All right,” he added turning to one of his centurion’s as the man came up to him. “Chain the enemy survivors. Separate the officers from the men and start collecting weapons. Balista has a whole army of volunteers who want to fight for Rome but who need equipment. We will bring that praetorian prick some good news shall we.”

Chapter Thirty Two - The Storm Gods are on our Side

Outside the army tent in the night sky the flashes of lightening were swiftly followed by a great rolling clap of thunder. The sheer intensity of the thunder seeming to shake the earth. The lightening stabbing at the peaks of the Taurus mountains. The furious, howling wind bending trees to its will as it swept in seizing anything that was not firmly secured to the ground. The Roman encampment was subdued and tense. The soldiers unable to sleep. Crouching under any shelter they could find. Their faces turned to look up at the sky with fearful expressions. Their horses and mules were close to panic. The lightning, rain and thunder audible to the small group of Roman officers gathered around the flickering oil lamp that hung over the little table inside their HQ. The torrential rain outside was roaring and striking the canvas. Water cascading to the ground like a waterfall at the tent entrance. The sheer violence of the storm terrifying the guards as if the gods were at war with each other.

“Good. Good,” Balista exclaimed looking pleased as Corbulo finally finished his report. The tall praetorian prefect with his thick black beard was standing beside the table clad in his military uniform. The fragile flickering lamp illuminating his face in a devilish, reddish colour. “That Sasanian column was heading towards the city of Iconium,” Balista growled. “So together with the enemy column that I scattered to hell two days ago we have managed to halt their incursions to the west. Things are looking up gentlemen,” Balista added with a grin as another violent rolling crash of thunder rang out over their heads.

Quickly turning to look around at the faces of the small group of senior Roman officers Corbulo could see, that despite the storm outside, the mood appeared upbeat. The officers looking pleased and bullish. Their eyes filled with grim resolve and growing confidence.

“We are starting to beat the bastards,” Balista called out turning to his subordinates with his empty, fathomless eyes. “The tide of the war is turning in our favour. Thanks to your leadership and the courage of your men. It is clear to me now that King Shapur has over extended himself. He has made a mistake by splitting up his army and trying to take too much in too short a time. His greed will be his undoing. So,” Balista called out raising his voice, “the time has come for us to punish the King of Kings for his lack of judgement. The time has arrived when we start to reclaim our land and drive the Sasanians back across the border. Listen! Rejoice. Even the storm gods are on our side! They celebrate our victory.”

And observing Balista as he continued to speak Corbulo frowned as he noticed that remarkably the praetorian prefect appeared to be able to anticipate the next roll of thunder, timing his speech to fall in between the claps so that his officers did not miss a word.

“Now our forces here in the west,” Balista continued, “under my command were given the task of preventing the enemy from advancing across the Taurus mountains. We have achieved that and now the initiative lies with us. Macrianus and the Emperors are here,” Balista said stabbing at the map with his finger. “In eastern Cilicia and southern Cappadocia trying to prevent King Shapur from advancing further north. It seems they are finding it harder going than we are. The news from Mazaca is not good. King Shapur is advancing destroying everything in his path, enslaving whole settlements, seizing anything of value. The loot gathered by the enemy is said to be enormous.”

“Maybe you Sir should have been proclaimed Emperor,” one of the Roman officers called out gazing at Balista with a respectful, ambitious gleam in his eye. “You seem to be having more success than Macrianus is. Maybe you would make a better leader. Rome needs men like you Sir.”

“No no,” Balista replied with a little amused smile as he shook his head. “I have no such ambitions. Quietus and Macrianus Junior are the rightful Emperors and I and all of us here will remain loyal to them. We are soldiers and we swore an oath. We must do our duty to the empire. When we divided up our responsibilities Macrianus took the tougher job. He and his army are facing King Shapur himself and the bulk of the enemy forces. Theirs is the harder fight. We must do what we can to support them and we will.”

“If they are looting and plundering their way across the land,” Antoninus said coolly eyeing Balista. “It means that the King of Kings has no desire to hold the conquered terrain. So I was right. I was right all along. This is just a raid. A massive raid into our territory. The objective is to seize loot and slaves. To weaken us but it is not an invasion to conquer and hold land. And if you follow my logic it means that at some point Shapur plans to withdraw towards the Euphrates. And when he does,” Antoninus said quickly licking his lips, “we need to be ready to ambush him. To identify the routes through the mountains he is likely to take. Here,” the fat lord snapped leaning forwards to tap the map, “and here at the Syrian Gates. This is where we must place our men.”

Turning to stare at Antoninus, Balista paused and as he did Corbulo noticed the intense dislike between the two men. The silent unspoken rivalry. And the fact that Antoninus appeared to be drunk.

“The next time you speak out of turn,” Balista snarled. “I will dismiss you and retract all your privileges. This is my army and I am in command. I know how to handle this. Now focus on the task in hand,” the praetorian prefect added turning to his officers and stabbing the map again with his finger just as another long rolling crash of thunder rang out. “We have work to do.”

“My lord,” Antoninus said deftly bowing his head.

“Our counter offensive will begin here in the west with us,” Balista called out ignoring Antoninus. “Prince Hormizd, third son of King Shapur commands a Sasanian force that is plundering the area around Tarsus. The city itself is besieged. But is it not a close siege. Parties of Sasanian warriors are moving about at will across Cilicia. Destroying and looting. They are mocking us. Our strongholds are holding out for now but the main roads north towards Mazaca and south towards the Syrian Gates are controlled by the enemy. The land route to Syria has been cut. So while Macrianus and the Emperors deal with King Shapur at Caesarae Mazaca our task will be to strike east and destroy prince Hormizd and relieve Tarsus. The city must not be allowed to fall. The enemy aim to seize the granaries inside Tarsus so that they can keep their troops supplied with food. I expect an assault on the city is imminent. We must do all we can to prevent it.”

“The enemy are not going to assault a large well defended city without siege equipment and they have none,” Antoninus interrupted, looking annoyed. “Nor are the good citizens of Tarsus going to run out of food. Their granaries are full. Have you not been listening to anything I have been saying? This invasion - it is a raid. Not a war of conquest. The Sasanians are not planning to stay here and take our land. They are just after loot and slaves. Soon they will be leaving for their homelands and when they do we must be ready to strike. Like I told you and Macrianus right at the beginning back in the summer. So let prince Hormizd stew in front of the gates of Tarsus. There is no need to fight him and incur unnecessary casualties. You are going to need your men for the civil war to come. Slip past him instead and occupy the mountain passes to the east. Even my dog would understand that strategy.”

“Get out!” Balista roared rounding on Antoninus. “Get out of my sight you drunken fool!”

Glaring back at Balista, Antoninus paused. Then without saying a word he strode out of the tent and into the raging storm.

Watching him go the small band of Roman officers said nothing. Balista shaking with rage. His hand resting upon the hilt of his knife.

“As I was saying,” Balista called out misjudging a clap of thunder which forced him to repeat himself. “We will drive prince Hormizd away from Tarsus and lift the siege. Then once we are done, we shall move east to occupy the passes across the mountains.”

“How many men will we be facing Sir?” one of the officers called out quickly.

“Rough estimates say maybe around seven thousand,” Balista said. “Including contingents of cataphracts, heavy cavalry and horse archers. We must attack this army and lift the siege of Tarsus. Winter is coming gentlemen,” Balista continued straightening up and turning to his officers with a sudden bullish look. “Some say that once King Shapur realises that he has overreached himself he will retreat towards the Euphrates. Well I do not intend to dance to his tune any more. I am sick and tired of waiting upon the enemy as if we should fear them. We have been doing that for months. But now we have seized back the initiative. So I am not going to wait for the enemy to retreat. I am done with that. I am going to drive them back all the way to the border through force of arms. I am going to crush them. We shall attack from the west. Macrianus will pursue the king from the north and king Odaenathus will fall upon the enemy from the south. It has been agreed. Together we shall hammer the enemy and break him!”

“The seven thousand men besieging Tarsus,” one of the officers exclaimed just as the thunder roared overhead. “We shall outnumber them then. This is good news. What is your plan Sir?”

“Yes we now outnumber the enemy,” Balista replied grimly. “And our numbers are only set to grow while those of the enemy are set to decrease. Like I said. Things are looking up and from what I have seen so far of the enemy infantry they are of poor quality. Without their heavy cavalry and horse archers to support them the Sasanian infantry are just a peasant rabble. They will not be able to hold us back. They will flee as soon as our attack starts. So the plan is to launch a full frontal assault on their camp. We overwhelm them with our numbers.”

“Sir,” Corbulo said quickly just as the the night sky outside was lit up by a series of flashes of lightening. “We may outnumber the enemy but many of our soldiers are new recruits. Many have no experience of battle and their equipment leaves much to be desired. A full frontal assault would be risky and involve us suffering a lot of casualties. Antoninus may have spoken out of turn Sir but he is right. We are going to need all the men we can get for the coming civil war. If there is a way in which we can avoid unnecessary casualties, should we at least not consider it?”

“Unnecessary casualties,” Balista growled turning to Corbulo as the thunder came rolling in. “Are you going soft prefect? War demands casualties. But I am not letting that prick Shapur just walk out of our land without a fight. I am going to hurt the enemy just like they have hurt us.”

“Sir,” Corbulo said stiffly, lowering his eyes.

For a moment Balista stared at him and Corbulo was once again aware of the man’s empty, fathomless eyes.

