The Blood of Rome
Simon Scarrow
Copyright © 2018 Simon Scarrow
The right of Simon Scarrow to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published in Great Britain in 2018
by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
First published as an Ebook in 2018
by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
All characters – other than the obvious historical figures – in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
eISBN: 978 1 4722 5834 2
Cover illustration by Larry Rostant
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
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50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Simon Scarrow
Praise
About the Book
Dedication
Map of the Frontier
Praetorian Guard Chain of Command
Cast List
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Author’s Note
Don’t miss the other Eagles of the Empire books
About the Author
Simon Scarrow has been passionate about writing since an early age. After a childhood spent travelling the world, he pursued his great love of history as a teacher before becoming a full-time writer. His Roman soldier heroes Cato and Macro first appeared in 2000 in UNDER THE EAGLE, and have subsequently fought their way through many bestselling novels, including DAY OF THE CAESARS, INVICTUS and THE GLADIATOR.
Simon Scarrow is also the author of the novels YOUNG BLOODS, THE GENERALS, FIRE AND SWORD and THE FIELDS OF DEATH, chronicling the lives of the Duke of Wellington and Napoleon Bonaparte, and of SWORD & SCIMITAR, the epic tale of the 1565 Siege of Malta, as well as HEARTS OF STONE, set in Greece during the Second World War. He is the co-author with T. J. Andrews of Roman era bestsellers INVADER and ARENA, and the co-author with Lee Francis of the contemporary thriller PLAYING WITH DEATH.
To find out more about Simon Scarrow and his novels, visit
www.simonscarrow.co.uk and www.catoandmacro.com.
@SimonScarrow
/officialsimonscarrow
By Simon Scarrow
The Eagles of the Empire Series
The Britannia Campaign
Under the Eagle (AD 42–43, Britannia)
The Eagle’s Conquest (AD 43, Britannia)
When the Eagle Hunts (AD 44, Britannia)
The Eagle and the Wolves (AD 44, Britannia)
The Eagle’s Prey (AD 44, Britannia)
Rome and the Eastern Provinces
The Eagle’s Prophecy (AD 45, Rome)
The Eagle in the Sand (AD 46, Judaea)
Centurion (AD 46, Syria)
The Mediterranean
The Gladiator (AD 48–49, Crete)
The Legion (AD 49, Egypt)
Praetorian (AD 51, Rome)
The Return to Britannia
The Blood Crows (AD 51, Britannia)
Brothers in Blood (AD 51, Britannia)
Britannia (AD 52, Britannia)
Hispania
Invictus (AD 54, Hispania)
The Return to Rome
Day of the Caesars (AD 54, Rome)
The Eastern Campaign
The Blood of Rome (AD 55, Armenia)
The Wellington and Napoleon Quartet
Young Bloods
The Generals
Fire and Sword
The Fields of Death
Sword and Scimitar (Great Siege of Malta)
Hearts of Stone (Second World War)
The Gladiator Series
Gladiator: Fight for Freedom
Gladiator: Street Fighter
Gladiator: Son of Spartacus
Gladiator: Vengeance
Writing with T. J. Andrews
Arena (AD 41, Rome)
Invader (AD 44, Britannia)
Writing with Lee Francis
Playing With Death
Praise
‘Blood, gore, political intrigue . . . A historical fiction thriller that’ll have you reaching for your gladius’ Daily Sport
‘A new book in Simon Scarrow’s series about the Roman army is always a joy’ The Times
‘Gripping . . . ferocious and compelling, it is a story of blood, romance and sacrifice’ Daily Express
‘I really don’t need this kind of competition . . . It’s a great read’ Bernard Cornwell
‘A satisfying bloodthirsty, bawdy romp . . . perfect for Bernard Cornwell addicts who will relish its historical detail and fast-paced action. Storming stuff!’ Good Book guide
‘Scarrow’s [novels] rank with the best’ Independent
‘A fast-moving and exceptionally well-paced historical thriller’ BBC History Magazine
‘Rollicking good fun’ Mail on Sunday
‘[Simon Scarrow] blends together the historical facts and characters to create a book that simply cannot be put down . . . Highly recommended’ Historical Novels Review
About the Book
It is AD 55. As trouble brews on the eastern fringes of the Roman Empire, Tribune Cato and Centurion Macro must prepare for war . . .
The Wily Parthian Empire has invaded Armenia, a frontier territory claimed by Rome, ousting King Rhadamistus. The king is ambitious and ruthless, but he is vital to Rome’s strategic interests. General Corbulo must restore him to power, while also readying the troops for war with the powerful Parthian Empire. Corbulo orders new arrivals Cato and Macro, and their elite cohort of Praetorian Guards, to carry out the task.
