crossed at Zeugma, and his resistance had been demolished. But Orodes was magnanimous in his forgiveness. He asked many questions about the invaders, complimented Silaces on his survival, and wondered how he might devise his own.
The Parthian king needed to take the measure of this man Crassus. And then he thought of that strutting little tyrant Apollonius. Let us see, he thought, if with this Roman, we are dealing with reason or ruthlessness. And in the meantime, Orodes gave orders for the nobles to gather their men at arms and prepare for war. To the cavalry stationed at Hatra, more than halfway between the palace and the invaders, he gave orders to remain close by that formidable citadel, and to redouble its recruiting efforts.
Crassus, having reassembled his legions after the brief engagement with Silaces, was systematically marching south down the Balissos, installing cohort after cohort in all the major Parthian towns: Dabana, Ichnae, Callinieum, Nicephorium. When news of the betrayal reached him, he unleashed Legions IV, V and VI to swarm over Zenodotium like hornets from an overturned nest.
Melyaket and I arrived with the general to find the retribution well underway. Dominus had been polite but unimpressed with the Parthian’s offer of assistance, reminding the young man that treachery was a spy’s stock in trade. His trust would have to be earned with more ‘proof’ than what Crassus himself had already surmised, that King Abgarus was an unknown quantity. In the meantime, the general instead invited Melyaket to learn how discipline, training and technique made a Roman army indomitable, giving him free passage to roam among us as he pleased, with equal freedom to come and go so that he could convince his masters of the futility of anything but a negotiated surrender. Even Cassius had to admit that when it came to Rome’s legions, an informed adversary was a pliant adversary.
The first spectacle to insist on our unwilling attention was the sight of our men hauling the executed Romans to a growing pyre where they were being stacked with military precision. Several soldiers were stripping the armor off the dead, leaving them barefoot, but decent in their tunics. Their weapons, possessions, tags and any medals were carefully inventoried and carted off by Cassius’ people. Other legionaries were coming out of Zenodotium carrying ladders, for while each and every one of them were experts at building ramparts, they had no wish to trample upon their fallen brothers.
There were twice as many Romans here now as there were ever civilians of this small walled city. Crassus sat atop his horse on a small rise overlooking the town. He stood by as every shop, home and plaza was stripped of anything of value. Shrieks, shouts and laughter rose on the flame-lit smoke that was visible in the eastern quarter of the town. Ox cart drivers cracked their whips, following legionaries door-to-door to fill their loads and withdraw before the grey stench unnerved their beasts. Men who resisted were killed, men and women too old to work were killed, any child who couldn’t stand on its own was killed. Women and girls were raped in situ.
I moved Apollo so that I could speak into my master’s ear, but found I was frantic, almost shouting. “Dominus! There is no one down there named Caesar!”
“Hold you tongue, Alexander, and close your eyes, if you cannot see this for what it is.” He was sitting tall and rigid, his arms locked across his muscled chest piece, his helmet obscuring most of his face.
“I am looking, dominus. But I cannot see the enemy.”
“Understand, Alexander. This is what latrunculi looks like when it is played off the board.”
“General Crassus,” Melyaket said. “Please have your commanders look at this.”
“He should not be here,” Cassius said. Ignoring the general’s orders to give Melyaket free rein, he pointed and two mounted legionaries interposed themselves between the Parthian and the general.
“Where did you get that?” Crassus asked. Dominus inspected the broken shaft and bloody, three-pronged point, then passed it to his legates. While we talked, Crassus wiped his hand on Eurysaces ebony neck.
“I pulled it from one of your legionaries,” Melyaket said. “Compare it to your own arrows. Your shafts are thinner, the heads lighter, less sharp.”
“True,” said Ignatius, his disdain evident, “but your archers will never get close enough for them to do any good. These are too heavy to have any range.” His other legates agreed.
“They are not my archers, but you are wrong, gentlemen. Parthian bows are better than