“Corbulo,” Balista said at last with a calculating look. “You may be just the man I need. Macrianus speaks highly of you and your Germans. You are some of the best soldiers that I have got. So I am going to give you one of the most important tasks in the forthcoming battle. Before we attack the enemy camp outside Tarsus I want you to take your Franks and lure the Sasanian cavalry away from their infantry supports. Without their heavy cavalry and horse archers the Sasanian infantry will fold as soon as attack starts. They will run.”

“Very well Sir,” Corbulo said stiffly. “But my Germans are depleted. I have only two companies of mounted men, less than two hundred riders. The Sasanians are not stupid. If they saw us approaching they would guess our intentions. Driving off two hundred horsemen is not worth their time.”

“So what would you need for this to work?” Balista growled, staring back at Corbulo as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Give me my whole vexillation Sir,” Corbulo said quickly. “All the men who came with me from the Rhine. I would need my two companies of mounted Franks from the 1st Cohort of Salian Franks and the entire 1st Cohort of the Thirtieth legion.”

“But that’s over nine hundred men,” an officer exclaimed turning to Corbulo. “They are some of our best soldiers! I must protest.”

“Eight hundred and forty two men to be exact,” Corbulo retorted glancing at the officer who had spoken out. “That is the current strength report for my vexillation. We have suffered casualties. But together with the legionaries from the Thirtieth I could possibly make this work.” For a moment Corbulo paused. “We could use the infantry as bait,” Corbulo said turning back to Balista. “Bait to lure the Sasanian cavalry away from their camp. But it will be dangerous and if we miscalculate we could lose the whole unit.”

For a moment the tent remained silent as outside the storm continued to rage. Balista looking pensive. Then at last he nodded.

“Fortune favours the bold,” the praetorian prefect said as a little cold smile appeared across his lips. “Good. I approve. All right Corbulo. I shall give you your vexillation. But if this goes wrong you will be to blame. You will have to explain the loss of your men to Macrianus.”

​***

Stepping out into the pouring rain Corbulo hurriedly turned to look up at the dark unsettled skies. Then he was hastening off through the Roman encampment back towards his own tent. Arriving there he saw that the oil lamp inside was still on but that the armed bodyguard who should have been guarding the entrance had taken shelter under a nearby tree. The soldier was holding up another lamp. The hood of his poncho was closely drawn around his head. Spotting Corbulo as he approached the man hurriedly left the shelter moving to intercept Corbulo. But waving him back Corbulo silently gestured that that would not be necessary before entering his tent. Utterly drenched from the short journey. He was about to undo his own poncho when he froze. His hand dropping to his pugio knife. Something was not right. Suddenly Corbulo had the feeling that he was not alone. Silently he turned to look around the tent. His eyes taking in his sparse collection of belongings, his camp bed and the wooden table. The small flickering lamp providing only a little light.

“I know you are here,” Corbulo called out at last in a soft voice. “Show yourself now or else I will call the guards.”

For a moment nothing happened. Then from the shadows a figure appeared, silent as a cat. The man was clad in a poncho. The hood was lowered around his neck.

“You are improving,” Atlas said calmly gazing back at Corbulo. “I thought maybe you would not notice me.”

Recognising the Roman intelligence officer Corbulo sighed. “No you are just getting predictable,” he shot back.

“Well good to see you too Sir,” Atlas said.

“Yeah you too,” Corbulo said raising his eyebrows as he stared back at Atlas. “It’s been a while. You well?”

“I am good,” Atlas said as he sat down on Corbulo’s bed and turned to inspect the spare clothes lying on top of the blanket. “Heard that you got up to all kinds of adventures in Palmyra. There is a rumour doing the rounds that you even made it to Ctesiphon. Tell me Sir. Is it true? Did you really cross the desert to Petra in the company of a Bedouin caravan?”

“Yes its true,” Corbulo said moving over to Atlas and plucking his clothes back from the scout’s grasp. “Riding a camel for days must be one of the worst experiences of my life. And that is all I am going to tell you.”

“I have news,” Atlas said rising back to his feet. “You remember - before you set off for Palmyra you gave me a task Sir. Well I did as you asked.”

Quickly Corbulo turned to glance at the entrance to his tent but there was no one about and all he could hear was the torrential rain.

“Go on,” he said guardedly turning back to Atlas.

“I travelled all the way to Thrace and managed to find Probus, the legate of the Third legion,” Atlas said nodding. “Except he is no longer the legate of the Third. Gallienus promoted him. Brought him onto his personal staff as the commander of the equites Mauri. They are an elite unit of imperial bodyguards. I managed to see him and gave him your message,” Atlas continued. “Told him that you had picked a side. Told him that Macrianus and Balista are holding his sister Claudia as a hostage. Probus was,” Atlas said pausing as if searching for the right words, “lets say he was not impressed by his sister’s detention. He broke stuff in front of me with his bare hands. He is a strong man and not a pretty sight when he is angry. And he gave me a message which I was to convey to you Sir.”

“A message?” Corbulo said frowning. “What message?”

Speaking quietly Atlas explained and as he did Corbulo’s face grew thoughtful.

“And I have some more news,” Atlas said looking grave as his words were followed by a great rolling clap of thunder. “I have recently learned from a trusted source that once Macrianus and Balista have dealt with the Sasanian invasion they plan to march west to confront Gallienus. To seize Rome and Italy. Probably in the spring. Macrianus intends to take Junior with him on his campaign while Balista and Quietus are to remain behind in the east to take care of affairs here. They are splitting responsibilities. And Balista is suspicious about king Odaenathus,” Atlas added. “He believes that the king is going to betray them when the war with Shapur winds down. Macrianus too is not happy that Odaenathus has failed to swear allegiance to his sons or publicly hail them as the new co-emperors. But for the moment they can do nothing about it. They need Odaenathus. But come the spring it should get lively again. So a happy state of affairs as usual. There is nothing to compare to a good old civil war.”

“So it begins,” Corbulo said sombrely pouring some wine from a pitcher into two cups before offering Atlas one. “Balista does not trust me,” he continued as he took a sip of wine. “He has one eye on the Sasanian threat and the other on his internal opponents. Tonight he ordered me to conduct a risky manoeuvre in the coming battle which if I get it wrong could result in all my men getting killed. But maybe that is what Balista wants. To see us all wiped out. So that he does not have to face me and my soldiers later,” Corbulo said turning to look at Atlas with a sudden thoughtful look. “I think the civil war started tonight.”

Chapter Thirty Three - Fight for Tarsus

Sitting upon his horse on the summit of the hill, with the high snow capped peaks of the Taurus mountains to his back, wearing his coat of mail body armour and his plumed helmet, Corbulo was gazing out across the rich, fertile farmland. A mounted bodyguard behind him was holding up the proud war banner of the 1st cohort of Salian Franks. It was just after dawn - the plain stretching away to the east and south. The fields were fallow and abandoned. The city of Tarsus was visible in the distance. Sitting upon the land like a stone. Its gates closed. The city was silent like a turtle that had retreated into its shell. The Cydnus river cutting across the land as it gently made its way towards the sea thirteen miles away to the south. The Sasanian encampment the only blot on the tranquil, still landscape.

Sombrely observing the enemy camp out on the plain, Corbulo remained silent. While gathered around him his small reconnaissance party made up of officers and bodyguards were looking pensive. The men sitting in their saddles clad and armed for battle. The morning sun was glinting from their fine coats of armour. The breeze gently tugging at the plumes that poked out of the tops of their helmets. The horses snorting and tossing their heads.

To the south moving about upon the open fields guarding the enemy camp and keeping an eye on Tarsus, parties of Sasanian horse archers and cataphracts were on patrol. The heavily armoured knights were carrying long powerful lances. Their riders and horses nearly completed covered in armour. The soldiers roaming the plain like a pride of big cats. Confident that none could touch them. That none would dare attack them. As if they were apex predators at the top of the food chain. While in support the parties of Sasanian horse archers, lightly armed except for their powerful composite bows and wearing the garb and peaked fur caps of the steppes, were hinting at their terrific agility and explosive speed. The expert horsemen moving about like clouds of wasps. Ready to swoop and strike at any moment.

Observing the parties of horsemen Corbulo at last turned his eyes towards the river bank taking in the throng of water carriers, slaves, who were steadily moving in between the river and the enemy camp. Coming and going. The men, women and children crouching at the edge of the Cydnus where they were filling their satchels with water before returning to the camp. All under the watchful gaze of a band of Persian spear men.

“Thoughts?” Corbulo said at last turning to glance at Harald who was sitting on his horse to his right. The older officer looking unhappy.

“It is suicide Sir,” Harald replied shaking his head. “Balista does not know what he is doing. The moment we advance into that plain and try and attack the enemy camp those horsemen out there will fall upon us. They are going to absolutely annihilate us out there in the open. You cannot sacrifice our men on this stupidity Sir. It would be a criminal act.”

“A criminal act,” Corbulo muttered raising his eyebrows. Then turning to the big centurion who was seated on his horse to his left. “What say you Crastus?”

“Ah,” Crastus said sighing. “I don’t like to make it a habit of agreeing with Harald but on this occasion I must concur. It would be suicide to venture out into the plain to face those bastard horsemen Sir. We have nothing that can go up against them. Nothing to match their power and agility. They would slaughter us. A full frontal assault on that camp is madness.”