Marching into unmapped and unfamiliar terrain to restore an unpopular king is a perilous mission. Allies cannot be trusted and foes lurk on all sides. The bravery and skill of the Roman army will be tested to the limit . . .
For Colour Sergeants Coates and Hillary,
and all the ot
her modern-day Macros.
Cast List
Quintus Licinius Cato: Tribune in command of the Second Cohort of the Praetorian Guard
Lucius Cornelius Macro: Senior centurion of the Second Cohort of the Praetorian Guard, a tough veteran
General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo: Recently appointed commander of the armies of the eastern Empire
Ummidius Quadratus: Governor of Syria
Gaius Amatus Pinto: Quaestor in the governor’s retinue
Praetorian Guard
Ignatius, Nicolis, Metellus, Petillius, Placinus, Porcino: Centurions
Marcellus, Gannicus, Tertius: Optios
Centurion Spiracus Keranus: Promoted by Cato to command the Balearic slingers
Rutilius: Standard-bearer
Auxiliaryman Gaius Glabius: A Balearic slinger
Titus Borenus: A legionary
Parthia
King Vologases: King of Parthia
General Sporaces: Parthian general
Abdagases: Royal treasurer
Prince Vardanes: Eldest and favourite son of King Vologases, and heir to the Parthian throne
Mithraxes: Armenian ambassador to the Parthian court
Armenia
Rhadamistus: Iberian prince, and the recently deposed king of Armenia
King Tiridates: Brother of King Vologases, and recently installed by him as the new king of Armenia
Arghalis: Chamberlain at Tiridates’ court
Narses: One of Rhadamistus’s retinue, appointed as interpreter and liaison officer between the Iberians and the Romans
Zenobia: Rhadamistus’s wife
Bernisha: Servant girl in Rhadamistus’s retinue, taken pity on by Cato
Iberia
King Pharasmanes: King of Iberia, father of Rhadamistus
Others
Lucius: Son of Cato, something of a handful . . .
Petronella: Nurse to Lucius, and a woman to be reckoned with
Yusef: Silversmith, and landlord to Cato
Graniculus: Quartermaster to the Roman garrison at Bactris
CHAPTER ONE
Ctesiphon, capital city of the Parthian Empire,
March, AD 55
The setting sun lit up the broad stretch of the Tigris river, so that it gleamed like molten gold against the pale orange of the sky. The air was still and cool, and the last clouds of the thunderstorm that had drenched the city had passed to the south, leaving the faintest odour of iron in the gathering dusk. The servants of the royal palace were scurrying about their duties as they prepared the riverside pavilion for that evening’s meeting of the king and his council to discuss the latest Roman threat to Parthia. They were urged on by the impatient shouts and blows from the chamberlain, a thin rake of a man, prematurely grey with the anxiety that came from attending the irascible ruler of an empire that stretched from the banks of the Indus to the borders of the Roman province of Syria. King Vologases was a man bent on reviving the grandeur of Parthia and was not prepared to suffer anyone who stood in the way of his destiny, to the smallest degree. Neither rebellious noble, nor clumsy or inefficient servant. The last chamberlain had failed to ensure that the food served at a banquet had been sufficiently hot when it reached the royal table. For that he had been flogged almost to death before being thrown into the street. The current chamberlain was determined not to follow his example, and so he cursed and beat his underlings as they set up the divans, piled fuel by the braziers and hung thick embroidered screens on three sides of the pavilion. The fourth was left open for the king and his guests to enjoy the view of the river as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and the stars came out and shimmered on the dark waters of the river.
When the last silk cushions had been carefully deployed, the servants backed to the side of the enclosed space and waited as the chamberlain scrutinised their work and bent to make a handful of minor adjustments until satisfied that there was nothing his master could take exception to. Not that Vologases was inclined to closely inspect every detail of the luxury he was accustomed to living within. Still, the chamberlain mused, better to be scrupulous than take the slightest risk of incurring the king’s wrath. Having completed his inspection, he clapped his hands loudly.
‘Away, you dogs! Bring the fruit and wine.’
As they began to trot away, he turned to his assistant. ‘And you, tell the kitchen master to have the meal readied to be served the instant I give the word.’
His assistant, a younger, corpulent man who no doubt aspired to replace him, nodded and scurried away. The chamberlain cast another look round at the handiwork of his staff and then stood in front of the king’s dais and narrowed his eyes as he inspected the large divan, cushions and covers minutely. He leaned forward to ease out a crease in the cloth and then stood back and folded his arms in satisfaction. Then, uncharacteristically, he gave a thin smile and glanced around warily. But he was quite alone. It was a rare moment in his life, consumed as it was with the myriad duties of his post. The interlude would be brief enough before the servants returned with the fruit and wine, along with the royal taster, who would sample each bowl and jar at the behest of the chamberlain to ensure that King Vologases would be able to eat and drink safely. Vast and enduring though Parthia was, the empire’s rulers were less enduring, regularly falling victim to the plots of powerful nobles, or the ambitions of members of the royal family.
