‘It is an omen foretelling the coming of war,’ remarked Dobbai.
I was unconcerned. ‘We know all about the Romans.’
‘The omen does not allude to the Romans,’ she said. ‘Another threat arises.’
‘You mean Mithridates?’ asked Gallia.
Dobbai shook her head. ‘No, child, something more dangerous.’
I dismissed her ramblings. There was no greater threat than the Romans and we would be fully prepared to meet them when they attacked. Dobbai saw omens everywhere.
After breakfast I went with Gallia to the stables to collect our horses prior to riding to the training fields to hone our archery skills. I was just about to hoist myself into the saddle when a rider trotted into the courtyard. A guard held his reins as he slid from the saddle and reached into his saddlebag. I watched as he said something to the guard who pointed at me, then strode across the flagstones before halting in front of me and bowing his head.
‘A letter from King Gafarn, majesty.’
He held out a rolled parchment with a seal bearing the horse head crest of Hatra. Gallia stared at it as I broke the seal and unrolled it. I read the words, sighed deeply and closed my eyes.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
I opened my eyes and handed her Gafarn’s letter. From the top of the palace steps I saw Dobbai looking at me and my blood ran cold. She had been right: the raven had been an omen.
‘The Armenians have declared war on Parthia.’
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?’