Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Reign of Kavad I (488–531 CE)

Introduction

As noted in the preceding chapter, the death of Balash in 488 CE ushered in a decisive turning point in the Sasanian succession. Kavad I (Middle Persian: 𐭪𐭥𐭠𐭲, Kawād), son of Peroz, ascended the throne under circumstances that were, by all accounts, shaped by the political manoeuvres of the era’s most powerful courtiers. Several sources suggest that the influential Iranian wuzurg framadār (chief minister), Zarmehr Sukhra—scion of the eminent Parthian Karenid house—was the principal agent behind Balash’s deposition. It appears that Sukhra, having secured the release of the young Kavad from his earlier Hephthalite captivity, then installed him upon the throne as a pliant sovereign under his own guidance.

Kavad is an extraordinary and in some respects paradoxical figure in late antique history. His intellectual breadth and political imagination often appear strikingly anachronistic, resembling in certain respects the reformist visions of modernity rather than the entrenched conventions of his own age. Ancient and medieval commentators, both hostile and sympathetic, repeatedly remark upon his advocacy for principles that—though filtered through the idioms of his time—suggest a commitment to social equality, the mutuality of benefit, and even the redistribution of wealth. It is perhaps not surprising that some modern scholars, albeit with necessary caution, have characterised him as a “proto-communist,” a label more reflective of analogy than of direct equivalence. His personal habits—such as reported vegetarianism and an aversion to killing living creatures—further distinguish him from the typical martial ethos of Sasanian monarchs.

Kavad’s early life was marked by hardship of a formative and enduring kind. As a child he had been taken hostage by the Hephthalite ruler Akhshunwar following the defeat and death of his father, Peroz. After ascending the throne, he would himself suffer deposition at the hands of the very coalition of priests and nobles who had originally endorsed him, resulting in imprisonment in the infamous “Fortress of Oblivion.” Yet, contrary to the expectation that such reversals might foster vindictiveness, contemporary Roman accounts preserve a portrait of Kavad as magnanimous—particularly in his treatment of Roman prisoners of war. These captives were reportedly given generous provisions, settled in a newly founded city devoted to linen weaving, and even permitted to return to Roman territory under the pretence of escape, so as not to provoke the ire of the Zoroastrian priesthood and aristocracy.

Despite these recorded acts, later Iranian and Arab chroniclers—often dependent upon derivative or distorted traditions—either omitted or misrepresented key features of his reign. Some, such as al-Ya‘qubi, appear to have drawn upon accounts traceable to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, whose transmission of Sasanian history was necessarily selective. Al-Ya‘qubi’s statement that Balash was the son, rather than the brother, of Peroz is demonstrably erroneous, though his note on the brief reign of Jamasp is accurate. Al-Dinawari, in his Akhbār al-ṭiwāl, corroborates much of al-Ya‘qubi’s version, including the account of Zarmehr Sukhra’s execution, albeit referring to him under the variant “Shukhra.”

By contrast, Roman historians—despite their political enmity toward Sasanian Iran—were often compelled to acknowledge Kavad’s virtues. Procopius of Caesarea, in De Bellis, praises his generosity to captives. This favourable appraisal presents a historical tension: how could a ruler celebrated for clemency and aversion to bloodshed also be the orchestrator of Sukhra’s politically charged death? The most plausible interpretation is that the execution was less a product of Kavad’s personal inclination than of courtly factionalism—particularly the intrigues of Shapur of Ray, a noble from the rival Mehranid house, whose enmity toward the Karenids may have provided the immediate impetus. The old Parthian aristocracy, with its entrenched rivalries between clans such as the Karens and the Mehrans, created a political environment in which such lethal manoeuvres were far from exceptional.

Al-Dinawari’s narrative adds depth to this political drama. He records that Kavad, ascending the throne at approximately fifteen years of age, was initially perceived as sagacious and capable beyond his years. For five years, power was effectively exercised by Sukhra, whose authority became so conspicuous that public reverence shifted away from the monarch himself. Eventually, Kavad acted, summoning Shapur of Ray, the marzbān of Babylonia and Qatrāniyah, to eliminate Sukhra. The following day, Shapur entered the court, slipped a noose around Sukhra’s neck, and had him executed—a decisive removal that shifted the balance of aristocratic power.

According to Theodor Nöldeke’s synthesis of the sources, Kavad’s reign lasted a cumulative forty-three years, interrupted only by a brief deposition of two or three years. In that time, he fought two significant wars with the Byzantine Empire, secured the northeastern frontier through a durable peace with the Hephthalites, and benefited from their steadfast alliance. Yet, the key question remains: why did the Iranian nobility and clergy overthrow him in the first place?

The answer may lie in the formative impact of his Hephthalite captivity. Kavad’s exposure to Hephthalite customs—characterised, according to some accounts, by a greater degree of social mobility and communal equality than Sasanian Iran—appears to have deepened his dissatisfaction with the rigid hierarchies and systemic inequalities upheld by the Zoroastrian establishment. His later attempts to introduce reforms favouring justice, fairness, and an erosion of hereditary privilege would have directly threatened the vested interests of the wuzurgān (great nobles) and the mōbeds (high priests).

Procopius, who witnessed the later stages of Kavad’s reign during Roman campaigns between 507 and 527 CE, offers further testimony, though his details are occasionally imprecise. He incorrectly names Balash as Kavad’s immediate successor after the deposition, when in fact Jamasp held the throne. Procopius also states that Iran remained tributary to the Hephthalites for two years, until Kavad’s consolidation of power allowed him to reject their overlordship.

It was in the wake of his reformist policies—most infamously, according to hostile accounts, the imposition of laws regulating conjugal relations—that widespread unrest among the populace erupted. This led to his arrest, imprisonment in the “Fortress of Forgetfulness” (Anōšbard) in Susa, and the elevation of Jamasp. The political and symbolic weight of this imprisonment was immense: under Persian law, those confined there were to be erased from public memory, their very names unspeakable on pain of death.

From here, the narrative of Kavad’s remarkable escape, his refuge with the Hephthalites, and his eventual restoration to power unfolds—illustrating both his resilience and his capacity to convert personal alliances into geopolitical advantage. These episodes, as we shall see, not only illuminate the interplay between royal agency and aristocratic factionalism but also set the stage for one of the most radical socio-religious experiments in Sasanian history: the Mazdakite movement.

Kavad I’s Relationship with the Hephthalites: Political Realism or Psychological Affinity?

Kavad I’s reign was marked by a complex and, at times, ambivalent relationship with the Hephthalites, a dynamic shaped by shifting political necessity, military realities, and, it may be argued, personal factors rooted in his formative experiences. The early portion of his life had been profoundly altered by the circumstances of dynastic conflict in the Sasanian court, when his father, Peroz, suffered a catastrophic defeat at the hands of the Hephthalites and perished in battle. In the aftermath, young Kavad, like other members of the Sasanian royal family, was taken as a hostage into the custody of the Hephthalite court.

This period of captivity, extending through the most impressionable years of his youth, placed him in an environment where he was directly exposed to the political culture, courtly rituals, and socio-economic patterns of the Hephthalite elite. It appears that this was not merely a period of passive detention but also one of cultural immersion. The Hephthalite rulers—keenly aware of the strategic value of their royal hostages—were known to cultivate a degree of integration, offering them a controlled but privileged upbringing within the framework of their own aristocratic norms. Kavad would have observed their style of governance, their military organization, and their diplomatic practices, as well as their more fluid, tribal-based political structures, which contrasted with the highly centralized Sasanian bureaucratic system.

It is therefore reasonable to conclude that this prolonged exposure may have left an imprint on Kavad’s psychological outlook and political instincts. While it is difficult to quantify the degree of personal sympathy he may have developed for his former captors, the possibility must be considered in light of later events. His later alliances with the Hephthalites—particularly during his restoration to the throne after his deposition—suggest not only pragmatic calculation but also an absence of the visceral hostility toward them that might otherwise be expected from a Sasanian monarch whose father had been killed by the same power.

However, such potential personal sympathy should not be overstated or read as overriding the logic of realpolitik. Kavad’s reliance on Hephthalite assistance in regaining his throne in 498 CE was, first and foremost, a matter of strategic necessity. Deposed by the nobility and the Zoroastrian clergy, he lacked the internal resources to mount an effective comeback. The Hephthalites, still militarily formidable in the eastern frontier regions, offered the only reliable external power willing to intervene in Sasanian affairs on his behalf. Their support was not altruistic; it came at the price of tribute, territorial concessions, and, possibly, the promise of favorable trade or military arrangements in the Caspian and Transoxianan zones.

Nevertheless, it is almost certain that Kavad’s familiarity with the Hephthalite court—its customs, language, and diplomatic idioms—greatly facilitated his ability to negotiate these arrangements and to present himself as a trustworthy partner rather than merely a desperate petitioner. This interpersonal ease may have stemmed in part from the psychological conditioning of his youth, when survival and adaptation required the cultivation of rapport with his captors. In this respect, his hostage experience may have had a double-edged legacy: it provided him with a valuable diplomatic skillset in dealing with steppe and semi-nomadic polities, but it also risked drawing him into an over-reliance on a power that was both a traditional enemy and a latent threat to Sasanian sovereignty.

The resulting relationship between Kavad and the Hephthalites was therefore neither a simple alliance nor a purely coerced dependency. It was an evolving strategic arrangement in which both sides recognized mutual utility, but which was underpinned—at least in part—by a personal history of contact and cultural familiarity. For Kavad, this bond was tested repeatedly as shifting geopolitical circumstances forced him to balance the benefits of Hephthalite cooperation against the ever-present danger of subordination to their influence. While his later military campaigns and administrative reforms would focus on strengthening the Sasanian state’s autonomy, the formative influence of his early years among the Hephthalites remained a subtle, if often overlooked, factor in his political worldview.

Before turning to the military campaigns and diplomatic contests of Kavad’s restored reign, it is essential to examine this movement in detail. For Mazdak’s doctrine—part spiritual reformation, part socio-economic revolution—was not merely a background influence, but a defining feature of Kavad’s political project, and arguably the principal cause of both his overthrow and his enduring legacy.