The chamberlain breathed deeply as he smiled at the royal divan and felt an almost irresistible urge to bound forward and throw himself upon its silk cushions, unobserved. It would be the act of a moment and no one would ever know. His heart quickened at the prospect of such an extraordinary breach of protocol, and for a few breaths he tottered on the brink of temptation. Then he drew himself back and covered his mouth in horror at the thought of what would become of him if the king ever discovered what he had done. Although the chamberlain was quite alone, the fear of his master ruled his heart and he quailed at his fleeting madness. With an anxious gasp he hurried to the top of the steps leading down to the gardens either side of the path that stretched towards the bulk of the palace. The first of the servants was returning, laden with a large silver platter of figs, dates and other fine fruits.
‘Run, you idle dog!’ the chamberlain snapped, and the man broke into a trot as he struggled not to upset the arrangement on the platter.
The chamberlain took a last look at the setting and offered a quick prayer to Mithras that his master would find nothing amongst the arrangements to displease him.
When the king and his small retinue emerged from the palace, the sun had slipped beyond the horizon and a band of bronze sky stretched across the shadowy landscape across the river. Above, the bronze gave way to violet and the dark velvet of night, where the first stars glittered like tiny specks of silver. A party of bodyguards marched in front, armed with lances and wearing their flowing, richly embroidered trousers tucked into their leather ankle boots. Scale armour cuirasses and conical helmets gleamed in the light of the torches and braziers burning either side of the path. But their appearance was as the basest metal to the purest gold compared to the magnificence of their master. Vologases was a tall, well-built man with a broad brow and square jaw, made to look more square still by the meticulous trimming of his dark beard. His eyes were equally dark, like polished ebony, which lent his gaze a formidable intensity. Yet there appeared to be humour in his expression too. His lips lifted at the very edges so that he smiled when he spoke in his deep, warm voice. And, indeed, he was capable of wit and kindness, alongside his wisdom and ambition, and his soldiers and his people regarded him with loyal affection. But those who knew him well were wary of the mercurial change in mood that he was capable of and smiled when he smiled and stood in rigid, fearful silence when he raged.
This night his mood was sombre. News had reached the Parthian capital that Emperor Claudius was dead, murdered, and that he had been succeeded by his adopted son, Nero. The question for Vologases was how the change of reign might affect t
he strained relationship between Parthia and Rome, a relationship that had soured in recent years. The cause, as ever, was the fate of Armenia, the hapless border kingdom caught between the ambitions of Rome and Parthia. Some four years earlier a pretender to the Armenian throne, Prince Rhadamistus of the neighbouring kingdom of Iberia, had invaded Armenia, killed the king and his family, and installed himself as the new ruler. Rhadamistus had proved to be as cruel as he was ambitious, and the Armenians had appealed to Vologases to save them from the tyrant. So he had led his army against Rhadamistus, who fled his capital, and placed his brother Tiridates on the throne. It was a provocation, Vologases knew, since Rome had regarded Armenia as within the Roman sphere of power for over a hundred years now. The Romans were not likely to regard Parthia’s intervention favourably.
The chamberlain, who had been waiting at the entrance, bowed to the waist as the party climbed the steps into the pavilion. The bodyguards took their positions outside, except for the two largest men, who stationed themselves either side of the king’s dais. Vologases eased himself down on to the divan and settled comfortably before he gestured to the members of his high council.
‘Be seated.’
In a formal setting his guests would have remained standing before their master, but Vologases had deliberately chosen the pavilion and put court protocol aside to encourage his subordinates to speak freely. Once they were seated on the divans, the king leaned forward, plucked a fig from his platter and took a bite, thus giving permission for the others to eat as they wished.
Vologases tossed the half-eaten fruit back on the platter and gazed round at his guests: Sporaces, his finest general; Abdagases, the royal treasurer; and Prince Vardanes, the eldest son of the king and heir to the Parthian throne. An ambassador from Tiridates completed the gathering: a younger man, about the same age as the prince, Mithraxes by name.
‘We’ve little time to waste, my friends,’ Vologases announced. ‘So you’ll pardon me for dispensing with any small talk. You’ve all heard the news from Rome. We have a new emperor to contend with. Nero.’
‘Nero?’ Sporaces shook his head. ‘Can’t say that I recall the name, sire.’
