Vologases looked at the pair in distaste. ‘Which one told the Lie?’
One of the guards answered the question by pulling Bagoas’ head up by the hair.
‘Take his tongue, nose, ears and one eye; the other I shall allow him to keep so that he can always see his mutilation in reflection.’
Bagoas had not understood the Greek and it was more in startled surprise rather than agony that he screamed as the guard flashed his knife from his sheath and severed his left ear. His right ear quickly followed, slapping onto the marble as Bagoas’ screams intensified. The guard brought his knife to the base of the boy’s nose and with a savage heave sliced through flesh and cartilage to leave a blood-spurting orifice in the middle of Bagoas’ face. A second guard then squeezed Bagoas’ mouth, forcing it open with one hand and, brandishing a knife in the other, pierced the tip of his tongue and pulled it out; his mate’s wrist flicked down and with a gurgling wail Bagoas watched his tongue, quivering on the point of the knife, being taken away from him by a maniacally grinning guard. As Bagoas stared in catatonic horror at the macabre sight half his vision disappeared; but he barely registered the pain of his left eye being gouged out as his body and mind became rigid with shock.
‘Take him away and let it be known that they who give the Lie to the Great King will receive no mercy.’ As the bleeding, hyperventilating, mutilated boy was dragged away, leaving a trail of blood, Vologases turned his attention to the innkeeper shaking on the floor, his face rubbing in a pool of his own vomit. ‘To him I will give death; impale him.’
Writhing and shrieking, the innkeeper was hauled off and Vologases graced Vespasian with the slightest of smiles. ‘What was your purpose in seeking out Gobryas?’
‘I had hoped that if he’d received the gold he would repay the favour by helping me and my companions back to Judaea or Syria with one of his caravans.’
‘Would you have done this, Gobryas?’
‘Light of the Sun, I am in this man’s debt for, although his family kept my younger brother as a slave for such a long time, that was not by design. We all have slaves and those slaves all have families. It was not the fault of the purchaser that they came to own Ataphanes; it was the will of Ahura Mazda that he was spared death and enslaved. In all respects this man’s family have acted properly. I shall repay him and, if you would sanction it, give him passage west on my next caravan that leaves at the full moon.’
‘I do sanction it. Gobryas, you may take them and show them all hospitality until they leave.’
‘It shall be as you command, Light of the Sun.’ Gobryas bowed and backed away.
Vologases inclined his head a fraction. ‘Take your companions, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, and go with the light of Ahura Mazda shining upon you.’
‘My thanks, Light of the Sun,’ Vespasian said; and he meant it with all his heart. He found himself bowing to the Great King and then backed away in imitation of his new host. Magnus and Hormus got to their feet and also backed off, out through the door, past the writhing body of the innkeeper, his hands bound, struggling on his tip-toes to stop the pointed stake upon which he was perched intruding further up his rectum. As the doors to the audience chamber closed they turned and looked at each other and then at the man who had betrayed them, suffering so painfully.
‘Jupiter’s arse, cock and balls, that was close,’ Magnus whispered.
‘Yes,’ Gobryas agreed, ‘I have never known the Great King to be so merciful.’
Gobryas’ garden was cool and peaceful, its atmosphere calmed by the gentle patter of fountains and the trilling of songbirds. It was a garden in bloom; some of the plants were exotic to Vespasian’s eye and some familiar, but all shared a sweetness of scent that infused him with a sense of wellbeing. Over the last ten days since the interview with Vologases, Vespasian had sought refuge in this little paradise, healing the wounds of the long months of darkness that had been reopened by his brief reincarceration.
During this time he had had many conversations with his host and the two other surviving brothers of his late freedman; the family had proved courteous and surprisingly free from rancour and he answered their questions about Ataphanes’ life at Aquae Cutillae, the Flavian estate near Reate, fifty miles up the Via Salaria to the northeast of Rome. He told them of Ataphanes’ great friendship with his fellow freedman, Baseos the Scythian, who had also been a master of the bow; he spoke of their shooting competitions and their deadly accuracy with the weapon when it came to defending the estate from mule-thieves and runaway slaves. He also told the family of Baseos’ lack of interest in gold and how he had given all that he earned to Ataphanes. He confirmed that, as far as he knew, Baseos was still alive and he promised that he would extend an invitation to the old Scythian to visit the family and receive the honour due to such a good friend of the dead youngest son.
The talk of Aquae Cutillae and the doings of the freedmen there made him long to return home and enjoy the rural life for a while, a life of mule breeding, wine making and olive pressing. He began to yearn for the peace of the estate and also of his other one at Cosa that had been left to him by his grandmother, Tertulla. He was sure that his lot was not to retire to the country life, at least not yet, not until he had done all that he could to follow the path set out for him; however, he was weary and he promised himself six months to a year of tranquillity upon his return to Rome. It would be time to rest while he watched from a distance the battle to succeed Claudius unfold and to see whether Tryphaena’s grandiose scheme to secure both sides of her family in power would work. And then, if it did, how best to exploit the inevitable mayhem and misery that the incestuous reign of Nero and his mother Agrippina would bring. As he contemplated the realities of that, he began to think that perhaps he would be best served by remaining inconspicuous during that time; perhaps he would spend a few years on the estates after all.
It was as he was mulling these things over in the shade of a mature almond tree on the last afternoon before the caravan departed that a worried-looking Gobryas approached him accompanied by another man, grey of beard and with dewy eyes.
‘Vespasian, this is Phraotes,’ Gobryas said, showing courteous deference to the stranger.
Phraotes stepped forward and gave him the Parthian greeting-kiss of an equal, on the lips. ‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus, the Light of the Sun, Vologases, the King of Kings, commands that you join him to enjoy the sport provided by the game in his paradise.’
Vespasian clung onto the side of the two-horse chariot with his left hand as its driver steered around a majestic Cedar of Lebanon; in his right hand he hefted a light hunting spear over his shoulder as he gauged the ever-changing distance between him and the Persian Fallow Deer doe that both he and Vologases were chasing. Both chariots were driven with prodigious skill over the smoothly manicured lawns of the royal hunting paradise; the speed at which they travelled was exhilarating and Vespasian managed to forget the two horse archers following him with their bows ready to take him down should he threaten the Great King with his weapon. Vespasian had no intention of doing harm to Vologases but he understood the precaution; Vologases was showing him, as a Roman, a great deal of trust to allow him to bear both a bow and a spear in his presence.
The doe twisted to her left and Vespasian braced his knees as his vehicle swerved accordingly to keep the quarry to his right. He felt the wind pulling at his long beard and he smiled involuntarily at the thrill of the high-speed chase. As the chariot straightened up he glanced ahead to Vologases; the Great King stood tall on the platform of his chariot, ready to cast his spear; however, he looked back to Vespasian and with a small head gesture invited him to throw first.