Kavad I’s Captivity among the Hephthalites and the Psychological Roots of His Later Sympathies

Kavad I’s formative years included a period of profound personal and political dislocation: his captivity among the Hephthalites (Haftalites). This episode is often treated in chronicles merely as a political footnote—the temporary removal of a claimant from the Sasanian throne—but a closer analysis suggests it may have exerted deep psychological influence upon the young monarch, shaping his later policies and even his receptivity to the egalitarian message of Mazdak.

The circumstances of Kavad’s captivity were linked to the complex and shifting balance of power in Central Asia at the end of the 5th century. The Hephthalites, a confederation of nomadic and settled groups whose power extended from Transoxiana into eastern Iran, were not merely opportunistic raiders; they maintained a courtly culture that combined Central Asian warrior traditions with elements adopted from both Iranian and Indian polities. Their rulers could be harsh conquerors, yet they also exhibited forms of governance and wealth distribution unfamiliar to the rigid aristocratic hierarchy of the late Sasanian Empire.

Kavad, still a youth when sent or taken into their custody, would have been directly exposed to this alternative social and political order. In the Hephthalite dominion, power was distributed among tribal leaders and military commanders in a looser, more fluid arrangement than the entrenched hereditary nobility of Iran. While this did not amount to democratic governance, it represented a different mode of political legitimacy—rooted less in religious sanction and more in martial prestige, charisma, and the ability to command loyalty through the distribution of plunder and resources.

It is reasonable to conclude that Kavad’s personal impressions during this period may have been decisive. Hostage status in antiquity often entailed both surveillance and ceremonial integration; while he was not free, Kavad would likely have been treated in a manner befitting a royal hostage, perhaps participating in court rituals, hunting expeditions, and military displays. This exposure may have revealed to him a society in which the nobility’s grip on resources was less absolute, and where a ruler’s ability to redistribute wealth could strengthen, rather than weaken, his authority.

Such experiences could well have planted the seeds for his later challenge to the Sasanian aristocracy. The Hephthalite court may also have given Kavad a concrete example of how the monarch could bypass the entrenched landed elites by appealing directly to other social strata—whether tribal warriors, merchants, or religious reformers. The egalitarian rhetoric and redistributionist ideas of Mazdak would, therefore, have found in Kavad a monarch already psychologically primed to see such measures not merely as dangerous heresy, but as a plausible instrument of central authority.

The Rise of Mazdak and Kavad I’s Embrace of Social Reform

Against this backdrop, the emergence of Mazdak and his reformist movement in the early 6th century takes on a new dimension. Traditionally portrayed by hostile sources—chiefly Zoroastrian clergy and aristocratic chroniclers—as a dangerous heretic or proto-communist agitator, Mazdak may instead be understood as the figurehead of a broader socio-political current. This current was not wholly alien to the Iranian world, but its scope and explicit challenge to aristocratic privilege were unprecedented in Sasanian history.

Mazdak’s doctrine blended a dualist theological framework, influenced by earlier Manichaean currents, with a radical critique of the economic and moral failings of the nobility. At its heart lay the conviction that social injustice—manifested in the monopolization of land, women, and resources by a narrow elite—was the root cause of both moral corruption and political instability. His proposed remedy was the redistribution of surplus wealth, greater communal access to resources, and the dismantling of rigid hereditary monopolies.

Kavad’s adoption of Mazdak’s program has often been explained as a cynical political maneuver: a means to weaken the aristocracy and the powerful priesthood, whose dominance over land and taxation curtailed royal authority. While there is no doubt that Kavad acted with political calculation, it is almost certain that his prior exposure to the Hephthalite model of rulership had prepared him to see redistribution not as an abstract ideological threat, but as a potentially viable political tool.

The Mazdakite program dovetailed with Kavad’s broader strategic aims. By aligning himself with a populist religious movement, he could mobilize support among the lower classes, urban poor, and certain segments of the military, thereby creating a counterweight to the landed magnates and the Zoroastrian priesthood. In this sense, his engagement with Mazdakism was both a continuation of the political lessons he may have learned in Hephthalite captivity and a bold experiment in reconfiguring the social foundations of the Sasanian state.

Contemporary hostile sources—particularly in the Zoroastrian tradition—emphasize the perceived immorality of Mazdakite social reforms, often exaggerating or distorting their content to discredit both Mazdak and Kavad. Yet if we read between the lines, it appears that Kavad’s willingness to embrace such a disruptive movement was rooted not in recklessness, but in a calculated reimagining of royal power. His youth among the Hephthalites had already taught him that legitimacy could be secured through direct relationships with subjects, circumventing intermediaries whose hereditary privileges obstructed central authority.

Thus, the union of Kavad and Mazdak was not an anomaly in Sasanian politics, but the product of a long intellectual and experiential trajectory—a convergence of personal history, foreign influence, and domestic necessity.

The Mazdakite Movement: Origins, Doctrine, and Historical Context

Any comprehensive understanding of Kavad I’s reign must grapple with the ideological and social ferment unleashed by the Mazdakite movement — a phenomenon that, while rooted in religious discourse, developed into a programme of political and economic transformation.

Origins and Intellectual Genealogy

Mazdak son of Bāmdād emerged in the late fifth century CE as a reformist interpreter of Zoroastrianism. His teachings, though portrayed as heretical by the Zoroastrian priesthood, drew upon a complex intellectual inheritance:

• Zoroastrian dualism, with its cosmic opposition between the beneficent Ahura Mazda and the destructive Angra Mainyu.

• Earlier heterodox Zoroastrian reformism, in particular that of a later figure also called Zoroaster, active in mid-third-century Mesopotamia, whose syncretic doctrines combined solar veneration (Hor as “sun”) with moral and social innovation.

• Manichaean asceticism, adapted to reject complete withdrawal from material life in favour of its moral reorganisation.

This ideological amalgam produced a doctrine that sought not only spiritual purification but also the eradication of the structural roots of human conflict.

Core Principles

Mazdak’s system rested on the conviction that greed and deprivation — the twin sources of violence and injustice — could be eliminated through systemic reform rather than merely through individual moral exhortation. The measures attributed to his teaching include:

1. Communal ownership of property, aimed at dissolving the monopolies of land and wealth held by the wuzurgān (great nobles) and temple estates.

2. Collective access to marriage partners, an element much emphasised by hostile sources and often distorted into sensationalism, but intended — in Mazdak’s own moral framing — to prevent disputes arising from sexual jealousy and to curtail polygamous hoarding of women by the elite.

3. Non-violence toward all living beings, including dietary prohibitions against meat and injunctions against bloodshed.

The movement’s intended result was an Ahuric order — a society aligned with divine truth, in which economic and social rivalry would be structurally impossible.

Historical Reception and Hostile Portrayals

Near-contemporary observers outside the Sasanian religious establishment — such as Joshua the Stylite — noted with alarm:

“The king instituted that deplorable heresy of the magi… declaring women communal property and permitting unrestrained intercourse.”

Greek and Byzantine historians echoed this tone. Agathias (Histories IV.28) charges Kavad with:

“Overturning the ancestral laws… introducing a crude communism of women and goods that degenerated into license.”

Procopius (Wars I.5) similarly claims:

“He introduced new regulations concerning the sharing of women and property, measures that greatly disturbed the Persians.”

It is essential to treat such accounts critically: their focus on sexual arrangements reflects both moral outrage and the polemical priorities of the authors, often at the expense of more substantive economic dimensions.

Socio-Economic Context

Modern scholarship, particularly that of Nina Pigulevskaya, situates Mazdakism against the backdrop of accelerating feudalisation in late Sasanian Iran. By the late fifth century:

• Aristocratic families were consolidating vast estates, absorbing peasant communal lands.

• The Zoroastrian fire temples controlled substantial agricultural and water resources.

• Recurrent famines and the fiscal strains of the Hephthalite wars intensified social inequality.

Mazdak’s proposals — land redistribution, the dismantling of noble monopolies over irrigation, and the release of surplus grain reserves — directly threatened the economic foundations of the wuzurgān and the priesthood.

Kavad’s Alignment with the Movement

Kavad’s embrace of Mazdakite policy cannot be reduced to opportunism alone. While weakening the aristocracy was politically advantageous, it is plausible — and, in light of his formative years, psychologically reasonable — that his earlier experience among the Hephthalites disposed him toward receptivity to these egalitarian principles. Unlike the rigid fourfold class system of Sasanian society, Hephthalite polity appears, from the testimony of Chinese and Byzantine sources, to have been more fluid, with fewer entrenched religious intermediaries.

This exposure, combined with the trauma of his father’s death and the collapse of royal authority, may have created in the young Kavad an enduring scepticism toward the Sasanian aristocratic order. Thus, his later implementation of Mazdakite reforms can be seen as both a political stratagem and an expression of convictions shaped by cross-cultural experience.

Interpretations in Modern Scholarship

Twentieth- and twenty-first-century historians have approached Mazdakism through divergent lenses:

• Marxist and socialist historiography (e.g., Otakar Klima, Vladimir Aliev) has emphasised class struggle, portraying the movement as an early revolutionary uprising against feudal oppression.

• Religious-historical approaches (e.g., Mansour Shaki) have treated it as a heterodox sect within the Zoroastrian tradition, primarily concerned with moral reform.

• Social history perspectives (Pigulevskaya) have framed it as a pragmatic response to acute economic crisis, famine, and demographic dislocation.

In comparative terms, the Mazdakite experiment invites parallels with contemporary radical movements elsewhere — from the Circumcellions of North Africa to certain Buddhist communal reforms in Gandhāra — all sharing a critique of concentrated wealth, experiments in communal life, and eventual suppression by entrenched elites.

Conclusion: Significance for Kavad’s Reign

Mazdakism was more than an ideological curiosity: it was the crucible in which Kavad’s political identity was forged and tested. It sharpened the conflict between throne and aristocracy, reshaped Sasanian economic policy for a decade, and indelibly coloured his historical reputation. In this light, the king’s Hephthalite sojourn, far from being a mere biographical detail, emerges as a possible seedbed for the radicalism that would both destabilise and define his reign.

