Prudentius blew out his cheeks then expelled his breath in a contemptuous puff. ‘Excuses,’ he declared dismissively. ‘Antioch’s protected by massive walls, with many wells and granaries within their circuit; she could withstand a siege of months. Belisarius will soon be on his way with a powerful army. And meanwhile, you have already been reinforced by six thousand Roman troops, just the first of more to come.’
‘They will come too late!’ cried Germanus desperately. ‘Can’t you understand what’s going to happen? Six thousand men’s a tiny force with which to defend the immense circuit of the city walls. The Persians will eventually break in, then, in revenge for having been put to the trouble of besieging the place, start to massacre the population. It’s what always happens.’ He added bitterly, ‘But perhaps you’re just too blind or stupid to appreciate that.’
‘How dare you!’ retorted the ambassador, a rosy flush rising up his neck. ‘Don’t think I won’t report your insolence to the emperor.’
‘Do you really suppose I care?’ replied Germanus wearily. He prepared to make a last appeal to the other. ‘Look,’ he declared in a conciliatory tone. ‘I shouldn’t have said that; I got carried away. But I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t point out the realities of the situation. Khusro may be ruthless, but he’s also a man you can do business with, as they say. ‘Pay up and you’ll be left alone’ is his message to the Syrian cities. Hierapolis handed over two thousand pounds of silver and was spared, Berrhoea didn’t and was burned. I’ve no reason to suppose that Antioch will be an exception. Clearly, Justinian has failed to grasp just how serious things are on the ground here. Victory in Italy, and the fact that Belisarius is now free to intervene in the east, must have made him over-confident. Go back to him and point out that calling Khusro’s bluff simply won’t work. I imagine you’ve enough influence to make him see sense. I suggest that meanwhile we pay off Khusro, and thus avert catastrophe.’
By the supercilious lifting of the other’s eyebrows, Germanus knew that his appeal had failed. ‘I do believe that you’re naive enough to think that I might act counter to the orders of our emperor,’ Prudentius declared, in terms of mild amusement.
‘Do as you will,’ responded Germanus in resigned disgust. The man, he saw, was a career politician, incapable of acting other than from narrow self-interest. ‘As for myself, I intend to withdraw to Cilicia; Khusro shall not have the glory of capturing a kinsman of Justinian.’
Even before Germanus’ departure for the north, Prudentius made known to the garrison and citizens of Antioch the wishes of their emperor. The six thousand reinforcements, experienced in the harsh realities of war, greeted the announcement with dismay, the people with a wild elation born of ignorance, and a rash sense of superiority inherited from their proud Seleucid ancestors.
While the citizens made ready to defend the walls, Prudentius (secure in the knowledge that his ambassadorial status gave him diplomatic immunity, a tradition scrupulously honoured by both Persia and Rome), retired to the pleasant suburb of Daphne to await the Persian host.
Macedonia was awakened by a thunderous knocking on her Daphne villa’s outer door opening onto the street. Simultaneously, an agitated major-domo entered her cubiculum, bearing a lamp.
‘Domina,’ the man gasped, ‘the Persians are here. An advance party, I think; the main force is not expected till tomorrow.’
‘Let them in,’ Macedonia instructed, striving to sound calm despite the pounding of her heart. ‘Tell the staff to behave with courtesy, and do nothing to antagonize them. If necessary, offer them refreshment.’ Hurriedly throwing on some clothing, she proceeded to the atrium which, by the dim light of dawn, she could see was already occupied by a dozen wild-looking irregulars in filthy sheepskins, and frightened members of her household cowering against the walls.
Grinning evilly, one of the strangers advanced on Macedonia. Grabbing her by the arm, he began roughly to drag her back the way that she had come. The major-domo rushed to her aid, but was brutally felled by a blow from her assailant’s buckler. ‘Don’t try to help,’ Macedonia called in a trembling voice to her visibly shocked staff. ‘Anything I may have to suffer would be nothing compared to the death of any of yourselves.’
In the semi-darkness of her cubiculum, Macedonia found herself being thrust backwards onto her bed. Easily pinning her down with one hand, the soldier ripped apart her dress with the other. She gagged with disgust as a rank stench of stale sweat, unwashed skin and rancid breath filled her nostrils. With a mounting sense of horror, she realized that she was helpless to prevent what was about to happen, as he thrust his knees between her legs, prising them effortlessly apart. That this brutal coupling was being forced upon her by a man made it all the more repugnant.
Suddenly, the soldier gave a choking gasp. He stiffened; blood gushed from his mouth, drenching Macedonia, then his inert body rolled aside from his intended victim. .
Macedonia came to, her spinning brain registering the elements of the scene that met her eyes: the corpse of her would-be rapist face down on the floor, a bloody puncture in his back; a man — clearly an officer from the quality of his armour and accoutrements — standing beside the bed, a reddened sword in his hand.
‘A thousand apologies, Lady,’ declared the officer in halting Greek. ‘That a man under my command should have behaved so bestially is a stain upon my honour and my conscience.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Did he. .’ he began.
‘Rest assured, sir,’ Macedonia replied tremulously, covering her semi-nakedness with a blood-spattered sheet. ‘You intervened in time.’
‘Bactrian scum,’ declared her rescuer, an edge of bitter anger in his voice. ‘We recruit them for their horsemanship and scouting skills, but I sometimes wonder if they’re not more trouble than they’re worth. In charge of a billeting party of them in advance of the king’s main army, I was careless enough to leave them unattended while I checked the stabling for my horse. I should have known better. I hope you can forgive me, Lady, for I find it hard to forgive myself.’
After promising to arrange for armed protection for her house when the army should arrive, the officer departed with his troop — chastened after receiving a savage tongue-lashing.
The first intimation of the Persians’ approach was a wall of dust extending along the horizon to the north-east. At last the van could be distinguished — company after company of cataphracts in glittering armour; before it, borne by white-clad priests, flew the Drafsh-i-Kavyan, the huge Sassanian royal flag, its gold and silver cloth encrusted with gems.
For hour upon hour the Persian host streamed onto the level ground before the city, not being finally assembled until mid-afternoon, its presence indicated by a sea of tents extending from the banks of the Orontes to the fringes of the coastal plain. Khusro himself, accoutred as a cataphract (following the custom of Persian commanders), his silvered carapace of articulated plates blazing in the sun, advanced with his entourage of satraps, generals and attendants to the suburb of Daphne. Here, villas had already been commandeered by advance parties for their residence, and Prudentius and his staff were already installed.
The latter group, plus the citizens of Daphne (which included Macedonia, whose house was now under guard, as the Persian officer had promised), were invited to meet the Great King. Fearful yet curious, they obeyed the politely veiled command, finding the king seated on a throne before his retinue, a short distance from the city walls, its ramparts crowded with excited Antiochans. The throne was flanked on one side by a curious iron tripod, on the other, ominously, by a gibbet.