Aurelian drew in breath. Ballista put a hand on his arm to stop him saying anything. As Ballista indicated for the gifts to be presented, it occurred to him again that his friend 'hand-to-steel' was far from an ideal ambassador.
'Delightful,' Shapur said as he casually inspected the cunningly wrought precious metals. 'I always admire the way Roman diplomacy is blind to irony.' He kicked Mariades none too gently, and he scrambled away. 'I will accept this tribute.'
Before Ballista could stop him, Aurelian snapped angrily. 'Gifts! Rome pays tribute to no one!'
In the terrible silence that followed, Shapur thrummed the string of his bow. Then he smiled. 'I have been told about you. You are the great killer of Sarmatians and Franks. I admire spirit in an opponent. To you, I will give suitable gifts.' At his gesture, a servant handed Aurelian a sacrificial saucer engraved with an image of the sun god. 'I thought you might find it suitable,' said Shapur. 'And, possibly, also this.' There was a loud trumpeting. The ground shook. An enormous elephant swayed into view. 'He is called Peroz, Victory. I give him to you. His mahout as well.'
As Aurelian stared, open-mouthed, Shapur turned to Quietus. 'To each his deserts. For you, this sack of gold.' Quietus started to stammer what might have been thanks. Shapur cut him off.
The Sassanid gestured at Ballista with the bow. 'But to you, the ungodly defiler of fire at Circesium, I give nothing. You are an envoy. But if we meet again when you are not protected by that status, it will not be good for you.'
Shapur rose. Everyone hurried to prostrate themselves. 'Tell Valerian there will be no truce. I long to test the strength of my arm against his. There will be only war. You will return to Samosata tomorrow.' The torches along the via principalis, the main thoroughfare, of the first Roman marching camp south of the Euphrates guttered and flared in the remains of the storm. The south wind threw gusts of rain into Ballista's face, tugged at his cloak. The foul weather matched his mood as he splashed through the puddles to the imperial headquarters.
The plague had abated. The pious put it down to the sagacious immolation of fifty-three Christians. But if the gods had been pleased, they had given no other sign today as the expedition moved out. At dawn, during the ceremony of purification on the citadel of Samosata, the slimy, grey ropes of sacrificial intestines had slithered slowly and irretrievably out of the hands of the emperor. Valerian had done what he could to dissipate the omen: 'This is what comes of being old, but I can hold my sword tightly enough.' His words had elicited a half-hearted cheer. As the emperor went to leave, a servant had draped a black cloak around his shoulders. It had been some moments before Valerian had realized and called for the correct, purple one.
As the last of the army crossed the river, the storm hit: thunder, lightning, driving rain. A savage gust had torn free one of the rafts of the pontoon bridge. 'Be of good cheer,' Valerian had shouted, 'None of us will come back this way again.' His words were received in silence as the rain beat down.
Just before Ballista had left his tent, the first rations of the campaign had been delivered: lentils and salt – the food of mourning, offerings to the dead. Ballista suspected a malign hand. The Comes Sacrarum Largitionum was responsible for the imperial wardrobe; the Praefectus Annonae was in charge of provisions – but Macrianus could not be blamed for the trembling of the aged hands of the emperor or the fury of the elements.
Ballista stepped aside to let a troop of Equites Singulares pass. The cavalrymen were hunched in cloaks dark with the rain. Their horses' heads drooped, their sides ran with water.
Ballista would have one less friend at the consilium now Aurelian was gone. The failure of the embassy had done neither of them any good. Ballista knew it had been designed to fail. The northerner himself was unwelcome to the Zoroastrian Sassanids as the man who had burned their dead at Circesium. Aurelian was renowned for his lack of tact and short temper. Presumably, Quietus had been included to keep an eye on them. It had been a cunning move on the part of the Persian king to send no gifts to Valerian but to hand regal ones to Aurelian. As soon as they had returned to Samosata, the Danubian had presented the elephant to Valerian. But the suspicion had been sown. It could be no coincidence that Aurelian had been precipitously posted away to the court of Gallienus in the far west.
There was something else about the embassy that worried Ballista. When they first met the Persians, Vardan had said something like 'We have been expecting you.' And there were the words of Shapur himself as he gave the sacrificial saucer engraved with an image of the sun god to its devotee Aurelian: 'I thought you might find it suitable.' Was Macrianus actually in touch with the enemy? Had the evil, lame bastard hoped that the Sassanid king would not respect Ballista's diplomatic immunity, hoped that the northerner would not return at all but die a horrible death of eastern refinement?
Cold and wet, Ballista walked on. At least this would be the last council of war which Macrianus would attend, as he was remaining in Samosata, safe. Surely his creature Maeonius Astyanax and his repulsive son Quietus could not exercise the same control over Valerian? And while Macrianus might be plotting the overthrow of the aged emperor, even he could not want to bring about the destruction of the whole army. Not with his son in its ranks.
The praetorians outside the imperial pavilion came to attention smartly. A silentarius escorted Ballista into the vestibule. The rain lashed at the material of the roof. The ab Admissionibus appeared. 'Cledonius, a word in private,' said Ballista.
The long, thin face peered around. 'No. We have nothing to say to each other.' The big eyes looked hunted. 'Nothing at all,' Cledonius said loudly, and turned to lead Ballista into the inner sanctum.
Inside, Ballista dropped to his knees and kissed the ring the emperor proffered. Valerian did not look at him. Ballista rose and stepped back. It was a small, intimate consilium; not much above a dozen men. As custom dictated, the praetorian prefect was at the emperor's right hand. As was now normal, Macrianus was leaning on a walking stick at his left. Ballista froze at the sight of the man beyond Macrianus: the receding hairline, the turned-down eyes matching the turned-down mouth, the yellow-on-blue four-petal-flower embroidery – what in all the names of the Allfather was Anamu doing here?
Valerian nodded fondly at Macrianus, who began to speak. 'The wisdom of the emperor's pious actions against the atheists who worship the crucified Jew have made the gods smile on us again. The plague is gone. Now we have further proof of divine love. A loyal friend has returned to us. You all know how bravely Anamu fought at Arete. After the fall of that town, the Sassanids captured his wife and family. They threatened them with unspeakable tortures if he did not serve their vainglorious king. Despite this, Marcus Clodius Ballista can confirm how Anamu turned the Persians away at the Horns of Ammon.'
Thrown, Ballista muttered that Anamu had run with the Sassanids.
Macrianus continued. 'Now Anamu has put his love for Rome and love for our sacred emperor even above that for his family and has come covertly to tell us the secrets of the enemy.' He gestured Anamu forward.
'Most noble Valerian, Comites Augusti, I bring you good news. Shapur's siege of Edessa is in disarray. Every day the inhabitants sally out with swords in hand. The Persians die in droves. They do not know which way to turn. Their beds bring them no rest from fear and danger. Now is the moment for Rome to strike. The road between Samosata and Edessa is rough and rocky. The Sassanid cavalry cannot operate there. They cannot stop us reaching the plains before Edessa and, when we come there, they will run like sheep.'
Ballista took a deep breath and stepped forward. 'It is not true. I was at Edessa but twelve days ago. The inhabitants did not stir. The gates were blocked with stones. They could not venture out. And the country between us and Edessa is not as rocky as men say. Over most of it, cavalry can manoeuvre with ease.'