​In this standalone episode, we follow an enslaved man who served a Roman general, saw the Dacian capital in its prime, worked in the palace of the Parthian King of Kings, and staged a daring escape to gain his freedom in the midst of war.

Transcript

Hello and welcome to A history of Romania.

Extra episode: Callidromus’ story

This is a standalone episode that takes place during the period we covered in season one; the tale I’m about to tell would’ve been too large of a digression to include in the narrative, but was too intriguing to omit. So, here it is: the story of Callidromus.

It was the year 112, and the Roman empire was in the midst of a golden age. Six years earlier, emperor Trajan had set his sights on the Dacian kingdom nestled in the Carpathian Mountains. His aims were simple: destroy this independent power and exploit its wealth. Trajan had assembled two fifths of the entire imperial army – numbering 150,000 soldiers – and led them himself, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals. After several brutal and gruelling campaigns, the Romans had defeated the Dacians, burned every one of their major settlements, desecrated their sanctuaries, breached their capital, seized their treasury, and decapitated their king. The emperor then annexed the ravaged kingdom as an imperial province and invited inhabitants from across the empire to grab a piece of land for themselves, assuring them that his legions would protect them from the wild barbarians beyond the borders.

The victorious emperor returned to Rome with 65 tonnes of gold and 331 tonnes of silver, which is about as much wealth as would fit in 27 Spanish galleons in the treasure fleets of later eras. Trajan gifted money to every citizen and financed four continuous months of festivities in the capital city, with thousands of gladiators fighting and animals dying for the amusement of the populace. He also brought back 50,000 Dacian prisoners, which were enslaved and forced to work for Roman masters. This huge injection of stolen wealth and enslaved labour catapulted the empire’s economy, as the rich had more people to command on their farms and in their households, and the state established mines to extract even more gold from the Carpathian Mountains. The Senate recognized the benefits which Trajan had brought to the elite and to the state by bestowing upon him the title of optimus, meaning “the best.” The death of thousands of ordinary Romans seemed to them a just price to pay for such prosperity.

Trajan spent the next few years focusing on internal affairs, but he was a conqueror at heart, and he soon set himself the goal of defeating and crippling the only real rival to the Romans: the Parthians. By the year 112, preparations for that war were well underway, financed in great part by the wealth plundered from the Dacians. Troops and supplies were flowing towards the Orient, and the city of Nicomedia was a key link in the chain. Located on the western coast of Anatolia, the city was an important port and held the residence of a provincial governor, a man known to history as Pliny the Younger.

Pliny was an accomplished magistrate, speaker, poet, and writer, and his days as governor were full; besides his usual duties of rendering judgments, overseeing civil projects, and writing directives to faraway administrators, he was doing all he could to facilitate the transit of thousands of troops through his city and to aid the emperor in preparing for his next conquest. Yet amid this flurry of requests and responsibilities, Pliny paused one day to welcome an enslaved man to his residence. The man’s name was Callidromus, and what he knew could prove crucial to the success of Trajan’s invasion of the Parthian empire.

A decade earlier in the year 101, Callidromus had been in the employ of senator Manius Laberius Maximus, who was the governor of Moesia Inferior. We don’t know how Callidromus came to serve Maximus; we don’t even know his real name. You see, Callidromus is the name given to him by his master, and although it’s Greek, that doesn’t tell us anything about his origins. It was customary for masters to give Greek names to their enslaved labourers to erase their previous identities and to differentiate them from the Roman elite which had Latin names. As such, Callidromus could’ve come from anywhere inside the empire – or even outside of it – and been enslaved for a variety of reasons: after failing to pay a debt, as the result of a criminal sentence, after being captured by opportunistic soldiers, or by simply being born to an enslaved mother.

Callidromus’ job is unclear, but we know he didn’t work on a farm or in a workshop; given upcoming events and his later pursuits, there’s a good chance he worked in the kitchens as part of Maximus’ household staff.

His master collaborated closely with Trajan to prepare the invasion of the Dacian kingdom. Dozens of legions and auxiliary units from across the empire were mustering along the Danube and, as the governor of Moesia Inferior, Maximus needed to stockpile weapons, tools, tents, food, medicine, and everything else the army would need once on campaign.

When the invasion was launched in March of the year 101, Maximus was chosen as a general and followed the emperor across the Danube. He travelled with a military retinue, while Callidromus was left behind with the rest of the domestic staff to take care of his family. Callidromus was probably overjoyed at not being dragged on campaign to sleep in a tent within earshot of battle, and instead being left to his usual duties with a slightly emptier household.