Kavad I in Ṭabarī’s History

A close reading of Ṭabarī’s account of Kavad I (son of Pērōz, son of Yazdegerd, son of Bahrām Gūr) offers valuable insight into the interplay between the Sasanian nobility and the Zoroastrian priesthood, as well as into the king’s reformist experiments in justice and equality. Ṭabarī’s narrative blends anecdotal detail with political events, though it is not without chronological and factual inconsistencies.

He relates that before ascending the throne, Kavad was forced to flee to the Khāqān to seek aid against the tyranny of his brother Walakhsh. During his escape, Kavad travelled incognito near Nīshāpūr with a small retinue, among them Zarmehr, son of Sukhra. Longing for a wife, Kavad confided in Zarmehr, who undertook to find him a noble bride. Zarmehr approached the wife of one of his noble riders, who had a beautiful unmarried daughter. Using their friendship and offering promises of a secure and prosperous future, he arranged the match. The girl—Nivandukht (Niv in Middle Persian)—was brought to Kavad, and that same night their union was consummated. She would later bear him Anūshirvān, and Kavad rewarded her generously.

Ṭabarī preserves a small but telling detail: the girl’s mother asked her about Kavad’s appearance, to which she replied that she remembered little except that his trousers seemed to be woven with gold. This hint of royal luxury betrayed his true status, delighting Zarmehr.

Yet this romantic interlude obscures important historical realities. Ṭabarī’s narrative omits pivotal episodes in Kavad’s life—his capture by the Hephthalites, his association with Mazdak, his deposition, and the reigns of Jamasp and Walakhsh—which he appears to conflate. Such omissions and chronological compressions suggest later editorial interventions, perhaps to downplay Kavad’s connection with Mazdakite ideology or to simplify a complex political sequence for narrative purposes.

Despite its flaws, this section retains anthropological value. The mediation of marriage through a trusted noble intermediary, the emphasis on noble lineage, and the mother’s scrutiny of the groom’s status are consistent with Sasanian social customs, offering a rare glimpse into elite matrimonial politics.

Ṭabarī continues with Kavad’s arrival at the court of the Khāqān, where he revealed his identity and requested assistance. Though the Khāqān made assurances, he delayed action for four years. Frustrated, Kavad appealed to the Khāqān’s wife, urging her to intercede “as a mother would for a son.” Her intervention persuaded the ruler to finally dispatch an army in support of Kavad’s cause.

Western sources add that during his Hephthalite sojourn, Kavad married the Khāqān’s daughter—his own niece, Pērōz-Dukht, captured after Pērōz’s defeat by the Hephthalites. This marriage cemented a political alliance that secured Hephthalite military backing for Kavad’s restoration.

After regaining the throne, Kavad resettled captives from the Roman cities of Amida and Theodosiopolis in Pārs and Khūzestān, founding the city of Arjān (recorded by him as Wah-az-Āmid-i-Kawād, “Better than Amida of Kavad”). Later Arabic historians, less familiar with the original Persian, rendered the name in corrupt forms such as Wamqabaz and Ram-Qabaz. This transplantation introduced the craft of linen weaving to Iran.

Ṭabarī also records the Sasanian practice of using the term Khōrah (from Middle Persian and ultimately Avestan, meaning “radiance” or “glory of the sun”) in city names—e.g., Khōrah Ardashīr, Khōrah Shāpūr—and applies it to Avand Shahr.

In the later part of Kavad’s reign, effective power shifted to Sukhra, who became the true arbiter of the realm as the king’s authority waned. Nöldeke suggests that Sukhra’s fall—and perhaps that of his son Siāvash—occurred near the end of Kavad’s first reign. Confusion arises from the repetition of the name “Zarmehr Sukhra” in both father and son, which likely led chroniclers such as al-Ya‘qūbī and al-Dīnawarī to conflate their actions.

Ṭabarī describes Sukhra’s arrest in vivid terms: Shāpūr, arriving with troops, acted on Kavad’s secret order to remove him. Entering the court the next morning, Shāpūr ignored Sukhra, abruptly bound him, and had him imprisoned. The people lamented, “The wind of Sukhra has died; the wind of Mehrān now blows”—a saying that endured in Persian idiom. Kavad later ordered Sukhra’s execution.

In Shāhnāmeh, Ferdowsī offers a variant: the mōbedān mōbed (chief priest) instigated Kavad against Zarmehr (Sukhra’s father). The unrest that followed—possibly driven by Mazdakite sympathizers—led to Kavad’s temporary removal, the enthronement of Jamasp, and Zarmehr’s role as the king’s guard. Despite his position, Zarmehr remained loyal, perhaps recognising that the priesthood, not Kavad personally, was responsible for his father’s death.

Ṭabarī then shifts focus to Kavad’s ideological conflict with the elite: after ten years, the nobles and priests deposed him for embracing Mazdak’s teachings, which demanded redistribution of wealth and women. The poor rallied to Mazdak, while the aristocracy and clergy responded with violence. Kavad was imprisoned, and Jamasp was installed as king.

Nöldeke dismisses some of Ṭabarī’s sequencing as illogical—particularly the notion that Mazdakites would depose Kavad and then demand Zarmehr’s death. He attributes these distortions partly to Ibn al-Muqaffa‘s influence in shaping Persian historical traditions for an Arabic readership. A more consistent reading is that the coup was orchestrated by Zoroastrian nobles and priests, with Sukhra Zarmehr Siāvash suppressing Mazdakites tactically to mollify the elite and to shield Kavad from further harm.

Thus, while Ṭabarī’s account merges fact, legend, and editorial revision, it remains a critical source—not for a strictly accurate chronology, but for the interplay of royal authority, aristocratic rivalry, clerical power, and reformist ideology in one of the most turbulent reigns of the Sasanian era.

About Jamasp (496–498 CE)

Jamasp—also rendered Zamāsp (Greek: Ζαμάσφης)—remains one of the more shadowy figures in Sasanian history. Contemporary and near-contemporary sources present a fragmented and often contradictory picture of his brief reign. His accession followed the deposition of his elder brother, Kavad I, and his rule lasted only a few years before Kavad’s restoration. The discrepancies in ancient accounts speak both to the political volatility of the period and to later historiographical manipulation.

Some traditions claim that Jamasp abdicated voluntarily in order to facilitate peace with Kavad after the latter returned to Iran with Hephthalite support. Other accounts—most notably that of Procopius—insist that Jamasp’s reign ended violently, alleging that he was blinded on Kavad’s orders, a punishment consistent with Sasanian political practice for permanently disqualifying a royal rival without outright execution.

The Mazdakite Rebellion and Kavad’s Overthrow

In Taʾrīkh al-rusul wa-l-mulūk (History of the Prophets and Kings), Ṭabarī presents a dramatic account of the Mazdakite uprising and its role in Kavad’s initial downfall. According to his version, the rebellion reached a point of such religious fervor and political radicalism that the Mazdakites issued an extraordinary demand:

“They even demanded that he [Kavad] present himself in a sacrificial vessel so they could slay him and offer him to the fire.”

This image—half-ritual, half-political theatre—reflects both the apocalyptic tone often ascribed to Mazdakite rhetoric and the deep hostility of orthodox sources toward the movement.

At this crisis point, Zarmehr, son of Sukhra, intervened at the head of a group of Māhīn nobles. Feigning compliance, he offered himself as the sacrificial victim in place of Kavad. This stratagem allowed him to turn on the assembled Mazdakites, killing many. Yet this intervention, rather than restoring Kavad to the throne, led to an unexpected sequence: Zarmehr expelled Jamasp but did not dismantle Mazdakite influence entirely, leaving Kavad still politically vulnerable. In Ṭabarī’s telling, the Mazdakites were thus able to maintain pressure on Kavad, ultimately contributing to his deposition.

Ṭabarī characterises Kavad, prior to his embrace of Mazdak’s “heretical doctrines,” as one of Iran’s greatest rulers—energetic, capable, and politically effective. His ideological shift, however, allegedly undermined imperial cohesion: the loyalties of distant provinces weakened, and frontier defenses—particularly against Rome and the Hephthalites—fell into neglect. Whether this assessment is entirely fair is debatable, as it may reflect the post-Mazdakite clerical redaction of history, where ideological nonconformity is framed as a cause of imperial decline.

Conflicting Accounts and the Khwadāy-Nāmag

Ṭabarī also transmits a different version of events, almost certainly derived from the Middle Persian Khwadāy-Nāmag (Book of Lords), which was a principal source for much of early Islamic Persian historiography. In this variant, the deposition of Kavad is attributed directly to the nobility—identified as the Īzadgarmardān—and the Zoroastrian clergy, who reacted decisively to his adoption of Mazdakite doctrine. They imprisoned him and elevated Jamasp to the throne.

This version introduces a striking episode of royal resilience. One of Kavad’s sisters sought permission to visit him in prison. At first, both the jailer and fellow inmates obstructed her entry. She ultimately gained access by pretending to submit to the jailer’s advances, thereby exploiting a moment of personal vulnerability to achieve a political end. Once inside, she conspired with her brother and orchestrated his escape. The plan’s success hinged on an ingenious act of subterfuge: a trusted servant smuggled Kavad out, wrapped in a carpet, and told the jailer it was soiled with menstrual blood—a powerful social and ritual taboo that deterred inspection.

The episode, while almost theatrical in its detail, reveals much about Sasanian social mores: the interplay of gendered spaces, the potency of ritual taboos, and the agency royal women could wield in moments of dynastic crisis. It also underscores the degree to which later Iranian historical memory wove moralised, almost folkloric, episodes into political narratives.

Restoration and the Second Reign of Kavad I (501–531 CE)

Kavad I’s second reign, extending for three decades, unfolded alongside the rule of three Byzantine emperors—Anastasius (491–518), Justin I (518–527), and Justinian I (527–565). While Persian and early Islamic historians such as Ṭabarī, Yaʿqūbī, and Dīnawarī offer little commentary on this prolonged and politically complex period, Western sources—especially the works of Procopius—provide critical insight, most notably into Sasanian-Byzantine relations. Procopius, a contemporary observer, is not without his biases; his accounts reflect both the conventional Roman suspicion of “barbarian” courts and the political tensions of his own imperial context. Nevertheless, his testimony is indispensable for reconstructing the geopolitical and diplomatic climate of Kavad’s later reign.

