Justinian

inside Palmyra, or engage the enemy. Should he decide on the former, he could probably hold out, for a time anyway, against any siege that Tamshapur (for it was almost certainly he who commanded the approaching army) might decide to mount. Palmyra’s walls were strong; but even if they fell, the garrison could then retreat to the virtually impregnable citadel to await eventual relief by a Roman field army. The trouble with that choice was that it would allow Tamshapur to take over the diocese unchallenged, leaving Palmyra isolated within enemy-occupied territory — territory which Rome might, quite conceivably, find itself unable to recover. The other alternative was to take on the Persians — a David and Goliath stance if ever there was, and one that must surely end in annihilation for his tiny force, Roderic reflected gloomily. Clearly, in this situation two heads would be better than one. He would pick the brains of Victor, his trusty vicarius or second-in-command; his opinions were always worth listening to.

Victor Marcellinus — great-grandson of the famous soldier-turned-historian, Ammianus Marcellinus, and vicarius of the Numerus Euphratensis, strode along Palmyra’s Great Colonnade — the magnificent mile-long avenue flanked by Corinthian columns which connected the former Royal Palace (now pressed into service as barracks) with the agora and the citadel. As, responding to a summons from his commanding officer, Victor made his way towards the citadel, he reflected on Palmyra’s chequered history. In past centuries the place had been the capital of an independent city-state, handling most of the trade between the Roman Empire in the west, and Persia, India, and China, in the east — successfully playing off Rome against Persia, while somehow managing to remain friends with both. Then, a little over two hundred years ago, Palmyra’s queen — a formidable lady called Zenobia, taking advantage of a succession crisis in Rome, had invaded Syria and Egypt, both Roman possessions. This proved to be a serious mistake. A strong Roman emperor, Aurelian, arose, who, after restoring stability at home, descended on Palmyra with several legions, crushed the forces of the upstart queen, and integrated the place fully into the Roman Empire. However, though no longer independent, Palmyra — thanks to its being the focal point of key trade routes and its proximity to the Persian border — remained of vital economic and strategic importance. Whoever controlled Palmyra held the balance of power between Persia and Rome.

Returning the salutes of soldiers that he passed, Victor sensed from their demeanour that a mood of excitement mingled with foreboding was spreading throughout the Numerus Euphratensis. The frontier unit was largely made up of raw recruits, its seasoned veterans having been drafted into the field army of the Diocese of Oriens, posted north as a result of the Isaurian crisis. Wryly acknowledging to himself that officers were usually the last to know about the origins of army rumours, Victor wondered what could be the cause of the strange mood.

‘Seems we’re between Scylla and Charybdis, sir,’ commented Victor, when Roderic had apprised him of the situation.

‘Silla and Caribs?’ The general stared at his vicarius with a puzzled frown.

‘Sorry, sir,’ apologized Victor, mentally kicking himself for his lapse. It was easy to forget that, unlike the vast majority of East Romans — heirs to a culture rooted in Homer and Greek mythology — classical allusions would be lost on Roderic, a Goth from the remote backwoods province of Dardania. He reminded himself of Roderic’s background.

Despite the migration to the West of the two great branches of the Gothic people — the Visigoths and the Ostrogoths — pockets of the tribe remained inside the Roman Empire (now consisting only of its surviving Eastern half): a tolerated minority, technically Roman citizens, but both resented and despised by the host nation. Following his arrival in Constantinople, the young barbarian had climbed the slippery pole of military promotion, ignoring racial slurs and put-downs by ‘proper Romans’, to rise, through sheer courage, perseverance, and aptitude, to the position of a respected general in the finest army in the world.

Victor regarded his commander’s homely face, fringed by a stubbly beard (very un-Roman) and topped by a thatch of straw-coloured hair, with mingled affection and concern. Unless Roderic could come up with a miraculous plan to counter Tamshapur’s move, then this year of the consul Paulus* (no Western candidate this year) could well see the end, not only of the general’s career, but in all likelihood of his life as well — consequences that applied in equal measure to both of them, Victor suddenly realized with a sense of chill foreboding.