As the month of March passed and spring turned into summer, imperial riders kept Maximus’ wife and daughter up to date with the latest reports from the front: there had been little fighting as the Dacians were evacuating their fortresses and settlements ahead of the Roman advance; the legionaries were marching methodically towards the Carpathian Mountains, building camps and constructing roads along the way to secure their supply lines and consolidate their control over the territory they occupied.

As summer gave way to autumn, messengers reported that the emperor’s forces had entered the Carpathian Mountains as they headed towards the heart of the Dacian kingdom. The enemy had finally chosen to make a stand at a pass called Tapae; there, they’d built an earthen wall with ditches and stakes, and manned it with every available warrior. But the Romans were undaunted and Trajan had ordered a frontal assault; the fighting had been incredibly intense, but the messengers reported that the emperor’s leadership and the bravery of his soldiers had crushed the desperate barbarians. Jupiter favoured the empire, and no one could resist its might.

Winter brought snows and gales to the Carpathian Mountains, and messengers reported that the imperial army was slowly capturing forts around the Dacian capital of Sarmizegetusa; it wouldn’t be long before the war was won, and once spring had thawed the roads, Maximus would return from the campaign laden with loot. Callidromus must’ve savoured these last few months of relative freedom, especially as Saturnalia was approaching. The festival promised a week of banquets, gift-giving, and merrymaking during which norms were thrown aside and distinctions between free and enslaved individuals melted away. Saturnalia would bring one last chance to celebrate before his master’s watchful eye returned to the household.

Moesia was carpeted in snow when the next messenger arrived at the estate, but this man did not bear news from the faraway Carpathian Mountains – no, this man came in panic and told the household that the Dacians had unexpectedly crossed the frozen Danube. The enemy had overwhelmed the auxiliary garrisons on the frontier and put several cities in the region under siege; enemy riders flew the Dacian dragon standard on imperial soil, and the countryside was in chaos. The messenger told everyone to leave the estate immediately.

Maximus’ wife and daughter left as soon as they could, but they ordered the servants to stay behind and pack the family’s valuables before joining them. Callidromus must’ve been doing his best to finish his tasks as quickly as possible, but before he could head out the door, Dacian warriors kicked it in. They couldn’t have known that this estate belonged to the governor, but they surely figured that it belonged to an important man, so they didn’t kill its residents; instead, they captured them to have valuable prisoners in any future negotiations – and Callidromus was among them.

The emperor was quick to respond to the Dacian intrusion into the empire. As soon as he heard of the attack, he sailed down the Danube with part of his forces and took command of the auxiliary units in Moesia. Within a couple of months, Trajan defeated the Dacian general Susagus who had led the incursion and pushed his forces back across the Danube before they were able to capture any imperial cities.

It was a stunning success, but for Callidromus, rescue had come too late. The Dacians took their prisoners with them as they retreated, and Callidromus now had to walk alongside his captors as they entered the Carpathian Mountains. There, he saw what few of his compatriots ever did: the Dacian capital of Sarmizegetusa in all its glory.

Located on a mountain over a kilometer in altitude, the city was built on several artificial terraces and was encircled by a wall a dozen metres tall. Callidromus was led along Sarmizegetusa’s paved roads and passed workshops working at full capacity to forge weapons and armour; granaries surrounded by guards to ensure the city could withstand a siege; and sanctuaries with huge stone circles that served as both temples and calendars. Somewhere in that bustling city, Callidromus was stowed away with the other prisoners under close guard.

After Trajan secured the Moesian frontier, he refocused his attention on taking Sarmizegetusa, and the Dacian king, Decebal, evaluated every possible option to halt the Roman advance. He had already convinced the Sarmatian and German tribes north of the Danube to support him, but he was still outnumbered and needed more help. His mind soon found a solution: contacting the archenemies of the Romans – the Parthians. If Decebal could convince them to attack the empire, Trajan would be forced to abandon his invasion of Dacia and defend his rich, eastern provinces. It was a long shot, but Decebal had to try. To entice the Parthians to join him, the Dacian king needed to show that his people were a powerful ally to have and that together, they could actually win this war.

Decebal assembled an embassy of some of his most trusted advisors and equipped them with lavish gifts to give to the Parthian King of Kings; he included gold from his royal treasury as well as plunder taken from the Romans to show the military successes of the Dacians. A key part of that plunder was Callidromus himself; here was the domestic servant of one of Trajan’s closest generals: what better way to show what the Dacians could do?

