Parthian Vengeance

Epilogue

Aulus Gabinius was far from happy. Until fairly recently things had been going very well for him. Having helped to propel Pompey to power in Rome he had been made proconsul of Syria as a reward, a position from which he had profited enormously. In addition to destroying Pontus and reducing Armenia to a client kingdom of Rome, Pompey had crushed what was left of the Seleucid Empire to create the Roman province of Syria and as a bonus had also conquered Judea. When Gabinius had arrived in Syria to take up his new position he had been pleasantly surprised to discover that most of the towns and cities in his province had been accustomed to paying some sort of taxation for hundreds of years, and that in addition there was already in situ a network of local administrators to maintain the rule of law and collect said taxes. As a result money soon began to flow into the treasury at Antioch, the capital of Syria, from which Gabinius extracted a very large amount each month. It was a most satisfactory state of affairs.

Like most senior politicians and high-ranking soldiers of the Republic, Gabinius dressed and lived modestly, though they all endeavoured to accumulate large amounts of wealth to buy favours and influence in Rome. In this Gabinius was no different and had, since his arrival in Syria, amassed a fortune from the taxes levied on Syria and Judea. But now his extremely lucrative position was under threat.

First there had been a letter from his sponsor Pompey in Rome informing him that Marcus Licinius Crassus had been given the province of Syria for five years and an army of seven legions with which to fight a war against the Parthians. This meant that when Crassus arrived Gabinius would be replaced as governor of the province and recalled to Rome, which meant he had only a few months to profit from the province’s generous tax returns.

Then there had been the Jewish uprising in Judea, which had been totally unexpected and had at first threatened not only the entire Jewish kingdom but also the towns in southern Syria. Fortunately his very able cavalry commander had acted quickly to bring the rebels to battle and defeat them.

It was this young general who now awaited Gabinius in the atrium of his villa nestled in the hills at Daphne some five miles from Antioch, a delightful location that was home to the city’s wealthiest and most powerful citizens. It was also reputedly the spot where the god Apollo caught up with Daphne, a nymph he had fallen in love with, whereupon Daphne’s father, the river god Peneus, had turned his daughter into a laurel tree to prevent her losing her virginity. As a result of this myth there was an ancient law forbidding the cutting down or harming of any of the laurel trees that grew in the area.

Gabinius was sceptical about the place being the playground of gods but he had to admit that it seemed a most blessed place, filled with natural springs, waterfalls, citrus orchards, orchid gardens, laurel trees and myrtle. A man could be at peace with the world in such a paradise. But not today.

‘The Praefectus Alae Mark Antony awaits you, governor,’ the villa’s head steward announced as Gabinius strode into the dining room and reclined on one of the couches.

‘Show him in,’ he ordered, nodding to slaves who brought him dishes of fruits, meats and bread to eat, though he really had little appetite for food.

Moments later his ebullient cavalry commander marched into the room and saluted.

Everything about Mark Antony was big: his thick neck, his round face and his solid frame. And the same could be said of his personality, which made him enormously popular among both the soldiery and Antioch’s nobility, especially their wives.

Gabinius pointed at an empty couch. ‘Can I offer you something to eat, Mark Antony?’

Mark Antony reclined on the couch and gestured at the slaves to bring him food.

‘You are very kind, governor. Our new guests are eager to meet you.’

Gabinius groaned. As proconsul of Syria he had better things to do than waste his time playing host to a group of Parthian exiles who had suddenly descended on him. Mark Antony noted his lack of enthusiasm.

‘You do not wish to see them, governor?’ he asked, nibbling on a grape.

Gabinius handed his plate to a slave. He had suddenly lost any appetite he may have had.

‘Not particularly. No doubt they wish to borrow money from me to maintain their lavish lifestyle, either that or drag me into their internecine Parthian squabbles. I have little interest in either. What is the situation in Judea?’

‘The rebels have been confined to an area in the southeast of the kingdom, around Alexandreum and Jericho. Soon we will have destroyed all of them.’

Gabinius nodded approvingly. He had spent a considerable amount of money on Mark Antony, who had at first refused an offer to serve under him in Syria. The young man had been in Athens at the time studying rhetoric and philosophy, as well as seeking refuge from his many creditors in Rome, but the incentive of a commission as the commander of all the Roman cavalry in Syria had changed his mind. The fact that none existed in Syria at the time had required Gabinius to pay for the raising of a full ala of cavalry — a thousand horsemen — to satisfy Mark Antony’s vanity, but the governor considered the expenditure an investment. For one thing his young commander was a member of the Antonia clan, one of Rome’s most influential families, whose support would be useful when Gabinius returned to the city, which unfortunately would now be sooner rather than later.

