King of Kings

Ballista patted him on the shoulder. 'I am afraid not. They are going to have lunch.'

Unfortunately, Ballista was only partly right. A large group of Sassanid light horse rode off to the south of the hill and dismounted. Soon, the first coils of smoke rose up from the dry brushwood. The easterners got back in the saddle and spurred away. The strong south wind drove the line of fire towards the Romans.

Leaving the injured Calgacus, Demetrius and two of the Dalmatian troopers to guard their horses, Ballista led the others, stumbling down the hill and out in front of the line of shields. He called to the nearby centurions to lend a hand. They ignored him.

The brushwood was dry and tough. It was hard to cut with swords. The thorns shredded Ballista's soft leather riding gloves, cut his hands, lacerated his bare forearms. Looking up, he was relieved to see Camillus had brought out some of his remaining men. Squads of others were being chivvied by officers to join in.

The smoke was rolling towards them, the dry bushes crackling, the fire drawing closer. The work was slow and painful. Ballista's back ached like hell. The hilt of his sword was slippery with blood. He could feel the heat of the fire on his face.

'Enough.' Maximus' hand was on Ballista's arm. The fire was only a few paces away, but there was a narrow firebreak. The northerner followed the others back.

For the Romans, the midday meal was a miserable affair. They sat on the ground. Many had no food or drink at all. Maximus passed round some air-dried meat. Ballista's mouth was too dry to chew it. They shared out the last of their water. Apart from one gulp, which he held in his mouth for as long as possible, Ballista gave his to Pale Horse. Then he forced himself to eat the tough shreds of meat. Smuts drifted down, further dirtying already grimy Roman clothes and armour. The smoke blew into their faces, gritting eyes, choking breathing. Men stamped and beat where glowing embers carried on the wind had sparked small fires. The remaining horses shifted unhappily.

The Sassanids were having an altogether better time. On the hills, there was music, dancing even. They sang – not paeans of praise, but drinking songs. Some of them taunted the Romans, waving skins of drink, bread and meat.

At length, as the easterners saw to their horses, a lone horseman left the group under the Drafsh-i-Kavyan. He picked his way down the opposite slope. When he reached the floor of the valley, he kicked on into a gallop. Coloured streamers floated behind him. This man Ballista recognized from the siege of Arete. It was the Lord Suren.

Asking Turpio if he would mind staying with the men, Ballista walked across the hillside to stand behind Valerian. Slowly, the Comites Augusti assembled. Quietus was last, until the very final moment whispering urgently with some centurions.

The Suren held an unstrung bow over his head. When he was a stone's throw from the Roman line, he caracoled his mount to a halt. He took off his helmet and hung it on the horn of his saddle. He wore make-up, his face shone with a clean, almost feminine beauty but, when he spoke, his voice was masculine, that of a warrior.

'Shapur, King of Kings, lord of all he surveys, would speak with Valerian.' The Suren spoke in Greek. 'Shapur will ride down to meet Valerian in the open between the armies. Each will be accompanied by five men. None shall be armed.'

There was a breathless hush on the hillside. Squaring his shoulders, Valerian stepped forward. 'A Roman imperator does not come running when a barbarian calls.'

There was a murmur from the troops around the emperor. Then soldiers started to bang weapons on their shields. The first shouts came. 'Meet him.' 'You expect us to fight him, but you dare not even talk to him.' 'Old coward, meet him.' Officers barked orders, took names. It did no good. The core of the shouting came from those with whom Quietus had been whispering. Meet him. Meet him.

Valerian looked around coldly at the mutineers. In truth, the old man had never been a coward. He tried to stare them down. It did not work. Meet him. Meet him.

The silver-haired emperor turned back to the Persian envoy. He answered in Latin. 'Tell your dominus it shall be as he asks. I will meet him in half an hour between the armies.' Valerian turned away. Calling just Censorinus and Quietus to him, he abruptly dismissed the rest of the Comites Augusti.

XXXI

Ballista was walking back to Turpio and the others when he heard the horses coming up behind him. He stopped and turned. Quietus skidded his horse to a halt, so close that Ballista had to step back hurriedly or be knocked over. The other three riders encircled the northerner. They were Arabs. They carried short spears at the ready. All wore the yellow-on-blue four-petal-flower symbol of Anamu. They effectively screened Ballista from the surrounding troops on the hillside.

'Get your horse. You have the honour of being one of the five Comites who will ride with the Augustus. Your amicus Turpio goes too.' The little pouchy eyes of Quietus shone with malicious triumph.

Ballista stepped closer. The Arabs raised their spears. Ballista stopped. He flatly intoned, 'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.'

Visibly angered by the northerner's lack of emotion, Quietus leaned forward. 'At every command we will be ready,' he mocked. 'You ignorant piece of barbarian shit. The weakness and arrogance of your kind have led you to be always ready to carry out every command of my father. Although you did not know it, you have done his will as if you were his most loyal slave.'

Ballista said nothing.

Quietus' pride and loathing for the northerner made his words run on. 'You did what he wished back in Ephesus. Your weakness unmanned you, stopped you killing the Christian scum, opened the way for my appointment.'

Still Ballista did not respond.

'Did you not wonder why you were recalled for this expedition? My father knew that your arrogance would always make you speak out against his advice in the emperor's consilium. And what could be better at swinging that old fool Valerian to follow the wise words of his most trusted friend, the Comes Sacrarum Largitionum, than a disgraced, possibly disloyal barbarian arguing the opposite? Every time you spoke you were fitting the lid on Valerian's sarcophagus a little tighter.' Quietus snorted with humourless laughter. 'If, of course, Shapur does not use his head as a stage prop and throw his body to the dogs.'

'Your father and his creatures have manoeuvred the emperor and the army to disaster.' Ballista held his voice level. 'It is a consolation that you will go down with us.'

Now Quietus' laugh was genuine. 'Oh, you are misinformed, as ever, my barbarian amicus. Just now, Censorinus and I received the most sagacious emperor's orders to ride to Samosata and inform my father how things stand with the army in the field.'

'The Persians will kill you both before you get out of the valley.'

'Oh dear, again you are misinformed. It has all been arranged by these men's master. Even among Arabs, Anamu is splendidly resourceful. During Valerian's talk with Shapur, a mere shout of Perez-Shapur and the Sassanid patrols will fall back and allow a small troupe of horsemen from the Roman army to go on its way unhindered. We should be in Samosata in time for breakfast.'

'No one will accept you and your brother as emperors. Valerian's son Gallienus has the western army, good generals. He will kill both of you, and your scheming father.'

Quietus shrugged. 'With the Franks, Goths and the rest of your hairy kinsmen rampaging across the northern borders, I imagine he will be rather busy. Now, although I am deriving great pleasure from our conversation, I really have to leave. Breakfast in Samosata. I wonder what prisoners get in the Persian camp?'

'I go as an envoy.'

'Hmm, yes, it saved you last time. I wonder if it will again? The King of Kings might be thought to have little love for a man who burned the corpses of his devout Zoroastrians at Circesium. Now I am rather glad that the assassin I hired in Edessa was as inept as the one in Antioch. Anyway, I really must be off.' Quietus half-turned his horse. 'When I get back to Antioch I will give my love to your wife.'