Victoria slung her capsa over her shoulder and followed Verus, Longinus, Lysias, and Demetrius to a foward medical tent. Behind her, the town had been further fortified with ditches, as well as pontoon bridges across the rivers in case the army needed to escape. Ahead of her 10 legions, 8 auxilia and thousands of Armenians, Greeks and others awaited the Parthian advance.
The Parthian army, without large segments of its vaunted cavalry, spread out on the hills overlooking the town. Beyond them, for days, Juba and Lucius had cut off their supply lines, burned storage depots, killed pickets and outposts, stampeded and slaughtered animals, and created as much terror and confusion as they could. The Parthians were crippled as large segments of their cavalry were occupied elsewhere and their bowmen were low on arrows. The Romans had to seize this advantage now. For both armies, this was a must-win battle. There was no way out or back for either of them.
...
Bolt raised his arms and let an orderly drop a tunic over his head. It was made of white wool and calf-length, with a thin red stripe down the left side and around the edge indicating a Tribune Angusticlavis or officer cadet.
"If I stand up on the balls of my feet and don't touch my heels, we can get the toga on," Bolt said.
Crispinus helped him stand as two orderlies draped the semi-circle of white wool around hin and tucked it in place. An orderly paced a bronze torq around Bolt's neck with two stylized lion's heads on its ends. It had belonged to Old Marcus and then Gaius and was another link to Antony. The other orderly draped the toga over his head and onto his right shoulder. Thoughts of a burial shroud filled Bolt's mind. If things went wrong today, it would be just that. Bearers brought a litter into the room. Leaning on Crispinus, Bolt walked toward it.
"Don't faint, don't faint, don't faint," he whispered to himself with each pain-wracked step. He lay propped in the litter as Crispinus brought his jackal's head dagger in its sheath and put it beside him. One of Gaius' staffers entered the room and laid a box with the imperial seal on his lap.
"From the August One to you, Tribune," he said. "The formal presentation will be made later but your uncle wanted you to have it now and wear it for the day."
"Here we go with this," Bolt muttered. "Damn it."
He opened the box and saw the silver wreath and arm band. It could be worn even on occasions when wearing the wreath was impractical or inappropriate. He slipped the arm band onto his upper right arm below the ruined "SPQR" tattoo.
"That cancels out a lot," he said.
"The wreath cancels out all of it," Crispinus said.
Bolt let an orderly place it on his head and redrape the toga. As ready as he could be, the bearers carried the litter to the courtyard below, where the allied commanders and their staffs were assembled. Seeing the battle-hardened men around him, Bolt flushed beet-red. Artaxis of Armenia leaned down to him.
"No blushing like a schoolboy today, Tribune," he said. "Today you are Mark Antony. Act like it."
"Yes, Sir," Bolt said.
General Marcus mounted his horse and led them out of the palace complex and through the town. People cheered and Bolt heard the Armenian word for eagle shouted at him. He made eye contact and smiled at the Armenian townsfolk, who were just as terrified of the Parthians as he now was. The group followed General Marcus to a rise where his headquarters tent was placed. Somewhere below, Gaius and Alexander of Emessa waited to lead the advance. Marcus nodded to Bolt.
"On your mark, Tribune," he said.
Bolt drew the dagger from its sheath and jabbed its gleaming blade into the air.
"The army will advance!" he shouted. Buccinas blared and drums beat the charge.
...
Cornelius stood with the men of his century near the far left of the army. He was too far away to see the headquarters tent, though the cheering would let him know when General Marcus, Bolt, and Victoria were in position. He turned to his men and motioned for quiet.
"Listen up. Today we stay together and we fight together. We will get slings and arrows. But the moment we stop and hide behind our shields, we stop advancing. We have to move and kill anything else that's moving. Any one of you bastards that doesn't kill a hundred of them, I will make it up to you!"
He had overheard the conversation between Bolt and General Marcus and it confirmed everything he knew about Young Marcus. Generous, kind, unselfish, loyal to a fault, naive, enough brains to get in trouble, tart-tongued, and master of backhand thought and speech. There were ways a Centurion could be taken seriously and it had nothing to do with medals. In sending Cornelius back to the line, it also increased the chances of him being killed, but he doubted Bolt had thought that part through. Bolt meant well, wanted to benefit others, but he went the strangest ways of going about it. At least he tried.
Cornelius was not surprised Bolt had told the King of Parthia to screw off and had antagonized his captors. A more experienced soldier might have figured out some drivel to string the Parthians along, and realized who he was spouting off to. Bolt, a linear, A-to-B thinker, a man of his absolute honest word, living in that moment, had no clue. In his own way, he was as temperamental and reactive as the blooded horses he rode so well. He also did not understand that blaring his name and rank, particularly the Antonius part, rubbed salt in old wounds. Not everybody adored Mark Antony, Juba, and Lucius. That he was brave and born to play the part he would today was obvious. That he had added to their predicament and his own was also clear.
Cheering broke out along the Roman line as Gaius Antonius appeared. Unlike Lucius, who could be brutal and made no secret of his heritage and what he thought he was entitled to, Gaius was quiet, basic and humble. The men respected him as much as they disliked Lucius. That he had waded and slashed through rank after rank of Parthians to take his grievance to the top of their chain surprised and shocked everyone. Their esteem of him now knew no bounds. He would get them through this. Bolt would in time, Cornelius hoped, mature into a man like his father. Cornelius heard the bugles sounding.
"Let's go!" he shouted.
....
