No, most of that would have to go. Best not mention the Parthians directly, for the inference ought to be obvious. The style was also difficult. Trajan hated too much rhetoric in an official letter, and was fondest of something akin to the divine Julius’ Commentarii when it came to style, and that was not something which came naturally to Hadrian. Crispinus needed to be mentioned, for he deserved credit if there was enough to go around, and could prove a convenient scapegoat if not. Still, this reminder of his eagerness to prove his loyalty was too strong.

This legion will assist our ally in every possible way. While it is to be hoped that the operation will prove bloodless, it is important to support our friends appropriately, and should the conspiracies of a faction threaten the princess’ position in Nicopolis, then our men can deal with them.

Any good Roman – and Trajan saw himself as a very good and decently old-fashioned Roman – would feel a shudder at words like conspiracy and faction, which was a little odd given how many of both figured in Rome’s past. It was a pity that Azátē was a woman, and Hadrian wondered how to make this less obvious. Her name was suitably outlandish that perhaps it was better to use it instead of the word princess.

To protect our friends and defeat rebels, it may be necessary to capture Nicopolis, which will then prove a valuable ally, which controls one of the main routes to the great river.

The emperor ought to reach his army sometime in the second half of May. If Hadrian sent his letter the day after tomorrow then it ought to catch up with the imperial party not long before they arrived. Trajan would be in a good mood, eager to review his great host and embark on operations. The letter would inform him of the expedition, without stating that the city was resisting and a siege underway. That could wait for the next letter, which ideally would include encouraging news. Perhaps then, or later, he might mention Arbandes, but he would have to wait and see.

Hadrian sighed, laid the draft letter down and took a fresh sheet of papyrus. It was not of the highest quality, being stained near one edge, but it would do for his purpose and there was no sense in wasting the best on his rough copy. He stared at the blank page. No need to write the introduction as the scribe would know what to do. Call her Azátē, not princess, he thought to himself as he tapped the stylus and accidentally flicked ink across the table. There must have been more left on the nib than he had thought. The same napkin stained with dead moth was there, so he rubbed it and seemed to make things worse. There were two more insects flapping around the lamp, so killing the first had achieved little in the long run. Hadrian could not help thinking back to Athens, and wondering how a philosopher would embroider the story to speak of the futility of life or of ambition, or of how one death did not matter in the great scheme of things.