The Fate of Jamasp

The historical record is divided on what became of Jamasp after Kavad’s return. Elias of Nisibis maintains that Jamasp was executed—a plausible outcome given the Sasanian practice of eliminating rival claimants to secure dynastic stability. In contrast, the Byzantine historian Agathias offers a markedly different, and perhaps idealised, portrait:

The Persians entrusted the throne to Jamasp, son of Peroz, in the belief that his mild and just disposition would bring peace. Yet when Kavad returned, he reclaimed the crown without resistance, as if it had merely been held in trust for him. Jamasp, after four years of quiet prosperity, willingly abdicated, renouncing royal luxury in favour of private life.

Ferdowsi’s Shāhnāmeh and Dīnawarī’s AkhbārṬiwāl likewise suggest that Kavad pardoned his brother, though the details differ in tone and emphasis. Regardless of whether Jamasp’s exit was forced, negotiated, or voluntary, it is clear that Kavad, upon his restoration, had more urgent priorities than exacting vengeance. Chief among these was the volatile Mazdakite question.

Kavad’s Dilemma: Mazdak and the Nobility

Kavad’s earlier alliance with Mazdak—whether born of ideological sympathy, political calculation, or both—had estranged him from the Zoroastrian priesthood (mōbeds) and the great noble houses (wuzurgān). This alienation had been central to his earlier deposition. Upon regaining the throne with Hephthalite backing, Kavad faced a delicate challenge: to retain the social reformist edge that had once given him popular support, without once again provoking the aristocracy into rebellion.

According to George Rawlinson, Kavad resolved this tension through a pragmatic bifurcation of roles. As a private individual, he remained sympathetic to Mazdak’s vision of curbing greed and promoting social equity; as a sovereign, however, he declared religion a matter separate from the apparatus of governance and refrained from imposing Mazdakism through state policy. This compromise permitted Mazdak to continue preaching freely—maintaining his influence among commoners—while reassuring the elite that their estates, privileges, and doctrinal orthodoxy would not be legislatively undermined.

This repositioning reveals Kavad’s political maturity: unlike his first reign, when ideological zeal may have outweighed tactical foresight, his second reign shows a ruler capable of moderating conviction with realpolitik.

Geopolitical Friction with Byzantium

Kavad’s internal balancing act was soon complicated by renewed tension on the western frontier. The peace treaty concluded in 442 between Yazdegerd II and Theodosius II had bound Byzantium to share the financial burden of defending the Caspian Gates (Vīru-Pahel in Middle Persian; Bira Parakh in Greek), the strategic mountain pass shielding Iran from incursions by nomadic groups such as the Huns and Massagetae. However, Roman contributions had ceased during the reign of Peroz I, leaving Persia to bear the full cost of maintaining the fortifications and garrison.

In 502, Kavad dispatched envoys to the newly enthroned Emperor Anastasius, demanding arrears. Anastasius—still consolidating his position at home—rebuffed the request outright. According to Joshua the Stylite, the Iranian delegation delivered their message with a blunt ultimatum: pay the outstanding sum or face war. Anastasius, already suspicious of Kavad due to his Mazdakite associations and perceived hostility toward Christians, replied sharply:

“Just as Zeno refused you, so shall I—unless you return Nisibis. Rome is engaged in its own wars—against the Germans, Ethiopians, and others. I will not impoverish my armies to feed yours.”

This exchange was more than a simple fiscal dispute. By linking payment to the return of Nisibis—a city ceded to Iran under the 363 treaty of Jovian—Anastasius was effectively repudiating the post-5th-century diplomatic settlement. The refusal also carried an implicit insult: treating Iranshahr as a subordinate power seeking Roman charity.

The Outbreak of War

Anastasius’ dismissal ended six decades of relative peace between the two empires (interrupted only briefly in 441). Confident in a coalition of Iranian, Hephthalite, and Arab forces, Kavad initiated hostilities. Rawlinson suggests that Anastasius underestimated both Kavad’s resolve and the logistical readiness of the Sasanian army, assuming that the dispute over the Caspian Gates was too minor to justify a major war. Kavad’s decision to act decisively—perhaps driven as much by the need to demonstrate strength after his restoration as by strategic necessity—left Byzantium with no graceful avenue for retreat. Thus began the first of several extended conflicts that would define Sasanian-Byzantine relations for the next three decades.

Kavad and The Armenian Question: Strategic Diplomacy and Religious Tensions in Late Sasanian Armenia

The Vahan Settlement and its Aftermath

The resolution of Armenian resistance under Vahan Mamikonian represents a pivotal moment in Sasanian imperial policy, demonstrating the pragmatic flexibility that characterized effective Iranian governance. Shah Balash's earlier commission of Shapur Mehran's comprehensive report on Armenian affairs had revealed the fundamental challenge posed by guerrilla warfare tactics, which had proven remarkably effective against conventional Iranian military superiority. Recognizing that protracted conflict served neither imperial interests nor administrative efficiency, Balash pursued diplomatic resolution through direct negotiation with Vahan.

The terms negotiated between Balash and Vahan established crucial precedents for Sasanian governance of Christian territories. Vahan's demands—religious freedom for Armenian Christians, rejection of rigid Zoroastrian social hierarchies, and direct royal administration without intermediary governors—reflected sophisticated understanding of both Armenian grievances and Iranian administrative capabilities. Balash's acceptance of these conditions demonstrated remarkable imperial pragmatism, prioritizing stable governance over ideological uniformity.

This diplomatic success bore fruit in Vahan's subsequent appointment as Armenian border commander (marzban), a position that effectively transformed a former rebel leader into a key imperial administrator. Such policies exemplified the Sasanian capacity for incorporating local elites into imperial structures while respecting regional autonomy—a strategy that proved far more effective than purely coercive approaches.

Religious Tensions Under Kavad's Reign

The accession of Kavad marked a significant shift in Iranian-Armenian relations, though initial policies appeared to continue Balash's conciliatory approach. Sebeos records that Kavad, recognizing the depleted state of Iranian military forces, deliberately cultivated peaceful relations across the empire's periphery, including Armenia. The ceremonial honors accorded to Vahan at the Persian court and his respectful return to Armenia suggested continuity in imperial policy.

However, the transition following Vahan's death exposed the fragility of these arrangements. The brief tenure of his brother Ward Patrick (509-514 CE) and subsequent appointment of a Iranian marzban revealed the temporary nature of Armenian administrative autonomy. More significantly, underlying religious tensions persisted despite formal guarantees of Christian freedom.

The archaeological evidence suggests that while Christians retained worship rights, they were prohibited from damaging Mithraic fire temples—a restriction that created ongoing friction. The Zarvanite-Mithraic religious synthesis promoted by certain Iranian officials conflicted fundamentally with Christian theological exclusivity, creating an inherently unstable religious landscape.

The Armenian Rebellion and its Strategic Context

Joshua Stylites provides crucial insight into the deterioration of Persian-Armenian relations during Kavad's later reign. The Armenian destruction of fire temples and massacre of Zoroastrian magi represented not merely religious violence but a calculated political challenge to Iranian authority. The timing of this rebellion—coinciding with Roman-Iranian tensions over the Caspian Gates subsidy—suggests strategic coordination that transcended purely religious motivations.

Kavad's initial response through frontier commanders proved inadequate, as Armenian forces successfully destroyed both the expeditionary force and its leadership. The subsequent Armenian overtures to Constantinople revealed the rebellion's broader geopolitical dimensions, though Emperor Anastasius's refusal to accept Armenian allegiance demonstrated Roman reluctance to provoke direct Iranian confrontation.

The suppression of concurrent rebellions by the Kadishaye (between Sinjar and Dara), the Tamuraye in the Iranian highlands, and various Arab tribal confederations indicates widespread imperial instability during this period. These simultaneous challenges stretched Iranian military resources and complicated strategic planning, ultimately influencing Kavad's approach to both Armenian affairs and Roman relations.

Roman-Iranian Diplomacy and the Failure of Negotiation

The breakdown of diplomatic negotiations between Kavad and Anastasius illuminates the complex intersection of financial pressures, strategic calculations, and imperial prestige in late antique geopolitics. Kavad's debt obligations to the Hephthalite confederation created immediate fiscal pressures that required either Roman subsidies or military acquisition of resources.

Theophanes' analysis of Roman strategic thinking reveals sophisticated understanding of triangular diplomatic relationships. Roman advisors correctly assessed that subsidizing Kavad would strengthen Iranian-Hephthalite cooperation, potentially creating a more formidable eastern coalition. The deliberate decision to reject Iranian financial requests represented calculated acceptance of military conflict over long-term strategic disadvantage.

Anastasius's conditional offer of loans rather than tribute payments reflected Roman attempts to maintain diplomatic face while addressing Iranian fiscal needs. However, Kavad's interpretation of this distinction as insulting suggests deeper issues of imperial dignity and hierarchical recognition that transcended purely financial considerations.

The Theodosiopolis Campaign and Roman Defensive Failures

Kavad's 502 CE campaign against Roman Armenia demonstrated characteristic Iranian strategic innovation, combining surprise tactics with rapid operational tempo to overwhelm unprepared defenders. The sudden assault on Theodosiopolis, despite its strategic importance as the keystone of Roman Armenian defenses, caught Commander Constantine completely unprepared—a failure that suggests broader systemic problems in Roman frontier intelligence and military readiness.

The ease with which Iranian forces penetrated Roman defensive lines and advanced through Armenian territories exposed fundamental weaknesses in Roman strategic planning. The rapidity of Iranian movement, reaching Mesopotamian Amida by early winter, indicates sophisticated logistical planning that Roman commanders failed to anticipate or counter effectively.

The Siege of Amida: Engineering and Tactical Innovation

The prolonged siege of Amida provides exceptional insight into late antique siege warfare and the technological innovations employed by both Iranian and Roman engineers. Kavad's initial employment of battering rams against Amida's massive fortifications proved ineffective against walls constructed using earlier Roman engineering expertise. The defenders' successful deployment of tree trunks to destroy ram heads demonstrated effective countermeasures against traditional siege equipment.

Joshua Stylites' detailed technical account reveals the sophisticated engineering approaches employed during the siege. Iranian construction of earth ramps adjacent to city walls followed established siege doctrine, while Roman counter-elevation of defensive walls showed adaptive tactical thinking. The Iranian innovation of reinforcing ramps with wooden planks and hair-filled earthwork bags represented creative solutions to Roman undermining tactics.