“Balista is a traitorous dick,” Antoninus growled as he moodily surveyed the fertile plain, his clothes reeking of wine. The only man in the Roman party to be clad in civilian clothing. “Don’t you see! He wants to get you all killed,” Antoninus called out turning to the men around him. “He does not trust you. That is what this is all about. He refuses my advice. Instead he wastes his men on this unnecessary assault. Because he wants to wipe you out so that he does not have to face you later when the civil war begins. You cannot allow this to happen Corbulo. You cannot let him send you and your men to their death.”

“We have our orders,” Corbulo said carefully as his eyes suddenly came to rest upon a lone walled farmhouse that sat upon the summit of a small hill surrounded by clumps of trees. “We have been ordered to lift the siege of Tarsus and I am still a soldier. And you would do well to stop drinking so much,” Corbulo added turning to Antoninus with a reproachful look.

“I will drink whatever I like,” Antoninus said turning to look away with a sour expression. “Drinking keeps me sane in this insane world.”

But Corbulo was not listening. His eyes had returned to the lone farmhouse sitting upon the hill out in the plain. The farm surrounded by open fields and just a stone’s throw from the banks of the Cydnus river. His interest suddenly piqued by something and as he peered at the building at last he sat back in his saddle and muttered something to himself.

“See that,” Corbulo said gesturing at the farm building. “It sits right in between the Sasanian camp and the river.”

“So?” Harald said frowning.

“The enemy has failed to occupy it,” Corbulo replied. “The place looks abandoned. The Sasanians - they have made a mistake.”

​***

Corbulo was asleep sitting fully clothed on the stool inside the farm house, his shoulder and head slumped up against the wall when he was woken by someone gently shaking him.

“Sun is coming up, uncle,” Badurad said quietly. His face was expectant. The young man was clad in his coat of mail body armour. Holding a large oval infantry shield while a spatha hung from his belt.

Hurriedly reaching for his helmet Corbulo rose to his feet and saying nothing, with Badurad in tow, he emerged from the abandoned farm house and into the pre-dawn morning. The night was still dark but in the east it had become a dark blue. Placing his helmet on his head he checked his belt, curved horn and his coat of body armour before silently accepting the large shield that Badurad brought him. Then he strode over to where Crastus was standing bolt upright in the command post at the gate leading into the farm. The big veteran centurion was gazing out into the darkness in the direction of the Sasanian camp whose camp fires were visible, glowing like numerous pinpricks of light.

“Anything? Do they know we are here yet?” Corbulo said quickly as he came up to the centurion.

“No, not yet,” Crastus replied in a tight voice. “But it won’t be long now. The shit is about to hit the horse.”

“The men are all in position?”

“Yes Sir,” Crastus replied. “Resting. Just you like ordered.”

“The hardest and most difficult part is behind us,” Corbulo said quietly trying to sound encouraging.

“If you say so,” Crastus replied stiffly.

Grunting Corbulo turned to look around. So far so good he thought. The night march across the plain to the farm upon the little hill, a stone’s throw from the river, had been nerve-racking. Stealing towards the position under the cover of darkness his men had been acutely vulnerable but the enemy had not noticed their approach and the farm, as he had expected, had been unoccupied. And now the six hundred and fifty one legionaries of the 1st cohort of the Thirtieth had occupied the farm and the small hill. Fortifying their position less than half a mile from the Sasanian encampment. Right under the noses of the enemy.

Biting his lip Corbulo turned to peer down the slope. Half his men were drawn up at the base of the hill. The soldiers were down on one knee. Their large oval shields resting against their bodies as they waited for dawn. A thin line of wood, steel and flesh. While the other half of the unit were positioned around the farm house protecting the rear and flanks. The eight man squads crouching, standing or sitting behind the low stone wall that ran around the property or gathered upon the grassy slopes among the clumps of trees. No one speaking. No camp fires. The soldiers trying to get some rest as best as they could. The silent tension was growing. The farm house itself was barricaded and transformed into a mini fortress. Every entrance blocked and guarded.

“All right,” Corbulo said, “then we wait.”

“The enemy,” Crastus said, “they are going to be pissed Sir when they see how close we are to them.”

“I god-damn hope so,” Corbulo replied as he turned away and strode off to inspect his men’s positions with Badurad following.

Dawn had arrived and as the cloak of darkness was lifted from the land, a cacophony of horns and trumpets abruptly rang out from the Sasanian camp. The tranquillity of the new day was shattered. The enemy base transformed by a flurry of frantic activity and noise. Looking grim, standing beside Crastus in his makeshift command post on the summit of the small hill, Corbulo said nothing as around him his centurion’s started to bellow instructions to their troops. The Romans waking and hurriedly arming themselves. The infantry squads crouching along the slopes and in between the trees. As they steeled themselves for what was to come. While across the fields that separated him from the enemy camp, Corbulo suddenly caught sight of parties of horse archers and cataphracts pouring out of the gates. The Sasanian horsemen hurriedly forming up into their battle formations as a few infantry pickets came racing back from their exposed forward positions. The enemy horns blaring incessantly.

Taking a deep breath Crastus’s hand came to rest on the pommel of his spatha.

“Shit is starting,” the big officer growled.

Peering at the enemy horsemen Corbulo saw that out in the fields the first parties of horse archers and cataphracts had started heading towards his position. The riders coming on in a great crescent formation. As if they intended to surround the small farm upon the hill and swamp it. Confident that they and they alone owned the plain. Quickly Corbulo turned to look at the young faces of the soldiers gathered around him. The silent men were looking tense and nervous. All eyes fixed upon the approaching horde.

On the enemy came, trotting straight towards the thin line of Roman infantry positioned at the base of the hill. The horse archers leading the way. Their curved composite bows raised and pointed at the farm. Arrows notched. The heavy assault cavalry hanging back like hungry male lions, waiting to pounce on anyone foolish enough to try and make a break across the fields.

“Shields up,” a centurion stationed down at the bottom of the slope roared as the horse archers approached. “Hold your position lads!”

And as the Sasanian cavalry drew closer the enemy horsemen suddenly broke into an impressive charge. The explosive change of speed drawing forth gasps from some of the Roman soldiers. Sweeping into the attack, yelling their war cries the superb riders of the steppes were suddenly flowing around the hill in two separate columns. The riders twisting round upon their horses. Their bows were raised and pointing at the Roman lines and as Corbulo looked on a barrage of arrows came hurtling towards him. The horse archers thundering on as their missiles hammered into the Roman shield wall. But as swiftly as the attack had started it was over. The enemy cavalry sweeping right round the hill, probing the defences but finding every avenue blocked by Roman infantry huddling behind their shields. Regrouping the lightly armed horse archers returned to their starting point. Milling about with sudden aimlessness. The enemy appearing confounded by the sudden and unexpected appearance of this Roman force right outside their camp. As if they suddenly did not know what to do about it.

“Looks like they may be low on ammunition,” Corbulo said. “See they are holding back.”

“Maybe,” Crastus said. “How long before they send in their infantry?”

Quickly turning to peer in the direction of Balista’s fortified camp a mile and a half away to the west, Corbulo grunted. Occupying the high ground along a ridge he could just make out the distant Roman trumpets summoning the contingents of soldiers out of their camp.

“Balista is playing his part,” Corbulo said.

“He has the easy part,” Crastus growled. “All he has to do in threaten to advance without actually doing so.”

“The Sasanians cannot be sure what Balista will do,” Corbulo replied. “They will need to hold back men just in case. We are stretching them and splitting their attention. The plan is working and if they send in their infantry we shall drive them back. They will not take this hill. I will not let them.”

“Here they come again!” a Roman voice suddenly screamed.

Turning his attention back to the enemy cavalry out in the fields Corbulo saw that the horse archers were once again advancing towards his position upon the hill. The lines of horses and their riders making a formidable and unnerving sight as if the enemy were trying to panic his men into flight.

“It’s time to show them what we can do!” Corbulo called out. “Order the men to prepare their plumbata.”

As the orders rang out across the hill Corbulo left his command post and moved over to get a better view of what was happening on the most exposed flank. Pausing beside a section of eight soldiers who were manning part of the low boundary wall that ran around the farmhouse he frowned. The legionaries were holding their large oval shields and across the inner side of each shield, clipped to the wood were a row of five plumbatae.

“Wait for it lads!” Corbulo cried out as the enemy cavalry rode towards them. “Wait until they come into range!”

Then as the Sasanian horsemen came charging into range the cry went up across the small hill and the farm.

“Plumbata! Release!”

Moments later hundreds of legionaries drew back their arms and aiming high they flung their war darts into the sky. Within seconds hundreds of the foot long lead weighted darts with their long iron spikes and wooden shafts were soaring high into the air. The missiles rising in a graceful arc towards the enemy horsemen before plunging down to earth like squadrons of gannets diving down upon their prey in a devastating aerial bombardment. And as the rain of darts began to land among the lightly armed horse archers chaos ensued. Not expecting the top attack horses and their riders went down screaming and shrieking and within seconds the momentum of the enemy attack had been broken. The survivors turning and fleeing back to safety leaving their dead and wounded comrades behind, sprawling and struggling across the fields. And as they saw the enemy cavalry retreating in disorder a great triumphant roar rose up from the Roman legionaries. The men beating their shields with their swords.