Some of Mark Antony’s horsemen rode behind the governor and his cavalry commander as they later made their way from the villa to the city of Antioch, the ‘Athens of the East’.

‘It is perhaps fortuitous, governor, that these Parthians have appeared at this time.’

‘Fortuitous is not a word I would use,’ muttered Gabinius.

‘You may be interested to know that I captured a number of Jewish rebels some days ago and had them all tortured before they were crucified.’

‘My congratulations,’ remarked Gabinius sarcastically.

‘But what they revealed before they died,’ continued Mark Antony, ‘was most interesting.’

‘And what was that?’

‘The weapons that armed the Jewish insurgents came from Parthia.’

Gabinius halted his horse. ‘Are you certain of this?’

‘Quite certain, governor. It came from the mouths of more than one of the condemned. I think they were so forthcoming with information in the hope that it would save their lives.’

‘And did it?’ asked Gabinius.

Mark Antony shook his head. ‘No. There can be no mercy for the enemies of Rome.’

Gabinius urged his horse forward. ‘Quite right. Well, perhaps our Parthian guests can shed more light on this matter.’

The pace of their journey was slowed as they rode through Antioch’s wide streets crowded with caravans, travellers, worshippers and citizens. Founded nearly two hundred and fifty years ago by Seleucus Nicator, one of Alexander of Macedon’s generals, it was still populated mainly by Greeks, though it also contained a host of other races, a teeming mass of tens of thousands of people. Built beside the River Orontes, Antioch grew rich from the trade between the Mediterranean and Mesopotamia and the produce of the surrounding fertile valleys. Its many theatres, temples, libraries and public baths were testimony to the city’s great wealth. And the promise of riches attracted people from far and wide, its great squares always thronged with poets, philosophers and out-of-work actors entertaining the public with varying degrees of success. Gabinius had done little to stamp Roman influence on the city apart from ordering the building of an aqueduct to being fresh water from nearby Mount Silpius and paving the city’s gravel roads.

The Parthians had appeared a week ago. The first Gabinius knew of their impending arrival was the appearance of a fat courtier at his headquarters; a man with pale skin, a wispy beard and small piggy eyes whose grovelling servility he had found distasteful. The Parthian nobles had subsequently sent the governor a sizeable amount of gold as thanks for his offer of sanctuary in their time of strife (though in reality they had invited themselves), which had been far more satisfying. Gabinius had given them rooms in Antioch’s palace, a vast edifice built on the island formed by two branches of the Orontes. This complex was also Gabinius’ headquarters but was so expansive that it allowed him to avoid them and ignore their requests for an audience with him, but today he had agreed to meet them, if only to end the constant fawning messages they sent him and his senior officers.

The same fat courtier that Gabinius had met a week ago greeted him and Mark Antony at the doors to the chambers in the west wing of the palace where the Parthians had been housed. The courtier bowed to them and then opened the doors to allow them to enter. Gabinius had his helmet in the crook of his arm and he looked disapprovingly at Mark Antony and then down at his own helmet, indicating that his subordinate should also remove his headgear.

The room was spacious and airy, with red marble columns supporting the ceiling and green marble tiles covering the floor. The tiles came from the local quarry that produced the same coloured marble that furnished local villas and was also exported to Greece and Italy. The courtier took short steps as he led them to the far end of the room towards two high-backed chairs occupied by a man and woman.

The courtier halted around five paces in front of the seated individuals and bowed deeply to them.

‘The Proconsul Aulus Gabinius and Praefectus Alae Mark Antony, highnesses,’ he announced in a high-pitched voice. He turned to the pair of Romans and bowed again.

‘My I present King of Kings Mithridates, high king of the Parthian Empire, and his mother, Queen Aruna.’

Gabinius nodded his head at them both and Mark Antony flashed a smile at the full-bosomed woman wearing a sour expression. The Romans’ seeming lack of deference earned looks of disapproval from the gaudily dressed courtiers assembled either side of the royal pair. One individual caught the governor’s attention: a young man in his early twenties, tall, broad shouldered, clean-shaven and with a fair complexion and shorter hair than the other men. He had a handsome face, or would have had it not been for the hateful expression it wore. He seemed to be positively bristling with animosity.