The Roman deployment of stone-throwing engines ("crushers") capable of hurling projectiles exceeding 150 kilograms demonstrates significant technological capabilities. These devices proved highly effective against Iranian protective shelters, forcing tactical adaptations including water-soaked linen covers that neutralized both projectile impact and incendiary attacks.

The Iranian tactical response through diversionary raids demonstrates sophisticated campaign coordination. Na'aman ibn Mundhir's Arab auxiliary forces effectively divided Roman attention through simultaneous attacks on Harran and Edessa, capturing an estimated 18,500 prisoners while main Iranian forces maintained pressure on Amida.

Roman Command Dysfunction and Strategic Consequences

The Roman military response to the Iranian offensive revealed systematic command and control failures that would characterize Byzantine military administration for decades. Emperor Anastasius's decision to divide supreme command among four co-equal generals—Aurebindus, Celer, Patricius, and Hypatius—created inherent coordination problems that Iranian intelligence successfully exploited.

The appointment of separate financial administrator Apion with independent imperial authority further complicated command relationships. While intended to ensure adequate logistical support, this arrangement created additional bureaucratic obstacles to rapid decision-making during active operations.

The Roman armies' failure to coordinate movements or concentrate forces provided Kavad with interior lines advantages that skilled Iranian generalship exploited effectively. The sequential defeats at Arzamon and Siphreus resulted directly from this strategic dispersion, allowing numerically inferior Iranian forces to defeat Roman units in detail.

Procopius's account of the Siphreus engagement reveals the tactical complacency that characterized Roman military culture during this period. The decision by Patricius and Hypatius to cease combat operations for midday meals after their initial success against Hephthalite auxiliaries demonstrated fundamental misunderstanding of Iranian tactical capabilities and campaign tempo.

The Gadonu Episode and the Porosity of Siege Warfare

In the protracted siege of Amida (502–503 AD), one of the most revealing incidents involved a local hunter named Gadonu. According to Joshua the Stylite, Gadonu was permitted to move freely between the Roman-held city and the surrounding Iranian lines, ostensibly to supply the besiegers with game and provisions. In reality, he acted as an informal conduit of information to the defenders. His movements illustrate a crucial fact often overlooked in accounts of ancient warfare: even during lengthy sieges, defensive perimeters were rarely airtight.

The Iranian decision to tolerate limited civilian movement was not mere negligence. It reflected a pragmatic approach to occupation logistics and the economics of war. Allowing controlled exchanges between besiegers, besieged, and the rural hinterland helped prevent shortages, reduced unrest, and maintained a degree of stability. For the Iranians, who expected eventual victory, this was also a way to preserve the urban economy they intended to govern after capture.

Yet Gadonu’s activities show how such leniency could be turned to the defenders’ advantage. As a noncombatant, he could exploit gaps in the siege cordon, relay intelligence, and help coordinate aspects of the city’s defense without raising immediate suspicion. His case underscores how civilian actors—motivated by loyalty, personal interest, or survival—could play pivotal roles in the outcome of military operations. A siege’s success or failure often depended on these informal channels as much as on the maneuvers of armies or the strength of walls.

The fall of Amida despite such efforts demonstrates the limits of civilian resistance when confronted with overwhelming military force and strategic patience. Nevertheless, Gadonu’s story remains a striking example of how individuals on the margins of battle could influence the course of events, and how ancient siege warfare was as much a contest of endurance, deception, and resourcefulness as of arms.

Economic Warfare and the Amida Ransom

In 504 CE, the Eastern Roman Empire regained control of Amida not through reconquest but by paying the Iranians a ransom of ninety pounds of gold. This transaction, recorded in both Joshua the Stylite and Procopius, exemplifies a pragmatic form of economic conflict resolution that spared both sides the immense costs, risks, and uncertainties of extended military action. For Kavad I, the decision to accept monetary compensation rather than continue to hold Amida reflected a calculated strategic judgment: the city’s long-term value as an occupied fortress was outweighed by the immediate benefit of a substantial financial infusion into the Itanian war chest.

Procopius adds a revealing detail that reshapes the interpretation of this episode: at the time of the ransom negotiations, the Iranian garrison in Amida had barely one week’s worth of provisions remaining. This stark shortage was a direct consequence of sustained Roman military pressure on supply routes—an early example of economic warfare through attritional siege tactics. That the Iranian command managed to conceal this critical vulnerability from the Romans while sustaining defensive morale speaks to the discipline and leadership skill of the officers in charge.

The Romans, however, only learned of this Iranian desperation after the transaction was complete. This belated realization triggered sharp criticism of Roman generalship and diplomatic competence. Many argued that continued military pressure could have compelled the Iranians to abandon the city without payment, achieving the same result without draining the imperial treasury. The incident became emblematic of the strategic intelligence failures that had plagued Roman planning during the Amida campaign.

The 506 Peace Treaty and Strategic Resolution

The seven-year peace treaty concluded in 506 CE between the Iranian Aspahbad (a high-ranking military commander, sometimes rendered as “admiral” in later sources) and the Roman magister militum Celer was the product of mutual strategic exhaustion. Both empires faced pressing threats elsewhere. For Kavad I, renewed conflict with Hunnic confederations on the northeastern frontier required the redeployment of elite troops, making prolonged confrontation with Rome over the Armenian and Mesopotamian frontiers a secondary concern.

On the Roman side, Emperor Anastasius recognized that the costs of sustained war with Iran would be politically and fiscally ruinous, particularly while the empire still faced the destabilizing effects of Isaurian uprisings in Asia Minor and other internal security crises. Despite the perceived humiliation of having paid for Amida’s return under less-than-favorable terms, the imperial leadership calculated that a negotiated settlement was the wiser course.

Theophanes the Confessor, writing centuries later, nevertheless preserves traditions suggesting that by the war’s end, Roman military performance had markedly improved. Under Celer’s unified command, Roman forces coordinated more effectively, capturing several Iranian-held fortresses and posing a credible threat to Nisibis itself. These successes indicate that earlier Roman defeats in the war were less the result of inherent military inferiority and more a consequence of fragmented command structures and poor coordination. The peace of 506 thus closed a conflict in which both empires had scored tactical gains but neither could secure decisive victory—underscoring the limits of offensive warfare when balanced powers confront each other across a fortified frontier.

Conclusion: Imperial Adaptation and Strategic Learning

The Kavad-era Armenian and Roman conflicts demonstrate the complex interplay of religious policy, diplomatic strategy, and military innovation in late Sasanian imperial administration. The initial success of Balash's conciliatory approach toward Armenian Christians suggests that pragmatic accommodation could achieve stable governance outcomes superior to purely coercive policies.

However, the subsequent breakdown of this arrangement under changing political conditions reveals the inherent fragility of compromise solutions that failed to address underlying structural tensions. The persistence of religious conflicts between Christian Armenians and Zoroastrian/Mithraic Iranian administrators created recurring flashpoints that diplomatic agreements could moderate but not permanently resolve.

The Roman-Persian warfare of 502-506 CE demonstrates both the potential and limitations of military solutions to imperial competition. While Persian tactical innovation and strategic coordination achieved significant short-term successes, the ultimate negotiated resolution suggests that neither empire possessed the sustained capabilities necessary for decisive victory over the other.

The broader historical significance of these conflicts lies in their demonstration of imperial adaptation under pressure. Both Iranian and Roman administrative systems showed capacity for strategic learning, tactical innovation, and diplomatic flexibility that enabled survival and eventual stabilization despite significant military and political challenges.

Anastasius’ Breach of the Treaty: The Reconstruction of Roman Border Fortresses and the Treaty of 505 CE

The decade-long struggle between Kavad I and the Huns presented Emperor Anastasius with a rare strategic opening. While Iran’s eastern armies were committed to combating nomadic threats, the Romans undertook a systematic reinforcement of their own frontier. This involved restoring and expanding the defensive system first established under Theodosius II, while at the same time dismantling or neutralizing key Iranian strongholds along the shared border. Anastasius not only repaired the ramparts of Theodosiopolis but also encircled the city with a massive new wall. Far more consequential was his decision to construct a heavily fortified military base at Daras, on the southern slopes of Mount Mons Macius (modern Qarche Dagh) in northern Mesopotamia, approximately twenty kilometers from Nisibis—the principal Iranian fortress in the region.

This was not merely a tactical measure; it was a direct violation of the peace treaty of 441 CE concluded between Yazdegerd II and Theodosius II, which forbade either empire from erecting new fortifications along the frontier. The contemporary Syriac chronicler Joshua the Stylite preserves the Roman rationale for this breach. According to his account, Roman generals complained that their forces suffered a constant disadvantage in frontier operations. Lacking nearby fortified positions, they were forced to march out from distant cities such as Constantia or Amida to confront Arab raiding parties. If a battle turned against them, or if they encountered a numerically superior force, they had no secure refuge for retreat or resupply. To remedy this, the emperor ordered a wall to be built around the village of Dara, a location commanding vital approaches on the frontier. Laborers were summoned from across Syria, and construction began in earnest—until a Iranian detachment from Nisibis arrived to halt the project. Roman commander Farazman then advanced from Edessa to Amida to protect the workforce, ensuring that the work continued.

Zechariah of Mytilene, another near-contemporary, adds a political dimension to this decision. He reports that Anastasius, deeply dissatisfied with the failure of his generals to recover Amida from the Iranians—despite substantial bribes and concessions intended to induce its return—reprimanded them harshly on their return to Constantinople. The generals defended themselves by claiming that their defeats were divine punishment for their sins and by stressing the immense difficulty of confronting Kavad’s armies. Even without the king’s direct intervention, they argued, retaking Nisibis would have been nearly impossible given the absence of nearby fortified bases. The existing Roman strongholds were too far away, too small to shelter large forces, and critically short of water and grain reserves.