These ambassadors had to reach the Parthians as quickly as possible since the situation was getting more dire by the day. They’d have to travel through the Orient, but obviously, being at war with the Romans greatly constrained their options and they needed to bypass imperial territory. Though we don’t know the route they took, the embassy probably went to the coast and boarded a ship to sail along the northern reaches of the Black Sea. Roman control there was weaker, and by keeping to the coasts, they’d be able to reach the kingdom of Armenia. Although Armenia was technically a client of Rome, the kingdom was ruled by a branch of the Parthian imperial family, and so travelling through it didn’t pose a direct danger. Once in Armenia, the members of the embassy would’ve paid for the fastest transport available and sailed down the Tigris River to the Parthian capital of Ctesiphon.

When they arrived at the court of the King of Kings, they learned that Decebal had submitted to Trajan and accepted a crushing peace treaty to prevent the total annihilation of his kingdom. The Dacians were forced to destroy their forts and the walls of their settlements; retreat from the territory currently occupied by the empire; accept an imperial garrison in Sarmizegetusa; and become allies of the Romans. Both sides knew that this was no more than a truce; Trajan had suffered enormous losses and wanted to weaken Dacia so that he could restart hostilities when his forces had regrouped. Decebal, too, understood that this was a mere armistice; but he needed time for his people and his army to recuperate, and if his embassy to the Parthians succeeded, then the situation would be reversed.

His diplomats understood the importance of their mission and did all they could to convince the King of Kings, Pacorus II, to attack the Romans. They gave him their luxurious gifts to show the wealth of the Dacians and presented Callidromus to demonstrate that they had inflicted defeats on the Romans. Pacorus listened and considered how this proposal would fit into his plans. Over the past two decades, the King of Kings had dealt with three contenders to the throne and was now working to strengthen his realm by establishing more robust trade ties with the East, especially with the rich Han empire in China. Pacorus calculated that starting a war with Rome would destabilize his empire and scupper the economic strides he’d made. To the dismay of the Dacian diplomats, he declined to support their cause. Two years later, Trajan restarted his invasion of Dacia and, by the autumn of 106, Decebal was dead, his armies were defeated, and his realm was dismembered.

We don’t know what happened to the Dacian ambassadors in Ctesiphon; with no homeland to return to, they may have sought to start new lives in the Parthian empire. What we do know is that Callidromus remained in the palace of the King of Kings as an enslaved servant. The Parthian ruler paraded him to his guests to show how far his influence reached – here was the former servant of a Roman general. To reinforce the point, Callidromus was given a ring bearing Pacorus’ face, which was meant to communicate his servitude and loyalty to the Parthian ruler.

Callidromus did his best to adapt to his new life in this strange land. Ctesiphon was one of the largest cities on Earth. Situated on the bank of the Tigris River, the Parthian capital attracted hundreds of merchants, thousands of artisans, and numerous artists, poets, and ambassadors. Wares from faraway China and India mingled with goods from the Mediterranean. It was a dazzling and dizzying place to be, yet Callidromus longed to return to familiar Roman lands where he knew the language and customs, and where he could perhaps gain his freedom rather than live the rest of his life as an enslaved outsider.

In the year 109, another pretender to the Parthian throne arose and Pacorus died of natural causes a few months later, leaving his son to don the crown and grab the scepter to put down this rebellion. As the palace was awash in the confusion of the succession and the chaos of civil war, Callidromus finally saw his chance to escape after seven years of servitude in Parthia. He knew that if he were caught, he would be tortured and executed, but he nevertheless decided to take his fate into his own hands; one night, he took whatever he could carry with him and fled into the bustling metropolis to start his long journey westwards towards the Roman empire.

It was an immense undertaking and we don’t know the path he took. Lacking funds, Callidromus probably walked overland through Mesopotamia while hiding from bandits and soldiers. Using whatever bits of the Pahlavi language he learned while serving in the imperial palace, he would’ve sought employment and shelter wherever he could, working a variety of jobs – servant, miner, baker – to get enough coin to go a bit farther every day. It was a dangerous journey, but after two restless years, Callidromus reached the city of Nicomedia in 112.

He would’ve felt at home in this large, cosmopolitan city where there was plenty of work to be had and a great mass of people in which to hide. Imperial law dictated that enslaved people had to return to their masters once back on Roman soil, but obviously, Callidromus had no wish to seek out the person who’d kept him bound for years and who could legally kill him on a whim. No, the last decade had brought him more hardship than he could’ve imagined, and he now wanted to start a new life as a free man.