‘In legend, sir,’ explained Victor, in response to the general’s query, ‘Scylla and Charybdis were sea-monsters, waiting either side of the Straits of Messina to drown unwary sailors. So the expression, “between Scylla and Charybdis” means — ’

‘- between a rock and a hard place,’ sighed Roderic. ‘Well, why the hell didn’t you say so?’ He shook his shaggy head and grinned ruefully. ‘You Romans — honestly. Now, about our Persian friend; any ideas? In plain Greek, if you don’t mind.’

‘He must be stopped, sir — if that’s at all possible. If we just sit tight in Palmyra, he’ll overrun the whole diocese. Our field armies in the north couldn’t possibly get here in time to intervene.’

‘My own thoughts precisely. Dispatch riders are already on their way to Constantinople and Isauria: a futile gesture, I fear. Any relieving force would arrive to find a Persian fait accompli.’ The general rose and began to pace the chamber, his brows furrowed in concentration. ‘On the face of it, Victor, for the Numerus Euphratensis to square up to Tamshapur seems like a recipe for suicide.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘But we have to try.’

‘Things may not be quite as bad as they look, sir,’ said Victor. ‘Elephants and cataphracts apart, Tamshapur’s obvious apparent advantage is enormous superiority in numbers. Now, if that could somehow be made to work against him. . It’s been done before: Alexander against Darius at Issus, Hannibal against Varro at Cannae, and, in more recent times, Fritigern’s Goths against our own troops at Adrianople. They all faced overwhelming odds, in situations which they managed to turn to their own advantage.’

‘We’d have to force them to fight on a narrow front,’ mused Roderic. ‘That way, they could only use a fraction of their strength at one time. It’s those elephants and cataphracts I’m most worried about. Especially elephants. Roman soldiers have always been terrified by the things, apparently. I’ve never encountered them myself, however; the Persians seem largely to have abandoned their use as being old-fashioned. Until now, that is. Help me out here, Victor; I’m sure your eminent ancestor, the great Ammianus, has something to say on the subject.’

‘Plenty, sir; unfortunately none of it of much use to us. In his account of Emperor Julian’s Persian campaign, he describes their war-elephants in, frankly, tedious detail. He appears to have been both fascinated and appalled by them. Horses don’t like their smell; as a cavalry officer, that would have bothered him. Maddeningly, he doesn’t explain how our troops dealt with them. Like a lot of historians, he skimps on tactical details as being somehow unworthy in the context of serious literary composition. Arrian, however, has a tip that could be useful; he tells how Alexander had spiked boards laid in the path of elephants. Their weak point is their feet — tender soles, you see.’

Noting the sudden look of distaste on the other’s face, Victor pressed on hurriedly. ‘But that could backfire. Scipio’s tactics against Hannibal at Zama are probably more helpful.’ (Despite Roderic’s carefully cultivated image of the hard, unsentimental soldier, Victor had long suspected that his commander had a softer side. Witness the general’s reluctance to expose the men under his command to unnecessary suffering or danger — a consideration that extended also to cavalry mounts and beasts of burden. Misinterpreted, such an attitude could incur a risk; an officer suspected of fastidium — squeamishness, could suddenly find his career going nowhere. Hence Roderic’s concern to maintain a persona of iron toughness.) ‘According to Polybius, sir,’ Victor continued, ‘when Hannibal gave the order for his elephants to charge. .

‘Eminence — the Romans have come out of Palmyra,’ announced the scout, kneeling before Tamshapur. ‘Two thousand at the most, drawn up in battle array not five miles distant. We caught one of their outriders.’ And he pointed to a captive Roman pinioned between two Persian soldiers.

This was the best possible news, gloated Tamshapur, dismissing the man. After dealing with the Romans’ puny force (the prisoner could prove useful here), he would occupy Palmyra, whose citizens, learning of the garrison’s fate, would scarcely dare to close the gates against the Persian host. With Palmyra secure and no one to oppose him, the whole Diocese of Oriens from the Euphrates to the Red Sea would fall into his hands like a ripe plum. And after Oriens — Egypt? The name of Tamshapur would then be forever remembered in the annals, as the commander who restored to Persia the lands filched centuries before by Alexander and since annexed by Rome. Filled with a sense of euphoric anticipation, Tamshapur gave the order for the army to advance.

When a distant line of dust-clouds signalled the Persian approach, the Numerus Euphratensis withdrew to the position which Roderic and Victor had reconnoitred a few days earlier.