As Zechariah recounts, the generals urged the emperor to establish a new fortified city on the mountain slopes—a base where troops could recuperate, stockpile provisions, construct siege engines, and defend the Arab-inhabited territories from both Iranian attacks and raids by the Tayyaye (a Qahtanite Arab tribe). Anastasius accepted their reasoning and commissioned Thomas, Bishop of Amida, to send engineers experienced in siegecraft. Thomas’s plan was approved by the emperor and his council, culminating in the imperial decree: “Let Daras be built as a city.”

Kavad, at the time, was preoccupied with wars against the Tamuraye (a Turkic people allied with the Huns near the Caspian Gates) and other eastern enemies. Exploiting this distraction, Anastasius dispatched stonemasons and builders to Daras, offering high wages to ensure rapid progress. The promise of generous pay drew skilled craftsmen from across the Near East, accelerating construction. Within three to four years, the fortress-city emerged as a fully walled stronghold—a sudden and formidable challenge to Iranian control of the Mesopotamian frontier. By the time Kavad became aware of the project, its outer defenses were already in place, and the workers could operate securely behind the ramparts. The completed settlement was named Anastasiopolis in honor of the emperor.

In 517 CE, following his victory over the Hephthalites, Kavad sent envoys to Constantinople to accuse Anastasius of violating the 441 treaty. Procopius reports that Anastasius, aware of the strength of the Iranian complaint, initially responded with a calculated mixture of stern diplomacy and outward cordiality before resorting to lavish gifts to mollify the king. The 19th-century historian George Rawlinson, misreading Procopius, claimed that the emperor bribed Kavad’s envoys directly—a conclusion likely influenced by his brother Sir Henry Rawlinson’s own 19th-century colonial experiences in Iran, which colored his historical interpretations.

The tensions over Daras and the unresolved issues from the earlier campaigns were eventually settled in the so-called Seven-Year Peace Treaty of 505 CE. Although Kavad secured several of his demands in this agreement, the Roman breach at Daras marked a decisive shift in frontier policy, foreshadowing further conflicts in the reigns of both Kavad and his successors.

Reconciliation Talks between Kavad I and Emperor Justin I

Anastasius died in July 518 at the age of eighty-seven, having reigned for twenty-seven years. Contemporary sources estimate that, by the end of his reign, perhaps only half the inhabitants of Rome could be counted even nominally Christian. A senator allied with the late Emperor Zeno, Anastasius had married Zeno’s widow, Ariadne, and—through her influence—ascended the imperial throne. His final years were marked by deep unpopularity; he had raised taxes but hoarded the revenues rather than circulating them, and he openly supported the Monophysite Christological doctrine, which held that Christ’s divine and human natures were a single fused nature. This stance antagonized both the Roman Church and the Orthodox Church of Constantinople. Nevertheless, Anastasius knew he would be posthumously acclaimed Divus, and indeed he was the last Roman emperor to be accorded apotheosis by the Senate.

Upon his death, Amantius, a powerful and respected eunuch at court, sought to ensure the succession of a candidate loyal to him. He entrusted a large sum to the commander of the imperial guard, Justin, intending that the money be used to secure support for Amantius’s protégé. Justin, however—a man of humble origin, once an illiterate Dacian peasant—appropriated the funds to secure his own election, compelling the guards to acclaim him emperor.

Although Justin inclined toward Orthodox Christianity and enjoyed the support of those hostile to Anastasius’s Monophysitism, he lacked political refinement. John of Lydia describes him as knowing “no other art than that of a soldier,” and Gibbon characterizes him as fully aware of his own limitations—a self-knowledge that bred suspicion and unease. Later chroniclers dismissed his reign as the inconsequential rule of an ignorant old man. To compensate for his deficiencies in statecraft, Justin relied heavily on his capable nephew, Justinian, who would succeed him.

Shortly after Justin’s accession, Kavad I dispatched envoys to Constantinople. Their purpose was not mere congratulation but to address Iran’s grievances over the unpaid subsidies stipulated in the treaty Anastasius had concluded with Iran. Justin had refused to pay these sums, claiming no obligation under his predecessor’s agreements.

Tensions between Iran and Rome had been mounting for years. Key issues included: (1) arrears in the shared maintenance of the fortress of P‘iraphrakh, guarding the Caspian Gates; (2) Rome’s reconstruction of Theodosiopolis and construction of the city and fortress of Dara in violation of the 431 peace treaty; and (3) Roman interference in the Caucasus. Moreover, there were indications that Rome was again inciting the Huns against Iran.

According to Henry Howorth, in 508 the fortress of P‘iraphrakh had fallen to a Hun chieftain named Ambazuq, who maintained cordial relations with Anastasius. Fearing Kavad’s growing power, Ambazuq proposed to cede the fortress to Rome, citing his age as a pretext. Anastasius, aware of the potential danger of antagonizing Kavad, demurred. Ambazuq soon died, and Kavad expelled his heirs from the Caspian Gates, regaining P‘iraphrakh. Some Romans criticized Anastasius for not seizing Ambazuq’s offer; however, when the Huns later attacked Roman territory from this base in 516, opinion shifted. From the Iranian perspective, control of P‘iraphrakh entitled Iran to half the cost of defending the Caspian frontier—an expense Kavad now pressed Rome to share.

One of Justin’s earliest diplomatic moves was to send an embassy bearing rich gifts to Ziligdēs, ruler of the Huns, securing a treaty by which Ziligdēs would aid Rome against Iran in the event of war. Justin soon discovered, however, that Ziligdēs had concluded a similar treaty with Kavad and had already sent him 20,000 troops. Informed of this duplicity, Justin warned Kavad: “Is it not better for brothers such as we to reconcile, rather than be made playthings of these dogs?” Kavad summoned Ziligdēs, confirmed the treachery, and ordered his execution, subsequently annihilating his sleeping forces. Even so, Constantinople continued to intrigue with the Huns against Iran.

Armenian historians record that after the death of Vahan Mamikonian in 510, Kavad appointed his brother Vard to guard the Armenian frontier. Three years later, following complaints from the noble Borzān, Kavad replaced Vard with Borzān. When the Huns soon invaded Iranian Armenia via the Caspian Gates, Borzān fled. Resistance came from Mijezh, a Georgian prince, who defeated the invaders in Borzān Sasun (in the Armenian province of Aghdashnik) and drove them out of Iran with Armenian assistance. Kavad rewarded Mijezh by appointing him governor of the Armenian frontier and rebuilt the cities destroyed in the raids. As the Huns retreated, they ravaged Cappadocia, Galatia, and Pontus, their depredations reaching as far as Euchaïta on the Lycaonian border.

Around this time, Tzathus, a Lazic prince whose father had been a Iranian client-king, petitioned Justin to recognize his succession, declaring his intention to convert to Christianity and place his kingdom under Roman protection. Justin welcomed him, baptized him, married him to the noblewoman Valeriana, and returned him to Lazica with ceremonial honors. This act, undermining the treaty of 505, further strained relations. Both aging rulers were nonetheless wary of open war, being preoccupied with domestic affairs.

Malalas records a pointed exchange of letters: Kavad protested, “You have appointed as Caesar of Lazica one of my subjects,” to which Justin replied that Tzathus had come seeking liberation from paganism and had freely embraced Christianity.

Rather than confront Justin directly over Lazica, Kavad proposed that Justin adopt his favored son, Khosrow (Anushirvan), thereby creating a bond that might secure Roman aid should the Iranian succession be challenged by the Magians or the nobility. Procopius reports this offer and, though Rawlinson finds it hard to credit, parallels exist—most notably Arcadius’s earlier entrusting of his son Theodosius II to Yazdegerd I.

Procopius explains Kavad’s reasoning: his eldest son, Kawus, was unpopular; his second son, Zamasp, was ineligible due to blindness in one eye; Khosrow, son of Kavad’s sister and the spahbad, was his favorite but might be opposed by the army, which admired Zamasp’s martial skill. Adoption by the Roman emperor would strengthen Khosrow’s position and stabilize the succession.

Kavad’s letter offered to forgive Roman “crimes” in exchange for a “bond of brotherhood” through adoption. Justin and Justinian were initially receptive, but Proclus, Justin’s chief advisor, warned that such an arrangement would pave the way for Iranian influence over Rome, especially as Justin had no biological heirs. In Proclus’s view, the Iranians “neither conceal nor disguise their intent” but seek to mask ambition with a show of simplicity.

On Proclus’s counsel, Justin declined the adoption but agreed to send senior envoys to negotiate peace. Hypatius, nephew of Anastasius, and Rufinus, son of Silvanus—both acquainted with Kavad from their fathers—were dispatched. The Iranian delegation was led by spahbad Zarmehr Sukhra (Siavash) and a mobed.

The two parties met on the frontier to discuss reconciliation. Khosrow himself came to Nisibis, ready to travel to Byzantium if the talks succeeded. Zarmehr protested Rome’s seizure of Lazica, which he claimed by ancient right. The Romans, in turn, derided the adoption proposal as “barbaric.” Mutual offense ended the negotiations, and both sides withdrew. Deeply insulted, Khosrow vowed to avenge the slight upon Rome.

The Dismissal of the Military Leader Zarmehr Sukhra (Siavash)

After the collapse of the reconciliation talks between Iran and Rome, the Mōbadān-Mōbad who had attended the negotiations accused Siavash before Kavad I of mishandling the discussion of Lazica—raising the issue, it was alleged, in an inopportune manner and without regard for the king’s priorities—and thereby contributing to the failure of the talks. The high priest also censured Zarmehr Sukhra (Siavash) for having recently communicated with Hypatius, who was known to harbor reservations about Emperor Justinian, and whom the priest claimed was intent on obstructing both a general reconciliation and the proposed adoption of Khosrow. Siavash’s rivals seized the moment to multiply accusations, and he was accordingly arraigned and examined before the imperial council.

The entire circle of great nobles—the Wuzurgān (often rendered, loosely, as a “Sasanian senate”)—assembled to judge him. As Procopius relates, many sat “more from envy than in reverence for the law,” for Siavash’s formidable authority had inevitably given offense among the magnates, and a considerable portion of the aristocracy had turned against him. Procopius further portrays Siavash as incorruptible in judicial matters, exacting to a fault, and, at the same time, marked by a singular hauteur: a quality he imputes broadly to Iranian administrators, but which, in Siavash’s case, he considered almost prodigious.