But there was no time for further congratulations for out on the plain parties of cataphracts had now started to advance. The heavy cavalry menacing the thin Roman infantry line drawn up at the base of the hill. Spotting the new danger Corbulo’s expression hardened. But as the cataphracts came on ominously lowering their powerful lances as they prepared to charge, the Roman officers were screaming at their men. And moments later the Roman line began to fall back up the slope towards where Corbulo was standing. And as they did the men stooped, raising rows of sharpened, wooden anti-cavalry stakes that they had carefully hidden among the long grass. The barriers appearing all along the exposed slopes leading to the farm house. Their rows of blackened fire hardened points facing the enemy at forty-five degree angles. The legionaries were crouching behind them, their javelins raised and pointing at the enemy. And as they saw the Roman defences appearing across the slopes of the hill the cataphracts slowed their advance and finally came to a halt. The Sasanians were milling about aimlessly, once again confounded. The enemy not willing to charge onto the rows of spikes. The defences and the high ground negating their advantage.

“Haha!” Corbulo suddenly heard Crastus crying out. “Look at those sorry pricks now. Not so big and tough any more are you! Why don’t you come here and kiss my steel blade.”

“They are retreating uncle,” Badurad called out excitedly as he pointed at the enemy horsemen who, giving up on the idea of driving the small Roman force from the hill, were slowly falling back towards their camp.

“Will they send in their infantry to attack us Sir?” a young soldier crouching nearby said hurriedly looking up at Corbulo.

“Maybe,” Corbulo replied with a shrug. “But if they do we shall drive them back. Man to man they do not compare to us and we occupy the high ground. No one is going to drive us out of this position.”

​***

It was late in the afternoon when Corbulo came hurrying back into his command post on the summit of the small hill. With Badurad obediently following on behind his uncle. The youth looking a little lost. Turning to glance at Corbulo while eating some hot soup from a bowl with the aid of a spoon, Crastus quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. While the eight silent legionaries with him were sitting about looking bored. The young men were gazing out across the fields. Their weapons and shields stashed within easy reach.

In the direction of the Sasanian camp Corbulo could see that the enemy had withdrawn his cavalry. The parties of horse archers and cataphracts were instead drawn up facing Balista’s forces to the west and guarding the roads leading into Tarsus. Both armies not moving but eye balling each other from a distance. The Romans refusing to move far from their fortified camp. The Sasanians confident that they controlled the plain and the approaches to the city of Tarsus. The earlier action having turned into a stand off. A stalemate.

Observing the enemy positions Corbulo blew some air from his mouth before quickly looking up to check the position of the sun. Then he shifted his attention to the throng of enemy water carriers who were moving up and down between the river and the Sasanian camp. The slaves were lugging their satchels full of water. The Roman presence upon the nearby hill forcing the water carriers to deviate from their usual path - to take a longer route to and from the river. And guarding them were parties of Sasanian infantry. The enemy pickets were spaced out in a line, watching the Romans ensconced upon their hill and around the lonely farm house. The fields quiet. No one was making a move as if both sides were awaiting the coming of darkness which would herald the end of the day’s confrontation.

“Do you think Antoninus is right Sir,” Crastus said at last breaking the silence and glancing across at Corbulo again. “About what he said about Balista wanting us dead so that he does not need to fight us later?”

“It’s bullshit,” Corbulo replied, his eyes resting upon the water carriers and the enemy pickets. “Antoninus drinks too much. Do not pay too much attention to what he says these days.”

“Well I don’t know,” Crastus said looking away with a sudden troubled expression. “Somehow there is a sense to it. If Balista thinks that our vexillation will eventually end up fighting against him. Then from his point of view he would be right to try and get rid of us. You know Sir that the men are talking about nothing else. They are worried. They want to know which side in this civil war we are going to be choosing. There are some strong feelings about this.”

“For Balista and Macrianus?” Corbulo said glancing at the big centurion.

“No, the opposite,” Crastus growled shaking his head. “They think we are on the wrong side right now.”

Sighing Corbulo gazed across the fields. His eyes taking in the enemy gathered along the banks of the Cydnus.

“I gave Mobius my word,” Corbulo said at last looking grave. “I promised him that I would do my best to bring everyone of our men home, back to the Rhine. That is still my intention Crastus. None of us have to die here today. You are just going to have to trust me.”

“Trust,” Crastus exclaimed quickly raising his eyebrows. “Yes Sir. You are the prefect and when we are dead it won’t matter anyway.”

But Corbulo was not listening. Instead he had turned his eyes to the north in the direction of where the Cydnus came flowing down from the mountains. Then he reached for the curved horn that hung around his neck and placing it against his lips he blew on it. The long and deep sound ringing out across the plain. The note mournful and summoning. Before taking a quick breath he blew the horn again. As if he were signalling someone.

Peering northwards Corbulo could see nothing and for a moment all remained as it was, quiet. The men settled down in their positions. Then suddenly in the distance he spotted figures. The horsemen were racing straight towards him. The riders formed into two tight V shaped wedges. And as they came thundering across the fields Crastus swore out loud and threw away his bowl of soup, looking surprised. His hand dropping down to his sword hilt.

Out on the plain, their approach partially concealed from the enemy by the low hill, Corbulo suddenly caught sight of Harald leading the remnants of the 2nd and 3rd companies of Frankish horse. The men were dashing forwards. Pushing their horses to their limits. The officer’s cloak streaming behind him. His bodyguard holding up the banner of the 1st cohort of Salian Franks. And it was not difficult to guess their objective. The two German wedges were storming straight towards the groups of enemy water carriers who were gathered along the banks of the river. Harald was leading the furious charge. His men’s spears were lowered, their small shields gleaming in the sunlight. The two V’s streaking across the land.

“What a magnificent sight, uncle! What a charge!” Badurad cried out unable to contain his glee and excitement.

Out in the fields the enemy infantry pickets too had spotted the approaching danger and cries of alarm had started to ring out. But their cavalry supports were too far away to offer any immediate aid. While along the river bank the water carriers had paused in what they were doing. All heads turning to stare upstream. Some of the slaves rising to their feet in consternation and alarm as they stared at the approaching Germans. Then as it became clear they were the target within seconds the slaves had dropped their satchels and had started to run. The great mass of people abruptly fleeing for their lives. The infectious panic rapidly spreading to the enemy pickets. The Sasanian soldiers abandoning their posts as they joined the mad undignified rush back to the safety of their camp. The quiet fields instantly transformed by a horde of desperate fleeing humanity. The river bank littered with abandoned satchels and containers.

“Fuck yeah,” Crastus bellowed, the big centurion punching the air in delight as he stared at the enemy stampede. “That is the shit I was talking about! Run you bastards. Run!”

​***

Corbulo was lying asleep slumped across the table inside the farm house, his head resting on his arms, when Badurad once again shook him awake.

“Crastus is calling for you uncle,” the youth said quickly. “Something is going on at the enemy camp. He says you must come at once.”

Blinking Corbulo quickly sat up, still fully clothed and ready for battle. Through the barricaded window nearby he could see the first light of dawn. Then rising to his feet, saying nothing he hurried out of the building and towards his command post with views over the surrounding plain. Gathered at the post just inside the front gate of the farm, Crastus and his men were all awake and staring in the direction of the enemy camp. The young soldiers were silent and tense. Joining them Corbulo frowned as he suddenly spotted the long column of Sasanian soldiers, infantry, cavalry, wheeled wagons and mules. The enemy were heading away eastwards and across the bridge that spanned the Cydnus. The rear of the column extending all the way back to the Sasanian camp.

“They are retreating Sir,” Crastus said quickly glancing at Corbulo. “They are packing up and leaving. We have lifted the siege of Tarsus.”

Staring at the enemy Corbulo said nothing. But Crastus appeared to be right. The Sasanians were evacuating their camp and marching away.

“The men are to hold their positions,” Corbulo called out at last. “Until the enemy have fully crossed the Cydnus.”

“Sir!” a soldier suddenly cried out pointing.

“Heralds!” Crastus exclaimed sounding puzzled. “What do they want?”

But Corbulo had seen them too. Breaking away from the main enemy column two horsemen were suddenly approaching the Roman positions upon the hill. One of the Sasanians was holding up a banner of truce. The two men were moving towards the hill until they finally came to a halt close to the first row of wooden anti-cavalry stakes. The young legionaries were crouching behind their barricades. The Romans eyeing the riders with suspicion. But the haughty looking Sasanians with their black pointy beards did not seem to care. Sitting patiently upon their horses confident in the nature of their protective banner and the rules of war. And as they sat there Corbulo abruptly left his command post and hurried on down the slope towards them, halting beside one of the barriers.

“To the Roman commander!” the Sasanian envoy suddenly cried out in a loud confident and practised voice speaking in clear but accented Latin. “Prince Hormizd, son of the King of Kings and King of Armenia wishes to congratulate you and your men on the splendid and magnificent way in which you have carried out your action yesterday. The prince salutes your courage and the spirit of your men. For supreme excellence in the war comes not from defeating your enemy in a hundred battles but from defeating him without having to fight at all. The prince’s only regret,” the herald continued, “is that he does not have command over such fine and worthy soldiers as you have proved to be.”

Then abruptly the envoy finished speaking and turning his horse around he was off riding back the way he had just come.

Chapter Thirty Four - Decision in the East

Carefully picking his way along the twisting mountain road, sat upon his horse with a subdued Badurad and Linus following him on their own horses, Corbulo gazed at the carnage that surrounded him. The road was strewn with corpses, discarded equipment and pieces of clothing, dead horses and mules, abandoned and wrecked vehicles, their contents spilled across the ground. The fury and violence of the battle still fresh. Lines of weary, frightened Sasanian prisoners sitting along the edge of the road. Their heads were bowed to the ground. Their hands were placed across the backs of their heads in submission. The Roman soldiers were moving about eagerly looting the dead and inspecting the contents of the abandoned wagons. Their triumphant voices crying out to each other in the afternoon sunshine. The high snow capped peaks of the Taurus range looking down in silence at the successful Roman ambush. The carrion birds already gathering in the sky overhead.