Regarding the king, the proconsul thought that the wide cheekbones and long, pointed jaw line of this Mithridates made him look like a snake, an image reinforced by his dark brown, almost black eyes and slim frame.

‘I trust your quarters are agreeable.’

‘We do not intend to stay here long,’ the king shot back.

Gabinius was pleased by this good news. The last thing he needed was a landless, ungrateful king and his hangers-on in his province.

‘Though we are grateful for your hospitality,’ smiled the queen, who Gabinius noted was dripping with gold and diamond jewellery. Indeed, he observed that all the courtiers appeared to be wearing gold rings and necklaces, while rich stones dangled from the women’s ears.

‘It is my intention to return to Parthia,’ said Mithridates, ‘to punish those who have rebelled against me and conspired to steal my throne. I requested this meeting to propose an alliance between our two great powers to achieve this end.’

Gabinius was already bored. The information he had received concerning this Mithridates had revealed that he was the loser in a Parthian civil war and therefore had no power with which to reclaim his realm. The governor smiled politely and was about to say that it was not within his power to make alliances with foreign powers.

‘You would be richly rewarded for such assistance,’ added Mithridates.

Gabinius smiled again and suddenly became much more interested in what this foreign king had to say.

As a proconsul he had the authority to raise troops and make war on Rome’s enemies, though he had no interest in his own treasury funding such endeavours. Wars could be ruinously expensive. However, if the funding came from elsewhere then he might consider conducting a campaign in the east. It was true that he had already made plans to capture the oasis of Palmyra, both to put an end to the troublesome Agraci threat and to take control of the lucrative trade that passed through the oasis settlement, but that expedition would more than pay for itself when he had control of Palmyra. He was wary of other adventures that might be expensive for very little reward.

‘Why would I make war on Parthia?’ queried Gabinius.

‘To ensure its ruler is a friend of Rome,’ answered the queen.

‘Who is the current ruler of Parthia?’ asked Gabinius.

Mithridates’ eyes narrowed. ‘Orodes, my stepbrother.’

‘No friend of the Romans,’ added the queen.

‘His main ally is a traitor named Pacorus, a man who was a slave and fought against the Romans,’ Mithridates spat the words with venom.

‘I have heard of this man,’ said Mark Antony, rubbing his aquiline nose with a finger.

‘Man?’ said Aruna dismissively.

‘As have I,’ said Gabinius. Pompey had spoken of him admiringly when he had returned to Rome, and of the peace they had both agreed, though the governor had an altogether different opinion of this foreign king who had refused to hand over a killer of Roman soldiers.

‘But did you know that he is also a friend of the Agraci,’ said Mithridates, ‘the scourge that torments both our peoples?’

‘I did not,’ admitted Gabinius, whose opinion of King Pacorus was lowering by the minute. ‘Though I do know that he is a friend of Jews who kill Romans.’

Gabinius went on to inform Mithridates about a man named Aaron who was the treasurer at Dura Europos and who was wanted for the murder of several Roman soldiers in Judea.

‘I have also heard rumours that this Aaron is a friend of a Jewish prince named Alexander,’ remarked Mithridates.

‘Alexander Maccebeus?’ asked Mark Antony.

‘I do not know,’ replied Mithridates, ‘but other rumours tell of the armouries at Dura Europos sending weapons to this Alexander with the assistance of the Agraci.’

‘You said that Rome would be richly rewarded for its assistance, said Gabinius, changing the subject.

Mithridates smiled at the governor. ‘Assist me and I will reward you from the great royal treasury at Ctesiphon, the seat of Parthian power and only three weeks’ march from Syria. Once I am reinstalled on my throne I will give you three thousand talents of gold for your support.’

Gabinius tingled with excitement. Three thousand talents amounted to a hundred tons of gold. He licked his lips. A campaign in the east was suddenly very appealing.

‘I think, King Mithridates,’ replied Gabinius, ‘that you can look forward to being back on your throne very soon. All that remains is to finalise the details. I will send one of my officers to inform you of the date of our departure when all the arrangements have been made.’

The couriers broke into applause at this news while the queen laid a hand on her son’s arm and smiled at him. Mithridates raised a hand to still the noise.