There were, moreover, religious anxieties. It appears that Zarmehr Sukhra (Siavash), like his father, had turned away—at least in practice—from orthodox Zoroastrian observance. Procopius remarks that, upon his wife’s death, he had her buried, contrary to ritual injunctions against polluting earth with the dead; he also hints that Siavash venerated “foreign gods.” It is reasonable to conclude that his sympathies were suspected of inclining toward Mazdakite teaching, and that the Mōbadān-Mōbad’s animus was intensified by this perceived heterodoxy. In the end, the judges condemned him to death. Kavad, though reportedly grieved by the sentence—he owed much to Siavash’s earlier loyalty and prowess—refused to contravene the established order (often framed by later writers in terms of the Vendīdād and customary law). As Procopius has it, the king declared that he would not “trample upon the Iranians” for a personal debt of gratitude. Siavash was executed, and—tellingly—no successor was named to his office of commander of the army, an omission that may be read as deliberate.

The aftermath in Constantinople mirrored the volatility. Rufinus was accused by Hypatius before the emperor; Justin removed Rufinus from office and subjected several of his kinsmen to brutal torture, only to realize, too late, that the entire proceeding had miscarried. No further punishment was visited upon Hypatius.

Another Rising of the Mazdakites

The failure of the Siavash–Hypatius parleys suggested that a fresh war between Iran and Rome loomed; yet in 523 CE a Mazdakite rising erupted within the empire. It may be argued that the immediate catalyst was the execution of Zarmehr Sukhra (Siavash): for more than two decades the Mazdakites had flourished under his de facto protection, and Siavash’s patronage was likely grounded in the well-known fact—attested by multiple traditions—that Kavad retained at least a measure of sympathy for Mazdakite reform. During this long interval of relative toleration, Mazdakite numbers had grown substantially across the provinces, provoking mounting alarm among Zoroastrian clergy and Nestorian bishops alike.

As is well known, succession anxieties compounded the crisis. Among Kavad’s sons, three names circulated most widely: Kavus, Zamasp, and Khosrow. Many sources—often hostile to the Mazdakites—suggest that Kavad had become disenchanted with his eldest, Kavus, and preferred Khosrow as heir. It appears that Kavus’s adhesion (or reputed adhesion) to Mazdakite doctrine made his acceptance by the priesthood and conservative nobility improbable. According to Theophanes, one of Kavad’s sons—Phthasuarsas (commonly taken as a Hellenized form of Padakhshā and sometimes identified, perhaps inaccurately, with Kavus)—together with his sister Sambyke, had embraced the “sect of Mani” (Theophanes consistently conflates Mazdakites with Manichaeans). Christian writers also gloss Phthasuarsas as “Padishkhāvār-Shāh,” a title associated with rule south of the Caspian. It appears that, after Zarmehr Sukhra (Siavash) was killed, Mazdakite partisans moved to enthrone Kavus; and this, in turn, precipitated the first large-scale massacre of Mazdakites in late 528 or early 529.

Malalas reports that the king convened a council, drew together the Mazdakites and their bishops, ordered the troops to encircle them, and then put to the sword the assembled adherents, including their bishop Indazar, burning their books and commanding that whatever of their property was found throughout the Iranian realm be destroyed. Theophanes preserves a parallel narrative—though with the same confusions noted above—in which the Mazdakites urge Kavus (whom he calls Phthasouarsas) to accept the crown, promising by their “prayers” to extract abdication from Kavad. Learning of the conspiracy, Kavad held a secret council and feigned the very plan the conspirators desired: he announced his intention to invest Kavus, requested that the Mazdakites separate themselves for the acclamation, and—once they had done so—ordered their annihilation. The account specifies the presence of “Glonazes,” chief of priests (clearly the Mōbadān-Mōbad), other clergy, and the Christian bishop Boazanes, a physician much esteemed by the king.

Later Iranian statecraft literature amplifies the tale. In Niẓām al-Mulk’s Siyāsat-nāma, Khosrow first warns his father of Mazdak’s designs, then lures the sect to a garden fete under the pretense of converting; once gathered, the adherents are seized, slain, and buried upside down, their feet left protruding above the earth. Khosrow brings Mazdak himself to view the grim tableau—“Behold what has become of the seed you planted”—before ordering his execution. While these details are late and stylized, they likely preserve the memory of a carefully staged purge.

There is, admittedly, a chronological tension in the sources. Some place the massacre under Kavad, others under Khosrow Anushirvan. A reasonable reconciliation—supported explicitly by Malalas and adopted by Edward Browne—posits two episodes: a first massacre in 528/529, and a second in 531, “some time after the accession of Khosrow.” Nöldeke’s reading of Malalas underscores that the latter event followed Kavad’s death. Malalas, after noting Khosrow’s accession, observes that the king “suppressed the Mazdakite heresy” that had spread through the land; the priests, awed by his zeal, then conspired with nobles to depose him in favor of his brother—whereupon Khosrow, apprised of the plot, executed that brother.

On this view, Mazdak himself survived the first massacre—perhaps protected by Kavad’s residual regard—and perished in the second, early in Khosrow’s reign. This sequencing not only harmonizes the testimonies but also aligns with the politics of succession: the first purge neutralized an immediate Mazdakite bid for Kavus; the second consolidated Khosrow’s authority by extirpating the movement’s leadership and their remaining aristocratic patrons.

The Reoccupation of Iberia (Georgia)

Vakhtang Gorgasali, son of Mehrdat V, king of Iberia (Georgia), was born of Queen Skadoght, a woman of Scythian descent, and was married to Princess Balandakht, daughter of Hormuzd III. The Georgian form Vakhtang derives from the Middle Iranian Vahrka-Khosru-Tang, the name given him at birth. The first element, Vahrka (“wolf”), is cognate with Varka-Vṛka in Sanskrit, Varkāna in Old Iranian, and Vahrka in Avestan. His epithet Gorgasali (“wolf-head”) was reputedly inspired by the wolf-shaped helmet he wore in battle. Vakhtang had earlier accompanied Peroz I—father of Kavad I—on the Indian campaign.

During Peroz I’s reign, the Persian pādakhsh in Iberia—Shah Yar, the royal inspector (“eye and ear” of the Sasanian monarch)—was one Vazgen, a Mithraist and partisan of Peroz. At the king’s order, Vazgen pressed Vakhtang to adopt the Zurvānite creed, styled in the sources as a “religion of kindness.” Vakhtang (r. 502–449 BCE according to local chronology, though the dates here are imprecise) refused, rebelled, and slew Vazgen. He then sought to secure the aid of Dengizich, son of Attila, ruler of the Huns, in resisting Iranian retribution.

When Peroz departed for the Oxus to confront the Hephthalites, he dispatched orders to Zarmehr Sukhra, instructing him to proceed to Iberia and expel King Vakhtang—by force if need be. In consequence, Hazarbukht Zarmehr Sukhra, assisted by Iberian Mithraists, drove Vakhtang from his realm. After Kavad I’s later defeat of the Hephthalites and the conclusion of peace with Armenia under Balash, Vakhtang returned to Georgia, marrying Helen, daughter of Emperor Zeno. Upon Vakhtang’s death, the throne passed to his grandson Gorgin (Greek: Γόργένης; Georgian: გურამ, Gurām).

Following the suppression of the Mazdakite uprising—and mindful of the need to placate the Zoroastrian clergy—Kavad I revived Peroz’s earlier policy of enforcing Zoroastrian conformity in Iberia. He ordered King Gorgin to abandon Christianity and embrace the Zoroastrian rites. The priesthood, in particular, demanded that the Iberians cease Christian burial, substituting the exposure of corpses on platforms (dakhma) to be consumed by birds and beasts in accordance with Mazdean purity law.

Gorgin—styled “the Wolf” in Procopius—was outraged and, as Vakhtang had done before him, rebelled. He declared himself a client of the Roman Empire, securing from Emperor Justin I a treaty pledging that Iberia would never again be surrendered to Iran. Justin received this proposal with alacrity and dispatched Probus, nephew of the former emperor Anastasius, to Bosporus with a large sum of gold to hire Hun auxiliaries for the Iberian cause.

Procopius describes Bosporus as a maritime city, to the left of which lies the Black Sea, twenty days’ sail from Cherson—the Roman frontier in Crimea. The intervening lands were in Hun hands. In earlier centuries, Bosporus had been self-governing, but at this period it had placed itself under Roman protection.

Probus’ mission failed: the Huns were not secured, and he returned empty-handed. Justinian, undeterred, sent the general Peter with a detachment of Huns to assist Gorgin “the Wolf.” Kavad, for his part, entrusted the campaign to the general Baez, who advanced against Iberia in force.

As Procopius records:

Then Gorgin saw that he was utterly powerless to withstand the Persian onslaught, since the Roman aid was inadequate. He fled with all the Iberians to Lazica, taking his wife, children, and brothers—Prannius being the eldest.

With Gorgin’s withdrawal, Iberia reverted to Iranian control. Justinian fortified Lazica and garrisoned its passes; yet when the Iranians pressed their attack, the Romans abandoned their positions, ceding to the enemy the fortresses that guarded the vital commercial and strategic corridors between Lazica and Iberia.

Battle with Rome and the Victory of the Armenian-Iranian Generals Narses and Aratius over the Roman Generals Belisarius and Sittas

In the year 526 CE, the Eastern Roman Empire, under Emperor Justin I (Flavius Iustinus), resolved upon a military thrust into the Sasanian domains of Iranian Armenia (Parsahayastan in Armenian; Persarmenia in Latin) and Mesopotamia. Two imperial commanders were entrusted with this enterprise: Belisarius (Βελισάριος), later celebrated as one of Byzantium’s foremost generals, and Sittas (Σίττας), a rising officer of the guard. This campaign marked Belisarius’s first assumption of independent command—what George Rawlinson would later describe as the moment when “the greatest general of the time, the famous and unsuccessful Belisarius, took command for the first time and learned the tasks of army command to the test.”

The defense of Iranian Armenia fell not to ethnic Iranian commanders but to two Armenian nobles in Sasanian service: Narses (Ներսես, Nersēs) and Aratius (Հրահատ, Hrahat), charged with safeguarding this frontier region. In the ensuing engagement, the forces of Belisarius and Sittas suffered a decisive defeat at their hands.