Walking his horse on through the debris Corbulo sighed as he turned to look ahead up the track where the destruction and carnage continued out of sight around the next bend in the road. Balista had caught the Sasanian column at their most vulnerable. Unsuspecting and strung out along the mountain road. Burdened with loot and slaves as they attempted to return to their homeland. The ambush annihilating the enemy. Taking them by surprise. The fight short but incredibly violent and bloody.

At last spotting Balista’s personal guard milling about on the road ahead, Corbulo came to a halt beside an overturned wagon, where he was joined by Badurad and Linus. The three of them gazing in silence at the newly arrived unit of German mercenaries. Listening to the men’s excited and confident German voices. Then at last Corbulo turned to give Badurad a look which was returned. The arrival of German speaking reinforcements should have been a moment of celebration. But it was not. For the party of newly arrived Germans, who now formed Balista’s personal guard, were not Salian Franks from the west, but Ripuarian Franks from the free lands east of the Rhine. Their coarse accents giving them away. Their pale skin red with sunburn.

“Wankers,” Badurad growled as he observed his countrymen. “Of all the frontiers in the empire. Of all the wars Rome is fighting right now. Why oh why did they have to send these arseholes to us?”

“A most unfortunate development,” Linus said agreeing with a resigned look. “I spoke to one of them a few days ago. No manners. No honour. The man was stupid. A barbarian. He knew nothing. Even his attempt at a joke was lame. They think they have come here to enjoy the sun and get rich. They think the streets of Rome are made of gold.”

“I agree,” Badurad said with a sour look. “And now that we are no longer the only Germans on this part of the frontier these arseholes are going to give us all a bad reputation. Trust me. Soon no whorehouse from here to Greece is going to let Germans into their establishment and all because of those dicks over there.”

“Well don’t let Balista catch you saying that,” Corbulo said in a grave voice turning to glance at the two youths. “Balista is rather proud of them. Told me that for a gold coin they will do anything. And they have a reputation for being loyal to the man who pays them. So watch what you say. They speak our language. They are of your blood and they know how to fight,” Corbulo added as he started out again towards the party of Franks.

“Yeah they know how to fight,” Badurad scoffed as he started to follow. “Well Balista had better not decide to quarter those arseholes near to our own men. There will be trouble you know uncle. No one likes them. They may be of the blood but they are the wrong kind of German.”

Dismounting and continuing on foot, leading his horse up to where Balista’s standard bearer was positioned beside an abandoned wagon, Corbulo paused. Then raising his eyebrows he turned to look around. The lone vehicle standing on the road appeared to be still in good condition. Retaining all its wheels and the team of oxen who had been pulling it were still alive and attached to the front of the cart. But lying scattered around the wagon were a score of Sasanian corpses as if the soldiers had fought to the death to protect something.

Moments later Balista himself appeared from around the back of the covered wagon. Looking grimly triumphant the praetorian prefect was clad for battle and as he caught sight of Corbulo he grinned.

“Come with me,” Balista snapped beckoning to Corbulo. “I want to show you something.”

Obediently following his commander Corbulo said nothing as Balista came up to the back of the covered wagon. Grinning again Balista paused theatrically for a brief moment. Then grabbing hold of the covering he pulled it aside and as he did Corbulo saw a dozen women sitting crowded into the back of the cart. The women, some young, some older were clad in expensive clothes and adorned with jewellery. All of them were strikingly beautiful. Their faces looking fearful and nervous as they stared back at Corbulo in silence.

“You know what this is,” Balista called out turning to Corbulo, unable to hide his glee. “They tell me that these ladies are none other than the king of king’s personal harem! And I Balista just captured them. Can you imagine the look on King Shapur’s face when he finds out that we have his concubines. I would not like to be the messenger who brings him that news. Would you?”

​***

Gathered inside Balista’s tent the mood was buoyant. The laughter of the Roman officers ringing out as Balista finished his joke. The Roman HQ filled with grinning and bullish faces. Positioned beside the table on which he had placed his map Balista appeared to be enjoying himself. While standing on guard behind him, bolt upright like a pine tree, looking serious and unamused, Wulfaz, Balista’s principal bodyguard and the commander of the newly arrived German mercenary detachment was the only man not sharing in the joke. The Frankish leader unable to understand Latin or lacking a sense of humour Corbulo thought as he quietly observed the barbarian. Wulfaz’s cold unamused eyes darting about across the assembled officers as if he were trying to spot threats to his master. The man treating his job with the utmost importance and seriousness. His long hair was bound together at the crown into a Suebian knot. A short German throwing axe was hanging from his belt. His feet were clad in good quality Roman boots.

“Gentlemen,” Balista called out at last as the laughter subsided, “we have the enemy on the run. They are fleeing back to their homeland as fast as they can. I have received word from Macrianus. His forces are harassing King Shapur as he retreats eastwards and there is more news. In the south king Odaenathus sends word that his army is preparing to fall on the Sasanian horde as they attempt to cross back over the Euphrates. King Shapur’s forces are being attacked from all sides and we have already managed to recover significant amounts of stolen loot. We are winning gentlemen!”

And as Balista finished speaking a great cry of triumph rose up from among the officers, the Romans raising their fists in the air and stamping their boots onto the ground in approval. The noise bursting from the tent.

“And we captured the king’s concubines!” a Roman voice yelled. “What are you going to do with them Sir?”

“Yes we captured the harem belonging to the King of Kings,” Balista replied looking pleased. “But I have not yet made up my mind as to what to do with them.”

“Then let me make a suggestion,” a new voice suddenly cut in and as all eyes turned to stare at the man who had spoken out, Corbulo’s heart sank as he saw Antoninus pushing his way to the front. His friend was clad in his civilian clothes but he looked pale and unwell as if something was eating him up. His eyes fixed upon Balista. One of his hands shaking lightly.

“Let me make a suggestion, my lord,” Antoninus repeated, biting down on the last two words as if they were a poisoned pill. “King Shapur will no doubt value his harem and will be feeling their loss most keenly. So why do you not make the king a proposal. A swap,” Antoninus said pointing at Balista. “In exchange for the safe return of his harem, King Shapur hands back Emperor Valerian to us alive and well. It is a fair exchange.”

Abruptly the tent went silent and all eyes were staring at Antoninus. Then the officers slowly shifted their attention back to Balista. But standing beside his table Balista looked unimpressed. For a moment the praetorian prefect said nothing as he stared back at Antoninus. Then at last he slowly shook his head.

“Antoninus, Antoninus,” Balista called out at last. “What has become of you. Look at you man. You have become a drunk. A fool. You have lost your way. No. There will be no exchange. It is out of the question.”

Looking tired Antoninus sighed. “Why?” the overweight lord called out. “Why will you not even try to free the Emperor? Valerian is still the rightful and legal authority. Is it not right to try to free him?”

Pausing Balista turned to look around at his officers with a little cold smile. Then at last he fixed his eyes upon Antoninus and the smile vanished.

“You just don’t get it do you,” Balista said speaking in a quiet voice. “So let me spell it out for you, you drunken fool. No one wants to see Valerian return. No one wants him back. He is done and gone. He is history and we must look to the future now. So you will not mention his name again inside this tent.”

And as Balista fell silent Corbulo suddenly felt a pang of alarm. On his feet Antoninus was gazing back at Balista in silence. Then he took a step towards the praetorian prefect and as he did Wulfaz’s hand swiftly dropped to rest upon the hilt of his knife that hung from his belt.

“Valerian was a far better man than you will ever be,” Antoninus sneered glaring back at Balista. “He was a far better Emperor than you and the Macrianii. You Sir,” Antoninus growled as he pointed a finger at Balista, “are nothing more than a second rate usurper and you will meet a traitors death.”

And with that Antoninus turned on his heels and marched out of the HQ.

​***

Night had come and Corbulo was sitting on his camp bed quietly repairing one of his boots when there was a sudden commotion at the entrance to his tent. Moments later Linus came hurrying in followed by an annoyed looking bodyguard who had been trying to stop him. The youth was looking flushed.

“Corbulo Sir,” Linus gasped, “you had better come right away. Something terrible has happened.”

Swiftly rising to his feet Corbulo frowned, gesturing to the guard that it was all right.

“What do you mean?” Corbulo growled.

“Please come with me,” Linus said hurriedly turning to the exit. “Badurad is there on his own. It’s bad. It’s really bad Sir.”

Saying nothing, his frown deepening Corbulo hastened out of his tent and into the night. The Roman camp was lit up by numerous camp fires glowing in the darkness. The men huddled around them. Following Linus as the youth led the way through the camp suddenly Corbulo heard screaming and as he did his heart sank with sudden foreboding. Hurrying up to the large army tent Linus quickly ducked inside and Corbulo followed and as he entered he caught sight of Claudia. The woman looked distraught and she was screaming. Her face was contorted and in her hand she was clutching a knife while Badurad had his arms raised as he desperately tried to calm her down and prevent her from leaving the tent. Then abruptly Corbulo came to a halt as he spotted the body lying on the camp bed. It was Antoninus and he was dead.

