Not Caracalla's,
however; he had none. An embassy went out to Artobane, the king.
Caracalla wished a bride, and what fairer one could he have than
the child of the Parthian monarch? Then, too, the embassy was
charged to explain, the marriage of Rome and Parthia would be the
union of the Orient and the Occident, peace by land and sea.
Artobane hesitated, and with cause; but Caracalla wooed so
ardently that finally the king said yes. The news went abroad. The
Parthians, delighted, prepared to receive the emperor. When
Caracalla crossed the Tigris, the highroad that led to the capital
was strewn with sacrifices, with altars covered with flowers, with
welcomings of every kind. Caracalla was visibly pleased. Beyond
the gates of the capital, there was the king; he had advanced to
greet his son-in-law, and that the greeting might be effective, he
had assembled his nobles and his troops. The latter were armed
with cymbals, with hautbois, and with flutes; and as Caracalla and
his army approached, there was music, dancing and song; there were
libations too, and as the day was practically the wedding of East
and West, there was not a weapon to be seen--gala robes merely,
brilliant and long. Caracalla saluted the king, gave an order to
an adjutant, and on the smiling defenceless Parthians the Roman
eagles pounced. Those who were not killed were made prisoners of
war. The next day Caracalla withdrew, charged with booty, firing
cities as he went.
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