Relying on the experience he had gained in Maximus’ kitchens, Callidromus sought work in a bakery and was employed as just another provincial. At last, the fruits of his labour would flow to him; he could pay for his own food and room, walk the streets whenever he wished, be the master of his own body, and dictate his own fate.

Callidromus was just beginning to settle into his new life in Nicomedia when his employers began to suspect his servile past. We don’t know how they surmised that he’d been formerly enslaved, but whatever the case, they didn’t want to harbour a fugitive, so they detained him and sent for the authorities. Callidromus knew he’d be brought back to his master and tortured – if not killed – for having fled and lived as a free man instead of returning to servitude. Alarmed and with no other way out, Callidromus fought his way out of the bakery and fled to the nearest imperial statue. He threw himself at the foot of a statue of Trajan and gripped it, shouting for the protection of the governor. Imperial law stated that those who were in servitude could ask for the protection of the local magistrate and that only the authorities could remove a person from the statue of the emperor. Callidromus would face the authorities, but he would do so on his own terms.

Soldiers soon appeared to take him away and, unfortunately for him, they weren’t gentle. A local commander named Appuleius put him in a cell, interrogated him, and stole his Parthian ring. Appuleius put little stock in Callidromus’ story of wars and embassies and escapes, but if it were true, he had to inform his superior. So, Appuleius wrote a letter to governor Pliny to inform him of the situation. Pliny was just as intrigued as the commander and wanted to see Callidromus for himself. Sensing that his tale might just be true, Pliny wrote a letter to Trajan, saying:

“Sir, a soldier named Appuleius, who belongs to the garrison at Nicomedia, has written to tell us that a certain person of the name of Callidromus, on being forcibly detained by two bakers, Maximus and Dionysius, in whose employment he had been, fled for refuge to your statue, and on being brought before the magistrates admitted that he had at one time been the slave of Laberius Maximus, that he had been made prisoner by Susagus in Moesia, and sent as a present by Decebal to Pacorus, the Parthian king. After remaining in his service for many years, he had made good his escape, and so found his way to Nicomedia. I had him brought before me, and when he had told me the same story, I thought the best plan was to send him to you. The reason for my delay in so doing is that I have been trying to find a ring bearing the likeness of Pacorus, which he said that he used to wear as an ornament, but which had been stolen from him. For it was my wish to forward this ring, if it could be found, just as I am sending a piece of ore, which the man declares he brought from a Parthian mine. I have sealed it with my own signet, the device on which is a four-horse chariot.”

Callidromus’ fate is unknown after this encounter, but we can make an educated guess. At this point in the year 112, Trajan’s preparations for the invasion of Parthia were nearly complete, and Callidromus’ insights would be invaluable: he had not only lived in the palace of the King of Kings, but also travelled the length of his realm and saw conditions on the ground. Accordingly, it’s probable that Callidromus was sent to Rome to meet with Trajan and his generals. It must’ve been an intimidating interrogation, yet Callidromus had no choice but to face it head on. Depending on just how much he knew, Trajan could’ve even had him accompany the imperial army as it marched East.

There’s a real possibility he served as a military informant because Callidromus was probably not returned to his former master, senator Maximus. You see, after a consulship in 103, Maximus never again held any official position, and he didn’t command troops in the second Dacian war nor in the Parthian campaign, even though he had fought alongside the emperor in the initial invasion of Dacia. When Trajan died, it seems Maximus thought about seizing the imperial throne for himself, but Trajan’s chosen successor, Hadrian, exiled him to an island. Based on this evidence, it seems that, after the first Dacian war, Maximus had gradually lost imperial favour and been sidelined from government business. As such, it’s unlikely that Trajan would’ve returned Callidromus to him.

Of course, Trajan could’ve executed Callidromus for not returning to his master, but since he had turned himself in, shown deference to the emperor, and helped the imperial army, Trajan could’ve very well spared him too. If he were spared, then there’s a good chance he was manumitted by Trajan for his services and allowed to live as a freed man; given his resourcefulness, I have no doubt that he would’ve made the most of his liberty.

Callidromus was an ordinary man who lived an extraordinary life. A man enslaved by the Romans, captured by the Dacians, and used by the Parthians; a man who visited Sarmizegetusa and Ctesiphon and Rome; a man who saw Decebal and Pacorus and Trajan; and a man who fought for his own fate and forged a new life for himself. Everything we know about him comes from Pliny’s letter to Trajan; we’re lucky to have a record of his life, and I hope you enjoyed the telling of it.

With that, I’m off to recharge before starting work on season two. Thank you again so much for listening. I’ll see you next year.