Staring at the corpse of his friend Corbulo blinked, rooted to the ground. Speechless. Then he turned his eyes towards Claudia who was beside herself. Holding up her knife as she tried to leave the tent but being prevented from doing so by Badurad who was manfully holding the line.

“We were just passing by Corbulo Sir,” Linus cried out, “when we saw the soldiers carrying the body. They were Balista’s men. His new German bodyguards. They brought Antoninus here. Handed his body back to his wife. They didn’t even hide the fact that Balista had him killed. Said Claudia was now free to do what she wanted as they had no more use for her. Then they left. They killed him Sir. Antoninus was murdered. There are stab wounds all across his chest.”

“Balista murdered my husband!” Claudia yelled as she held up her knife in a threatening manner and advanced towards Corbulo. “He assassinated my Antoninus and now he is going to pay. I am going to kill him. I am going to kill Balista. Out of my way! Get out! Let me pass.”

But as she advanced towards him Corbulo with Badurad’s aid grasped hold of her hand and wrestled the knife from her grip.

“No,” Corbulo hissed. “No that is exactly what Balista wants. If you attack him now he will have a reason to kill you too.”

“Please lady,” Badurad cried out. “Calm down. We will try and figure this out.”

“Figure this out,” Claudia yelled rounding on Badurad, her face ashen and stained with tears as she pointed at the body lying upon the camp bed. “Antoninus is dead. They murdered my husband! What is there to figure out. Balista is a murderer. He cannot get away with this!”

Taking a deep breath Corbulo reached out to grasp hold of Claudia and pulled her into a tight hug and as he did so it was as if a dam had burst for suddenly her body was shaking with great silent sobs. Holding onto her tightly for a moment Corbulo paused. Then letting go of Claudia he silently moved across to the bed and looked down at Antoninus. Taking in the stab wounds across his chest before with a weary sigh Corbulo got down on his knees beside the bed, reached out to grip his friend’s shoulder and lowered his head.

For a while he stayed where he was refusing to let go of Antoninus while Claudia stood in a corner, her hand covering her face, sobbing silently and Badurad and Linus looked on lost and ashen faced.

Then at last Corbulo turned to look up at Badurad.

“Find Harald and Crastus,” he said quietly in German, “and bring them here at once. I need to speak to them. It’s urgent.”

“What’s going on uncle?” Badurad whispered in German.

“We’re leaving,” Corbulo replied in a quiet, subdued voice. “The time has come to leave. We’re going home. I am taking the whole vexillation and we are going back to the Rhine. Screw this war and screw Balista and Macrianus. The time has come for us to make our move. And you,” Corbulo said pointing at Claudia. “You are coming with us too.”

“We’re leaving,” Badurad whispered his eyes growing large. “But that is desertion uncle. Balista will never allow it.”

“I will go and speak to Balista in the morning,” Corbulo said lowering his eyes. “I have a plan. Now go and fetch Harald and Crastus. I am not leaving without all the men who came with us from the Rhine. We are all going home together like I promised.”

​***

“Sir,” Corbulo said with a sigh as he took a step towards Balista. The two of them alone inside the tent except for Wulfaz who was standing bolt up right guarding his commander’s back. The Frankish warrior’s hard unamused face studying Corbulo with suspicion. “Let me take my vexillation and set up an ambush here,” Corbulo said tapping the map that lay on the table. “The Sasanians are in full retreat and we must do all we can to hurt them. Now is the moment. The enemy are loaded with loot and encumbered with slaves. Once they are across the mountains and into the plains it will become much harder to attack them.”

“Yes we must hurt them,” Balista said reaching up to stroke his thick black beard as he eyed the map with a thoughtful look. Then he turned to Corbulo.

“You heard the news,” the praetorian prefect said studying Corbulo with his empty eyes. “Antoninus is dead.”

“Yes so I heard,” Corbulo said lowering his gaze.

“Well you have nothing to say about it?” Balista replied. “Antoninus was your friend. You two were close.”

Taking a deep breath Corbulo looked up. His face a mask.

“We were Sir and his death grieves me deeply. He was a good friend.”

“Right,” Balista said lightly as he took a step towards Corbulo and for a moment the praetorian prefect remained silent. “I had to kill him,” Balista exclaimed turning to stare at Corbulo. “You understand that don’t you. I tried to warn Antoninus during the council but that man did just not know when to shut up. When to stop. He was becoming a danger to us. Who knows what such a man would do next. The harm he could do to the Emperors. I had to act.”

For a moment Corbulo said nothing as the tense ominous atmosphere in the tent lingered. Then at last he nodded.

“I understand Sir. And thank you for releasing Claudia and returning the body of her husband to her.”

“She served her purpose,” Balista said looking away. “Now that Antoninus is dead she is free to go wherever she pleases.”

Once again the tent fell silent pregnant with unspoken thoughts. Then at last Balista turned to gaze at Corbulo with a suspicious look. “You know Corbulo,” Balista said choosing his words carefully. “You have proved to be an excellent officer. You are a leader of men. Your soldiers look up to you. But as you know civil war is coming. Macrianus intends to march west in the spring to confront Gallienus. He is going to need all his best men. I know he is eager for you to join him on that campaign. It would be a shame if you refused. It would be an even greater shame if somehow you ended up fighting for the other side.”

“It would,” Corbulo replied lifting his head. “But I swore an oath did I not. An oath of loyalty to the new Emperors.”

Staring back at Corbulo, Balista said nothing, his eyes gleaming. Then at last he nodded. “So you did,” he murmured. “And you will also recall what I said about your family on the isle of Vectis. No doubt you will be concerned for their safety and well being. You are a long way from your home prefect and imperial couriers move fast along our roads.”

“The ambush Sir,” Corbulo said ignoring Balista’s threat, “there is no time to waste. Allow me to take the 1st cohort of the Thirtieth and the two companies of mounted Franks from my own cohort Sir. If we leave today I can be in position along the road by tomorrow.”

Turning to the map Balista paused. Then at last he looked up at Corbulo and nodded. “All right Corbulo I will grant your request,” the praetorian prefect said, “but Wulfaz here and his contingent of Germans will go with you. Just in case you need their support, you understand.”

​***

Riding his horse slowly up the road, leading the mass of mounted soldiers from the 3rd company of the 1st cohort of Salian Franks, Corbulo was clad for battle. His plumed helmet gleaming in the sunlight. His curved horn was dangling across his chest and his spatha was hanging from his belt. Clutching his spear and ovoid shaped shield in his hands, his knees were guiding his horse. While coming on behind him were Wulfaz and his contingent of barbarian mercenaries. The Germans moving on foot. Holding their spears and shields. While bringing up the rear of the column Harald was leading the mounted Franks from the 2nd company. The thud of boots and hooves striking the rocky path. No one was speaking. The afternoon advanced - the sun already sinking towards the western horizon.

Spotting the fork in the road up ahead Corbulo abruptly raised his fist in the air bringing the Roman column to a halt. For a moment he gazed at the fork, one road leading southwards, the other westwards. Then with a sigh he lifted his head and carefully turned to study the forested, boulder strewn slopes along the sides of the road but among the mountain wilderness he could see nothing untoward. Turning to glance at Badurad and Linus who were mounted on their horses nearby - escorting Claudia - Corbulo paused. His expression suddenly grim. Claudia was clad entirely in her black mourning clothes. Her face was veiled. Then at last he gave his cousin a little cryptic nod before reaching for his curved horn and blowing on it. And as he did so his mounted Franks turned around and suddenly their weapons were pointing at Wulfaz and his men. The Germans were caught off-guard. Their alarm and confusion growing as suddenly masses of Roman legionaries appeared on both flanks. The men rising up from their concealed positions along the road and making their way down the slopes. Their javelins and plumbata war darts aimed at the barbarians as they rapidly encircled them, cutting off any hope of escape. Looking outraged Wulfaz and his men quickly turned to look back down the road they had just come up but saw that Harald and his men were blocking that route. The spears of the Frankish horsemen were lowered and pointing at their kin.

“What is this?” Wulfaz cried out in his coarse German as trapped he turned to stare at Corbulo. “What is this betrayal? Are we not all on the same side?”

“No we are not,” Corbulo retorted from his horse as he looked down at Wulfaz. “Order your men to lay down their weapons. Surrender and I promise you that no one will harm you or your men. Once we are done with you, you shall be free to leave.”

“Surrender!” Wulfaz growled, clenching his teeth at Corbulo, his face darkening. “To you! To these soft men. No fucking way!”

“Then die,” Corbulo cried out and before anyone could react he had drawn back his arm and flung his spear straight into the German standing right beside Wulfaz. The spear thudding squarely into the man’s chest. The blow sending him staggering backwards until he collapsed onto the ground.

“No one else needs to die!” Corbulo roared in German glaring at the party of barbarians as some of the legionaries drew forth their swords and started to bash them against their shields. The ominous, intimidating noise echoing away down the valley.

“Lay down your weapons and surrender. Do it now! I will not ask you again.”

His lips curling in contempt Wulfaz stared back at Corbulo and for a moment he did not move or speak a word. Then with a grunt of disgust he pulled his war axe from his belt and dropped it to the ground before turning and gesturing to his men to do the same.

“You!” Wulfaz exclaimed pointing an accusing finger at Corbulo as the legionaries began to move in to retrieve the weapons and take the barbarian contingent prisoner. “You prefect. I am going to remember your name and your face and one day I am going to come for you. This I swear before all the gods. You are a dead man walking prefect!”