Marcus watched the action in the valley below the town. The lines were holding and making steady progress. On either wing, Juba and and Lucius were keeping the dreaded Parthian horsemen at bay. The bowmen and slingers were taking a toll on the allied army but the rate of fire was at a fraction of what it usually was for a Parthian army of this size. He was holding Commagene and Cappadocian heavy infantry in reserve, and did not have to commit them yet.
He stepped to a nearby rise to get a better view. Augurs were chanting and pouring libations near the spot where Bolt's litter rested. Bolt motioned to one of them and the Augur bent down to him. Bolt said something, the man nodded, and hurried back to the altar. Marcus came over to Bolt.
"Who did we forget, Tribune?" he asked.
"Epona for the Cavalry, Sir, Tyche for Antioch, and Nike," Bolt said.
Marcus shuddered, hoping these powerful goddesses were not too unhappy. Two more staffers approached him. Juba, in particular, was eager to put more pressure on Parthia's rear. Marcus gave the go-ahead and returned to the work table. A staffer pointed to the Parthian left.
"They're turning the line, Sir," he said.
Sure enough, the Emessans and other allies on the right had managed to come around the Parthian army, further separating it from their cavalry on that side. He went back to the rise.
"Come on, Gaius, turn the flank! Come on!"
He glanced back at Bolt, who was watching his father-in-law's men on the field. Bolt clasped his ruined hands together, his lips moving in prayer for the Emesssan advance. Marcus turned back to Gaius' side of the field. He was moving the Twelfth and Cohors II Italica around the Parthia right. Marcus hoped Juba and Lucius were taking note. It was time to turn the enemy army inside out.
On cue, he heard the buccinas blaring the charge. A wall of horsemen in wedge formation appeared behind the Parthians. Juba and Lucius struck the Parthian rear as pandemonium gripped the infantry. Surrounded by angry Romans and their allies, cohesion in Mithridates' ranks broke down entirely. He could see the young King and his staff trying to bring some units in line as most of their infantry milled around.
"Damn it! Yield!" he shouted.
"Should we send in a demand, Sir?" an aide asked.
"No," Marcus said. "They know what to do."
"They may not think we'll accept terms, Sir, given what's happened," The aide said.
"And maybe we shouldn't," Marcus said. "This is what happens when you beat and crucify someone unnecessarily."
...
Juba waded through struggling Parthian infantry. He could see men clustered in the distance and assumed that was where Mithridates was. If Lucius reached him, Juba had no doubt he would try for a spolio opima of his own. But Juba had no interest in a dead man's armor. He and his personal guard barreled through the crumbling Parthian defenses until he faced Mithridates.
"Surrender now!" he shouted. "No terms, no promises. If you don't, I'll kill you!"
Mithridates ordered his men to stop fighting and handed over his sword. Juba took it.
"Let them yield!" he shouted.
More and more Parthians dropped their weapons and knelt with their hands up. Marcus saw the surrender and knew Juba had taken Mithridates alive.
"Get Lady Victoria!" he called out.
He pointed to the nearest Roman legion, III Gallica, and sent a staffer to bring their vexillium or standard, with its life-like aquila and its battle honors.
"Tribune, I need you," he said to Bolt.
"Yes, Sir," Bolt said.
The Vexilifer and Aquilifer brought the Legion's standard with its eagle behind Bolt. Imaginefers with busts of Augustus and Tiberius took places on either side. Signifers with phalera or battle honors on round medallions on poles grouped around them. Bolt sat up on the litter, his damaged hands in his lap. The toga covered his bandaged feet. As Victoria came running, her father told her to pull the woolen cloth aside so Bolt's feet were visible.
She did so and went to stand by Marcus as Juba led Mithridates before him and tossed the Parthian King's sword on the ground. Mithridates was in his late twenties, a few years younger than Juba. Right now, he was facing the unthinkable. Victoria approached him. He sneered down at the tiny woman in a blood-smeared tunic and breeches whose dark eyes held the same defiant light as he had seen from her useless cousin so many times.
"Your Excellency, my father demands the complete surrender of your army, no terms or conditions."
He glared at her, then at Bolt.
"Your father hides behind women and children!" he said.
"Then, in torturing my cousin, your late father crucified a child," she said. "So my father is fully justified in doing the same to you. However, he intends to abide by the terms set forth in the accords of Divine Augustus. Do you agree?"
"I agree, but I demand the surrender of both Gaius and Young Marcus Antonius as hostages to guarantee Rome's non-agression. We will finish what we started with Young Marcus."
"No, you will not," Victoria said. "They are not for sale. They are Roman officers and my uncle's kingdom is a sovereign state. Do you agree to the integrity of Armenia?"
"I agree," he said.
"We can draw up the treaties for signature tomorrow," she said. "For now, you are the prisoner of the Prince of Mauretania, who remains my cousin's commanding officer."
Juba took Mithridates' arm and led him toward the litter.
"This is my cousin and his father," he said in Greek, which he knew Mithridates spoke.
Mithridates glared at Gaius and Bolt. He knew about the Eagle of Antioch absurdity and why was being shown a Roman standard and a crippled boy in a litter with a silly-looking silver circlet and his father standing by. Mithridates had not agreed with his father's fixation on the Antony family and had tried to convince him not to give the Romans a propaganda victory by mistreating Bolt. He also knew the bait the Antonys loved best and was eager to close this miscalculation.
"Name your price!" he shouted in Parthian.
Bolt translated for his father.
"You cannot offer me enough gold or treasure for the humiliation and suffering you inflicted on my son. I want nothing from you."
"Nor do I," Bolt added as Gaius covered his feet again.