‘You will not forget about King Pacorus?’ he said.

‘No, sir,’ replied Gabinius, ‘you can be certain that he is high on the list of my priorities.’

‘He needs to be dealt with,’ said Aruna.

‘He has a sorceress,’ added Mithridates seriously.

Mark Antony laughed and Gabinius bit his lip trying not to. These eastern types! How ridiculous they were in their brightly coloured robes with their long hair, beards and effeminate ways. No wonder Pompey had conquered this area with such ease.

The same fat courtier who had shown them into the room fussed around them as they took their leave of the royal guests. In the corridor outside Gabinius halted to question him.

‘What is your name?’

‘Ashlen, highness,’ replied the fawning courtier.

‘Who was that sour-faced young man dressed in the yellow tunic? He appears not to like Romans.’

Ashlen looked momentarily alarmed. ‘No, highness, not all at. That is Nicetas, highness, the youngest son of King Narses who was most tragically recently killed at Susa. He thirsts for revenge against King Pacorus.’

‘That is the second time we have heard that name today,’ commented Mark Antony.

Later that afternoon, after Gabinius had returned to his spacious villa, he relaxed on the balcony taking wine with his cavalry commander where they were joined by the tribune Marcus Roscius, one of the rising stars among his legionary officers. The mood of the proconsul had brightened considerably since earlier.

‘So this King of Dura Europos, this Pacorus, has been supplying weapons to the Jews,’ said Mark Antony.

Gabinius nodded. ‘It would appear so.’

‘Such a thing cannot go unpunished.’

He looked at Mark Antony, who was anticipating the prospect of war and glory with relish.

‘Before we embark on a war with the Parthians,’ said Gabinius, ‘we need to know more about our enemies. Marcus, you have travelled to Dura and met with this Pacorus. What are your impressions of him and his kingdom?’

‘The walls of his city are very strong, governor,’ replied Marcus.

‘Walls can be breached,’ sniffed Mark Antony dismissively.

‘He also has soldiers equipped like our own and there appear to be many of them,’ continued Marcus.

‘And what of the king himself, this Pacorus?’ pressed Gabinius.

‘We know that he was taken as a slave and shipped to Italy where he fought alongside Spartacus during the slave revolt,’ replied Marcus, ‘and that since his return to Parthia has won many battlefield victories. Many talk of his army with awe.’

Mark Antony waved a hand in the air. ‘Idle gossip for old women. We must bring him to account. The fact that has he been aiding the Jewish rebels is itself a declaration of war against Rome.’

Gabinius nodded. ‘It is as you say, Mark Antony. We cannot allow a foreign power to interfere in Rome’s affairs without punishment. As I was planning a strike against Palmyra anyway we will expand the area of operations to include the domain of King Pacorus, which with Palmyra will be absorbed into Roman Syria.’

‘And what of Mithridates, governor?’ asked Mark Antony.

‘I think we may be able to turn his appearance at Antioch to our advantage. After we have captured Palmyra and Dura there is no reason why we cannot cross the Euphrates and reinstall Mithridates back on his throne.’

‘As a client king,’ said Marcus.

Gabinius smiled. ‘Naturally. I intend to do to Parthia what Pompey did to Armenia and Pontus.’

No Roman had attempted to subjugate the Parthian Empire, but Gabinius knew that there would never be a better opportunity to conquer it. Parthia was exhausted by years of bloody civil war and he had received word that Armenia was about to commence hostilities against the Parthians on their northern borders. He knew that Crassus aspired to conquer Parthia and extend Roman rule as far as the Indus, but Crassus was not here and it would take him months to march his army overland from Italy. Gabinius’ two legions, thousand horsemen and the auxiliaries he would raise would be more than enough to deal with a motley band of Agraci nomads and the decadent troops of Parthia. He remembered reading the reports of the war waged by Lucullus in the Parthian Kingdom of Gordyene and the ease with which Roman troops had defeated the enemy.

By the time Crassus arrived Gabinius would have defeated the Agraci and the Parthians, installed Mithridates as a client king of Rome and emptied the royal treasury at Ctesiphon of its contents. By doing so he would become as rich as Crassus himself and a grateful Rome would shower him with further gifts when he brought the Silk Road under Roman control. Circumstances had conspired to give Aulus Gabinius the opportunity to conquer both the Arabian Peninsula and the whole of the Parthian Empire in one fell swoop.