“Strip them naked,” Corbulo bellowed at his men, ignoring Wulfaz and his threat. “Leave them their boots but take their clothes and weapons. They can walk back to Balista’s camp naked.”

And as he sat upon his horse and his men started to carry out his orders Corbulo slowly turned his eyes back to Wulfaz. Eyeing the German warrior with a hard and uncompromising look as the barbarian stared back at him in silent impotent fury before two legionaries forced him down onto his knees and started to pull off his clothing.

“You stupid barbarian! You should have stayed on your side of the Rhine,” Badurad yelled in German as he dismounted and came up to Wulfaz, thrusting his hand at the man in a rude gesture. “And now look at you. What a prick you are! You threaten my uncle again and I will cut you from ear to ear.”

Staring at his men as they disarmed and stripped the contingent of barbarians Corbulo said nothing. Then aware that Crastus had appeared at his side he turned to glance down at the big centurion.

“So what now Sir?” Crastus murmured as he gazed at his men going about their tasks.

“Now,” Corbulo said turning to look at the fork in the road with a sigh. “Now we head west to Thrace. We are going home. One war is about to end and another is about to begin. We are going to join forces with Emperor Gallienus. We are going to fight on his side.”

“Home,” Crastus repeated. Then looking up at Corbulo the centurion smiled. “Sounds good to me Sir.”

​***

Across the Bosporus straights the sun was out shining upon the dazzling blue water. The narrow straights that separated Europe from Asia deserted except for the convoy of transports crowded with the hundreds of soldiers from the 1st cohort and the two companies of Frankish cavalry. The men were lining the sides of the ships eager to get a glimpse of the approaching shore and the city of Byzantium beyond. The ships captain’s were crying out instructions to their crew as they got ready to manoeuvre their vessels into the harbour.

Standing upon the deck of the leading vessel as they approached the quay Corbulo was gazing at the water front and the waiting crowd on land. While at his side Claudia was standing on her toes. Eagerly searching the multitude who were awaiting their arrival onshore. Her hands clasped together as if in prayer. Her face blushing and lit up with growing excitement. Then suddenly she cried out and raised her hand.

“He’s here!” she cried out. “My brother! He is here. Look. Over there. Those must be his battle standards.”

Turning to stare in the direction Claudia was pointing Corbulo frowned. Taking in the party of mounted imperial bodyguards. The Moorish cavalrymen were clad in their splendid uniforms. Then at last as the ship eased up against the side of the harbour wall a party of Roman officers abruptly leaped onto the deck and came towards him. The stern faced men were armed and clad for battle and as they approached without warning Claudia whooped and rushed over to one of the men, joyously throwing her arms around him. The soldier was of medium height but built like a brick. In his late twenties with short closely cropped hair and big muscular arms. And as Claudia caught hold of him he suddenly boomed with laughter as he fondly wrapped his arms around his sister. At last loosening her grip the officer came up to Corbulo and paused to study him for a moment. Then the man smiled and extended his hand to Corbulo in welcome.

“My name is Probus, commander of the imperial bodyguard, the equites Mauri,” the young officer said gripping Corbulo’s hand in a powerful and crushing handshake. “Thank you for bringing my sister back to me.”

Epilogue

Rome Divided is historical fiction. The first in a series of books that will follow the exploits of three brothers, Corbulo, Veda and Munatius, direct descendants of the characters in my Veteran of Rome and Soldier of the Republic series.

Some of the characters in this book were real life characters. Uranius Antoninus for instance did really exist and was a lord of Emesa who fought against Shapur and minted his own coins. I hope that he is happy in how I have depicted him. Claudia too existed. In Ilkka Syvanne’s excellent factual book “Aurelian and Probus” Probus is mentioned as having a sister called Claudia although we know nothing about her. I hope she is not offended that I married her to Antoninus.

Kartir also existed and was a Zoroastrian priest in Ctesiphon during the reign of King Shapur and his successors. Likewise the Macrianii, Balista, Gallienus, Probus, Odaenathus and queen Zenobia all existed in real life. There is a debate about who built the famous arch of Ctesiphon (Taq Kasra) some of the building which still survives today. Whether it was begun by King Shapur or king Khosrow. I have opted for Shapur. Likewise Emperor Valerian’s fate is contested. Some say he was executed. Some say he was treated well by his captors. The 1st cohort of Salian Franks however is fiction.

Until the next book my friends!

The Romans, Celts and Germans

Corbulo’s Family

Tadia, mother of Corbulo (deceased)

Vennus, biological father (fate unknown)

Gamo, step father (murdered)

Hostes, uncle, Gamo’s brother

Helena, aunt, Tadia sister

Veda, middle brother

Munatius, youngest brother

Cata, sister

Holda, Hostes wife

Jutta, daughter of Hostes and Holda

Badurad, son of Hostes and Holda

Linus, Badurad childhood friend

Other characters

Mobius, prefect of the Rhine vexillation (Deceased)

Crastus, a centurion with the 1st cohort of the Thirtieth Legion

Harald, centurion of the 2nd company of the 1st cohort of Salian Franks

Atlas, A Roman speculatore attached to the first cohort

Macrianus, Emperor Valerian’s chief treasurer

Balista, Valerian’s praetorian prefect

Uranius Antoninus, lord of Emesa (deceased)

Claudia, Antoninus’ wife and sister of the future Emperor Probus

King Odaenathus, king of the city state of Palmyra

Queen Zenobia, second wife to king Odaenathus

Asher, Sasanian born Jewish lord (deceased)

Fadel, Bedouin slave and Asher’s man servant

Arif, leader of the Arab mercenaries (Deceased)

Hypatia, Christian woman

Probus, future Roman Emperor

Wulfaz, Ripuarian Frankish leader, Balista’s bodyguard

Kartir, Zoroastrian priest

Macrianus Junior, Macrianus son and co emperor

Quietus, Macrianus’s son and co emperor

Roman Glossary

Acta, News reports

Achaean League, the city states of Corinth, Argos, Sicyon and Megalopolis in the Peloponnese

Adyton, small holy room at the back of a temple which was never open to the public.

Aemilii, Roman aristocratic family/clan

Aesculapius, the God of healing

Aesculapius temple, on Tiber island, Rome, dedicated to the God of healing and medicine

Aetolian League, city states of Elis, Messene and Sparta

Agora, the central marketplace

Alpheus, god of rivers

Amposta, modern Castell D’Amposta, Spain

Aoos river, now known as Aoos or Vjose river, northern Greece and Albania

Aphrodite, Goddess of love

Apollo, God of healing and music

Apollonia, Greek speaking city on the Illyrian coast, now known as Pojani, Albania

Appian Way, road connecting Rome to Capua

Apulia, region in south eastern Italy

Aquae Appia, the oldest of Rome’s aqueducts

Achaean league, Greek city state defensive alliance

Arethusa, Syracusan nymph, water spirit

Arevaci, Celti-Iberian tribe

Argiletum, the street in Rome of the booksellers

Ariminum, modern Rimini, Italy

Arno river, still called the Arno and it flows through the city of Florence

Arpi, ancient town in south eastern Italy

Artemis, Greek Goddess of the hunt, the Roman goddess Diana

Arx, the most northerly of the two summits of the Capitoline hill.

Asses, simple Roman coinage

Atanagrus, capital city of the IIergetes, in the region of modern Lleida, Spain

Atellani, Iberian tribe

Athena, patron goddess of Athens

Atrium, the open-living-space at the heart of a fine Roman house

Aufidus, now known as the Ofanto river, Italy

Aufidena, now known as Alfedena, Italy

Augur, fortune teller, religious priest

Bacchus, god of wine, liberation and a good time, otherwise known as the Greek Dionysus

Baebulo silver mine, mine location near Linares, Spain

Baetis river, now called the Guadalquivir

Balearic slingers, slingers from the Balearic Islands

Belerion, ancient name for Cornwall

Belli, Celti-Iberian tribe

Beneventum, Latin colony, now known as Benevento, Italy

Boii, Gallic tribe living in the Po valley, Italy

Bononia, now known as Bologna, Italy

Brundisium, a Greek speaking city in the far south of Italy, now known as Brindisi

Brutians, ancient peoples living in southern Italy

Calabria, region in southern Italy

Calatini, ancient Italian tribe

Campanians, people from the Italian region of Campania

Candida, the official clothing of a candidate up for election

Canusium, modern Canosa di Puglia, Italy

Capitoline Hill, one of the hills in ancient Rome

Capua, Campanian city close to Naples

Carales, capital of Roman Sardinia, now known as Cagliari

Caer Bran, West Cornish iron age settlement

Carn Brea, West Cornish iron age settlement

Carnyx, boar headed Celtic war trumpets

Castra, fort

Casilinum, stood on the spot where now stands modern Capua, Italy

Castulo, near modern Linares, Southern Spain

Celtici, Celti-Iberian tribe in southern Portugal

Cenomani, a Gallic tribe in northern Italy, who were friends and allies of Rome.

