The smell of incense still lingered in the air. It was not particularly repugnant to him; he considered it one of the few, actual good things about the Christians. From on high, the mosaics of their holy men, angels, and their man-god himself stared on, wide eyed at him, as they glittered in the afternoon sun that filtered through the high windows.
Well, so much for divine protection.
The struggle for Dara had been long and tedious. The bastion had endured a tiresome, attritional siege of nine months, but in the end the Iranian soldiers had overwhelmed the exhausted defenders. With it, he had extinguished the last Roman military presence worthy of any mention in all of Mesopotamia, while his comrade Shahin had already departed towards Armenia. He continued to admire the church. It was a strange yet interesting building. The so-called naves ran parallel to the main aisle; and in each of them there were small niches where religious icons had been placed. The mosaics overhead had a golden background, while the painted scenes further down had been made with vivid colors. Quite a contrast with his Zoroastrian temples. He thought about their simplicity, their transparency, with only their secret and sacred fire inside.
Their sacredness compared to this material aberration.
To play a part in the perennial wars between the Shah and the Roman
Qaisar had not been his life goal. But when the wars had come, he proved to be a good, reliable soldier. He had fought hard against the Romans, then with the Romans, and now here he was against them again. It was not for him to question the Shah’s motives, whoever the Shah might be.
Such is the life of men. And thus far he had proven to be the most successful
Eran Spahbod of the war.
“Spahbod, a small Roman force approaches” he heard from behind him. It was one of his aides.
He turned and looked at him briefly. “Who commands?”
“We hear that it is Domentziolus, nephew of the Roman Qaisar Phocas” answered the younger man. “He wants to parley.”
“Ah” Farrokhan replied, as he got up from the seat he had taken near the altar. “Very well then, let’s go see how we can be of assistance; get my horse ready. And soldier… burn this place down.” His subordinate assented, bowing down quickly as the Shahrbaraz walked past him.
Dara had been a torn in the Iranians side for over a hundred years at this point. Taken once before, it had been returned to Maurice by Khosrau almost fourteen years to that day. And that was a bloody mistake that his men had just finished paying for. Nonetheless, their obstinate resistance had cost the citizens and the garrison dearly; those not killed during the siege had been executed, or were already bound towards Ctesiphon, to be sold as slaves. The man that the spahbod was now to address had perhaps watched, impotent, from the surrounding countryside, as the victorious Iranians had poured into
Iustiniana Nova. Moments later outside the city gates, Farrokhan was riding a black Arabian stallion, and surrounded by a guard of thirty Aztan horsemen, approached the Roman detachment of roughly equal numbers. The crest on the Roman leader’s helmet gave him away.
“My lord Domentziolus, we meet again. I hope that we depart in better terms this time” uttered the Iranian in a slightly accented Greek.
“General Farrokhan, it is quite good to see you indeed” the Roman replied, with a plainly false smile on his face. He must have remembered the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the spahbod some months back. The Shahrbaraz still did remember it clearly; the poor Roman was lucky to get away with his life then; his men then had not shared his luck. “In light of the recent developments, I have come to present the terms of the Emperor” continued Domentziolus.
“Excellent, let’s hear them” the spahbod replied in a jovial tone, clapping his hands three times.
“The Persian armies will vacate Mesopotamia; custody of Armenia will be divided equally according to ancient custom; a free exchange of prisoners; and the Emperor promises to pay 300,000 nomismata to King Chosroes” concluded the young Roman. He perceived the sudden silence with which the officer followed his terms; he noticed how the Roman began to study him for any signs that might give away his thoughts.
Why don’t you just ask us to forget about the whole thing?
“My dear magistros, the Shah is a reasonable man, but he is also a
loyal man” he had placed a distinct, deliberate, emphasis on the word. Domentziolus began to show his embarrassment; his cheeks blushed. “It is only natural for him to react in the way he has in the light of the vile assassination of his father and protector the Qaisar Maurice. An offense which the Shah feels has been compounded all the more, by the base exile imposed on his brother the Qaisar Theodosius.”
Domentziolus’ face had gone from red to a white pallor. The rest of the Roman guard bore obvious signs of sharing his feelings of awkwardness, as the men exchanged looks. “But I do not think that we cannot deal with each other, as sensible and reasonable human beings” the Iranian concluded. Instantly, the face of all the Romans lit up.
“Thus as direct representative of the Shah I know I have his confidence to enforce the terms that he seeks and upon acceptance of such terms, to sign and enforce a treaty of perpetual peace, if you wish to do so.”
Now, Domentziolus could not hold back a smile. “But of course my friend, peace and prosperity are the only objectives of the Emperor Phocas; let’s hear them” he replied nervously.
“First, the Romans must vacate all of Mesopotamia to a distance of 50 miles west of the Euphrates; second, they must deliver sole custody of the Armenian kingdom to the Shah; third, they must pay war reparations and an indemnity of 300,000 nomismata at once, and then deliver 100,000 more every year for the next twenty years; and finally, and most importantly for the Shah, Theodosius must be restored to the throne of Constantinople.” Farrokhan had taken a thoughtful long time to spell out his last request.
This is like a good chase: you corner the animal, then give them some room, then move in for the kill.
With his smile gone, the Roman looked appalled. It was not that he was not expecting harsh terms. After all his ‘Emperor’ was not having the best of times; but the fact that the “Persians” as the Romans called them, knew entirely that they were in a position of superiority, and pretended to dictate who should rule them and at the same time wipe out all of the Roman achievements of the previous twenty years with one stroke, had finally dawned on him with its full might.
“Ahem...mmhh...” Domentziolus cleared his throat. He seemed hesitant to answer, but he did it anyway. “The Emperor will certainly consider all of those terms, if we would but agree to cease hostilities while an embassy departs for Constantinople…”
Is that so? Let’s finish the hunt then. The spahbod knew a dirty lie when he heard one. “Lord Domentziolus, I offer you peace and you offer us to stall for time for your usurper-king to gather whatever treacherous Romans he can find. Those are the terms of the Shahanshah; since you were offering terms, I entrust you are empowered to accept mine as well right now.”
Domentziolus was silent. He had lowered his eyes, but Farrokhan could distinguish them shifting nervously from left to right.
Come on boy, just say no and let’s get it over with. In the end the Roman answered: “The best that I can offer is to take the terms to the Emperor. Given their importance and their effects on the empire I cannot assume the responsibility of deciding. If you would but allow it, I will personally escort an embassy of your choosing to the capital to see him and I will ensure their safety with my life, I swear it by God and his Holy Mother.”
Farrokhan had coldly studied Domentziolus’ demeanor as the Roman had given his reply. He knew that he was just testing the waters.
Enough is enough, he thought. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, deliberately slowly, before giving his reply. “Promises made over your crucified god are of no concern to us, Roman. You have chosen to reject the Shah’s terms. Hostilities will continue then. I will allow you to depart with your men, to allow them to return home to their wives, and children; and to prepare to receive their conqueror Shahanshah Khosrau. I will see you then in Constantinople” he announced triumphantly.
“So it is then…” answered Domentziolus with an empty look. He gave a tug to his horse’s bridle and turned it around slowly. So did his men. The spahbod kept his eyes fixed on the Roman leader, as he returned to the rest of his small force, assembled nearby.
A brave boy indeed, coming in person. Unfortunate for him however; Khosrau doesn’t want peace with the Romans. He was loyal to Maurice and his family but now that he is dead, there is no reason for him to hold back. And Theodosius surviving is nothing but a small technicality; or rather, a good excuse for us to carry on.