Chakka, a small handheld mill stone to grind grain into flour

Chun Castle, West Cornish iron age hill top fort

Cis-Alpine Gaul, Roman name for the Gallic lands in northern Italy between Alps and Apennines

Cispadana Gaul’s, Gauls living south of the Po river

Cissa, small ancient town just north of modern Tarragona, Spain

Clastidium. now known as Casteggio, Italy

Clepsydra, a Greek time keeping machine, a water clock

Cloaca maxima, the old sewage system in central Rome

Cloacina, the goddess of cleaning

Colline Gate, Rome’s most northerly gate

Comitium, the circular public space right outside the Curia Hostilia in Rome

Consul, highest elected Roman war leader and magistrate

Corcyra, Greek speaking city on the Illyrian coast, now known as Corfu, Greece

Cornicen, trumpeter

Cornus, town on the west coast of Sardinia, now known as Caglieri

Cryptologist, code breaker

Cremona, Cremona, Italy

Croton, now known as Crotone in southern Italy.

Cumae, now known as Cuma, close to Naples

Curia Hostilia, the Senate house in Rome

Decimomannu, now part of the city of Cagliari, Sardinia, Italy

Decurion, Roman cavalry officer

Demeter, goddess of the harvest

Diana, Goddess of hunting otherwise known as Artemis

Dilectus, the conscription process by which Roman military tribunes would choose new recruits for the legions during the Republican period.

Dimale, Greek speaking city on the Illyrian coast, now near modern Krotine, Albania

Discordia, Goddess of strife and discord

Drepana, modern Trapani, Sicily

Druid, Celtic holy man

Dugouts, canoes

Emporiae, modern Empuries, Catalonia, Spain

Epidamnum, Greek speaking city on the Illyrian coast, now known as Durres, Albania

Equestrian, Roman social class, just below the senatorial class

Equites, Roman cavalrymen

Etruria, Tuscany, Italy

Etruscans, tribe of Tuscany

Factionalism, old-fashioned party politics and personal rivalries.

Faesulae, town of Fiesole, Italy

Falacrinum, Roman village near town of Rieti

Falcata sword, curved Iberian sword

Fasces, the bundle of rods symbolising the power of the office of the consul.

Firedogs, a bracket support on which logs are laid for burning

Focale, Neck scarf

Fortuna, Goddess of Fortune/Luck

Forum, central market square

Forum Boarium, the ancient cattle market of Rome.

Forum Romanum, the ancient Roman forum

Gades, Cadiz, Spain

Garum, fermented fish sauce

Gaesatae, Feared professional Gallic mercenaries, from north of the Alps

Gaul, France

Geronium, ancient town in Molise, Italy

Gladius Hispaniensis, double-edged, pointed sword

Grumentum, now known as Grumento Nova, Southern Italy

Gwenap, settlement in West Cornwall

Hades, the underworld

Hamae, ancient sacred grove, only three miles from Cumae

Hasta, Roman spear

Hastatii, Roman infantrymen, formed the first line of a Roman army

Herdonia, modern Ordona, southern Italy

Hibera, modern Tortosa, Catalonia, Spain

Hippocrates of Kos, father of medicine

Hirpini, ancient Italian tribe

House of Aemilia, Roman patrician aristocratic family

Ictis, modern St Michael’s Mount or Plymouth - location still uncertain

IIergetes, Spanish tribe living around modern Lleida, north-east Spain

Llercavones, Iberian tribe

Illyria, modern coast of Croatia, Montenegro and Albania including the old cities of Apollonia, Oricum, Dimale, Epidamnus, Pharos and Lissos

Impluvium, basin set in the floor to catch rainwater

Insubres, Gallic tribe living around Milan

Insulae, apartment blocks in Rome

Juno, Wife of Jupiter and Queen of the Gods

Juno Moneta, temple housing the state Mint

Jupiter, Rome’s patron god

Klepsydra, a Greek water clock

Lacetani, Iberian tribe in northeast Spain

Lares, the guardian spirits who protected the household.

Latinitas, citizen without the right to vote in the public assembly

Latium, region of Lazio around Rome

Lebbade, Punic cap

Leontini, Lentini, Sicily

Liburna, small, light and fast ships with a single rowing-bench and twenty-five oars on each side.

Lictors, attendants to a Roman consul

Ligurians, tribe living around Genua, Italy

Lilybaeum, modern Marsala in Sicily

Llorca, located near modern Cartagena, Spain

Locri, now known as Locri in southern Italy.

Lucania, region in southern Italy now called Basilicata

Lucanians, ancient peoples living in southern Italy

Luceria, Latin colony, now known as Lucera, southern Italy

Ludi Consualia, the festival of the harvest.

Lusitanii, Celti-Iberian tribe living around Lisbon, Portugal

Maniple, Roman army unit of up to 120 men

Mars, God of war

Massalia, Marseille, France

Massaliot, people of Massalia

Messana, modern Messina, Italy

Messene, town in southern peloponnese, Greece

Mount Eryx, mountain in western Sicily

Narnia, modern Narni, central Italy

Naupactus, now known as Nafpaktos, Greece or Lepanto

Neapolis, Naples, Italy

Nemesis, the winged goddess, the collector of dues.

New Carthage, now known as Cartagena, Spain

Nola, still called Nola, Italy

Okilis, now known as Medinaceli, Spain

Optio, second in command of a maniple unit

Oricum, ancient city in Albania

Ortygia – the site of the original colony at Syracuse, Sicily

Ostia, ancient port of Rome

Paenula cloak, Poncho

Parthini, city on the Illyrian coast, now known as Dimale, Albania

Patrician, Roman aristocratic class

Pella, historical capital of Macedonia

Peloponnese, southern Greek mainland

Persephone, wife of Hades, co-ruler of the underworld

Pharos, city on the Illyrian coast, now known as Stari Grad, Croatia

Phocaea, Greek speaking area on the west Anatolian coast

Phrygian helmet, ancient helmet

Picenum, region of Italy

Pila, Roman spear

Pisae, Roman town now known as Pisa

Placentia, now known as Piacenza, Italy

Plebeians, commoners

Plebeian tribune, Magistrate tasked with championing and looking after the political interests of the common people

Pontifex Maximus, the Roman High Priest

Poseidon, Greek God of the sea

Praetor, Consul’s military subordinate

Prefecture, the administrative building housing the colony’s authorities and public records

Principes, second line of Roman infantrymen

Principia, Roman camp HQ

Pro-praetor, Roman magistrate, commander and official

Pugio, army knife

Punic, Carthaginian

Quinquereme, heavy warship propelled by sail and five banks of oars

Reate, Rieti, central Italy

Revetments, banks to hold river water back

Rhegium, modern Reggio, Calabria, Italy

Rion, straights of Rion, Greece, western entrance to the Gulf of Corinth

Robigus, Roman god of agricultural disease

Rostra, a wooden elevated platform from where Rome’s magistrates would traditionally address the people

Sabine country, region north east of Rome

Saguntum, Sagunto, near Valencia, Spain

Salapia, now known as Salapia, Italy

Salaria, old Salt road

Samnites, Italian peoples living in south central Italy

Sandaracha, a gold coloured mineral from which arsenic dust was derived

Saturn, God of plenty and wealth

Saturnalia, festival of Saturn in december, comparable to Christmas

Scorpions, bolt-throwers mounted on tripods

Scutum, shield.

Sentinum, now known as Sassoferrato, Italy

Sicyon, now known as Sicyona, Greece

Signifier, officer who keeps a unit’s banner

Sora, modern Sora, Lazio, Italy

Spolia opima, Rome’s highest military decoration,

Spoletium, modern Spoleto, Italy

SPQR, Senate and People of Rome

Strategos, Greek commander in chief

Stylus or styli, Roman pens

Sibylline books, the books of destiny

Stoa, a Greek style covered walkway with stone columns supporting a high tiled roof

Stylus, iron-tipped pen

Subura, slums in the heart of Rome

Syracuse, still known as Syracuse, Sicily

Tabula Valeria, painting in Rome depicting the Roman victory against Hiero of Syracuse and Carthage in the first Punic war

Tarentum, modern Taranto, Italy

Tarquinia, now known as Tarquinia, Tuscany, Italy

Tarraco, modern Tarragona, Spain

Taurini, Gallic tribe living near modern Turin

Taurasia, Turin, Italy

Terra Mater – the mother earth goddess, called Gaia in Greek

Tesserarius, the watch commander

Tharros, town in Sardinia

Thrace, modern Bulgaria

Ticinus river, modern Ticino

Tifata, mountain above Capua, Italy

Toga candida, specially whitened toga worn by candidates during elections

Torc, Celtic neck ring, denoting high social status

Tramontana wind, local wind that blows in the Apennines

Trebia river, modern Trebbia

Trencrom, hill fort in West Cornwall

Triarii, Third class of Roman infantrymen. The most senior and experienced class of heavy infantry

Triplex acies, Roman battle formation comprising three battle lines

Triremes, ancient warship

Tullianum, Rome’s central prison

Tumultus Gallicus, A state of emergency referring to a Gallic invasion

Turma, Squadron of around thirty cavalrymen

Umbria, Italian region of Umbria

Ushant, island off the west Brittany coast

Utica, Carthaginian colony on the coast of Tunisia

Velites, Roman light infantry - skirmishers and javelin throwers

Venusia, Latin colony, now known as Venosa, Southern Italy

Vestal virgin, female priestess dedicated to the goddess Vesta

Via Aurelia, Roman road from Rome to Pisa, Italy

Via Flaminia, Flaminian way, ancient Roman road

Via Salaria, the old salt road, in Rome

Victoria, goddess of victory

Villa Publica, building where the censors had their base and where the public records were held. Stood on the fields of Mars.

Volturnus river, now known as the Volturno river, Italy

Vulcan, god of fire and carpenters

Zeus, Greek king of the Gods, Roman Jupiter