The shock of this reverse spread rapidly. Another Roman general, possibly Litzas (Λιτζᾶς, sometimes identified with Lysalarius), who had been advancing toward Nisibis, abandoned his march in precipitous retreat upon learning of the disaster. Emperor Justin I, informed of his conduct, stripped him of responsibility, relegating him to a position of impotence. Belisarius was subsequently dispatched to take up a defensive posture at the fortress of Dara (Anastasiopolis).

Procopius of Caesarea records the episode in the following terms:

“The Romans, under Sittas and Belisarius, invaded Persarmenia , a territory subject to Iran, plundered a vast tract of land, and carried away a multitude of Armenians captive. These two generals, still young and barely beginning to grow their first beards, had been members of the guard of Justinian, who at that time served his uncle Justin I as co-emperor. But when they invaded Armenia a second time, Aratius and his forces unexpectedly met them and forced them to engage in battle.”

Evidence from the genealogies suggests that Narses and Aratius were brothers, scions of the Kamsarakan branch of the Arshakuni (Arsacid) dynasty of Armenia. When Guades (possibly Gōbād, here distinct from Kavad I), the Sasanian-appointed marzban of Armenia, imposed strict Zoroastrian measures in 530 CE, the brothers—together with their mother—sought asylum within Roman territory. Later, their younger brother Isaac (Իսահակ, Isahak) followed suit, surrendering the fortress of Deji to Roman forces.

Procopius provides further detail:

“Narses and Aratius, who—as I have said above—had first encountered Cetas and Belisarius in Persian Armenia, fled with their mother to the Romans. The imperial steward Narses—himself a native of Persian Armenia—welcomed them warmly and bestowed on them great sums of money. When Isaac, their younger brother, surrendered the fortress of Bolum, which was near Theodosiopolis, he ordered the soldiers to hide nearby, and at night, opening one of the smaller gates, admitted the Romans into the stronghold. Thus he too came into Byzantine service.”

Conversations Between the Envoys of Emperor Justinian and Kavad I

The year following Rome’s defeat in Armenia and Mesopotamia witnessed a change upon the imperial throne. In April 527 CE, Justin I died, and his nephew Justinian I  assumed the diadem, donning the purple vestment of imperial dignity. That same year, the Sasanian monarch Kavad I , then in his eighty-second year, appointed his sons to command Iranian armies engaged both in the Lazic War and at the fortified city of Dara.

Procopius, who was then serving as legal adviser to Belisarius in Dara, offers only a veiled account of these clashes—particularly the engagements around Dara, where Iranian forces pressed the Roman defenses. “Belisarius, in plain sight, stood his ground upon the defensive,” he notes, avoiding explicit detail.

In 528 CE, Justinian—newly settled on his throne—reinforced Martyropolis (Mayyāfāriqīn) and ordered Belisarius to construct a new fortress on the Iranian frontier at Mindouos, west of Nisibis. The objective was strategic: to counterbalance the Iranian advantage derived from their impregnable stronghold at Nisibis, which had long enabled them to dominate the Mesopotamian battlespace.

Yet the Sasanians responded with force. A host of sixty thousand, commanded by Xerxes (Khshērē, Middle Persian: 𐭧𐭱𐭩𐭥𐭧𐭱𐭩 Khshērē) son of Guades, together with the experienced general Peroz Mihran, repeatedly assailed the Roman laborers. When Belisarius summoned reinforcements from Syria and Phoenicia (modern Lebanon), Xerxes and Peroz intercepted and destroyed them. Belisarius retreated; the incomplete fortifications were dismantled by the Iranians, and Peroz returned to Ctesiphon (Tisfōn) with numerous Roman captives.

Rather than chastise his general, Justinian elevated Belisarius to magister militum per Orientem, appointing the experienced Hermogenes to assist in reorganizing the eastern army. Concurrently, the emperor dispatched the envoy Rufinus (Ῥουφῖνος) to Hierapolis (Manbij), ordering him to await instructions and, should the campaign go ill, to negotiate peace with Kavad.

At Dara, Belisarius and Hermogenes learned of Peroz’s advance at the head of forty thousand men. They ordered the excavation of complex trench systems before the city’s walls. Peroz, recalling Belisarius’s earlier defeat, mockingly sent word that the baths of Dara should be prepared for his refreshment after the city’s capture.

The Iranian assault began with dense volleys of arrows and javelins, sustained through the first day. Procopius’s narrative here swells with patriotic embellishment, portraying Roman endurance in heroic terms while omitting details of disorder. Yet within his text are embedded valuable criticisms—namely, the Romans’ failure to maintain disciplined formations such as the testudo and their retreat into Dara when the Iranians refused to enter the trench traps.

Procopius preserves speeches—whether authentic or literary inventions—by both commanders. Peroz urges his men not to be deceived by the Romans’ uncharacteristic orderliness, warning that it masked fear rather than improved skill. Belisarius reminds his troops of their earlier defeat, attributing it to disobedience and urging strict adherence to commands in the coming clash.

When the battle resumed after midday, a sudden shift of wind hindered Iranian archery. Ammunition spent, the fight closed to melee. On the Roman left, the Iranian one-eyed commander was slain, and the Iranian battle standard seized—an event that dampened Iranian morale. Belisarius withdrew into Dara before Peroz’s right wing could intervene, proclaiming victory. Procopius notes triumphantly that “the Romans defeated the Iranians in battle that day, something not seen for a very long time,” though he concedes that skirmishes continued and the Iranians maintained their positions before the city.

Simultaneously, Kavad dispatched another force—composed of Iranian Armenians, the Sunitae (possibly a Caucasian-Albanian or North Caucasian tribe), and three thousand Sabir Huns—into Roman Armenia. Under the Iranian general Mermeroes , they advanced toward Satala, near the palace of Octava. Here, they met the Roman Armenian commander Dorotheus, a seasoned and prudent officer. After a fierce cavalry engagement, Dorotheus repelled the attack, and Mermeroes withdrew to Persian Armenia without gain.

Zacharias Rhetor records that before Rufinus’s formal embassy to Ctesiphon, preliminary negotiations took place along the Euphrates between Roman envoys Hypatius and Pharasmanes and the victorious Peroz Mihran, acting for Kavad. The Iranian king demanded the resumption of an annual payment of five litrae of gold for the upkeep of forces guarding the Caspian Gates against the Huns—a service, he claimed, rendered for the joint benefit of both empires.

When talks stalled, Justinian ordered Rufinus to proceed to Kavad’s court. There, Rufinus pleaded for peace, urging the monarch to avoid needless destruction. Kavad’s reply was firm: the Iranians had borne the sole cost of defending the Caspian Gates, while Rome had broken treaties by fortifying Dara and attempting Mindouos. Unless the Romans either dismantled Dara or jointly garrisoned the Gates, Iran would not lay down arms.

John Malalas adds that Kavad addressed Justinian in lofty, fraternal rhetoric—styling himself the “rising sun” to the emperor’s “waning moon”—yet bluntly demanded monetary assistance, threatening war if it was not forthcoming.

Reinforcements sent by Constantinople to relieve Dara were themselves defeated, according to Zacharias, less by combat than by heat, thirst, and disorder. Many infantry perished en route; others drowned themselves in desert wells; only part of the cavalry reached Dara. The army was shattered, and Iranian arms once again held the ascendancy on the Mesopotamian front.

The Failure of the Peace Talks and the Battles of 531 AD

While Pērōz Mehrān was besieging the fortress-city of Dara and Mehr Mehrān was engaged in military operations in Armenia, al-Mundhir, the Arab shaykh allied with the Lakhmids and closely tied to the Iranians, launched a devastating incursion into the eastern borderlands of the Roman Empire. He swept into the uplands of Syria, burning villages near the city of Chalkis, and even threatened the great and prosperous metropolis of Antioch. Al-Mundhir ibn al-Nuʿmān—also known in the sources as al-Mundhir ibn Imruʾ al-Qays—was the emir of the Lakhmid Arabs of al-Ḥīrah, a long-standing vassal and ally of the Sasanian court.

The danger posed by these raids was not lost on the Byzantine court. Upon his accession, Emperor Justinian resolved to strengthen the defenses of Antioch. According to the chronicler John Malalas, in November the emperor appointed an Armenian officer named Patricius as comes Orientis (Count of the East), with orders to take a large sum of imperial funds to Palmyra in Phoenice and there restore the churches and public buildings. He also reinforced the limitanei (frontier garrisons) in the region, and instructed the governor of Emesa to provide additional protection for Jerusalem and its approaches.

Yet al-Mundhir, with the continued support of the Iranian king Kavad I (Kavadh), did not desist from his predatory forays into Roman territory. Theophanes the Confessor records that in the month of Askhandeios, al-Mundhir, son of Zakik and sheikh of the Saracens, marched deep into Syria, plundering as far as a place called Litargon and into the fields of the Skaphatai. He slew many, burned wide tracts of land outside Chalcedon, devastated the fields of the Sermians, and ravaged the village of the Kynegiai. Alerted to his movements, Roman commanders attempted to intercept him, but al-Mundhir and his Iranian allies withdrew to their own territories laden with booty and captives.

In 531 AD, as Kavad prepared for a renewed offensive against Rome, al-Mundhir came to the royal court with a bold strategic proposal. Procopius relates that the Arab leader advised against initiating the campaign in Mesopotamia or Osrhoene, since the Roman cities there—being close to the Iranian frontier—were heavily fortified and strongly garrisoned. Instead, he recommended striking across the Euphrates into the Syrian hinterland, where no substantial fortifications or permanent garrisons would impede their advance.

According to Procopius, al-Mundhir had already sent scouts into these territories, who reported that Antioch—renowned for its wealth, size, and prestige—was virtually undefended, its inhabitants devoted to leisure and spectacle. A sudden assault, he argued, would carry the city with little resistance. Kavad, who respected al-Mundhir’s long record as an unrelenting and resourceful foe of Rome, accepted the plan. Procopius depicts al-Mundhir as the most formidable of Rome’s adversaries, a warrior who for half a century had humbled the empire, from the Egyptian frontier to Mesopotamia, burning, plundering, and carrying off tens of thousands of captives in each raid, often ransoming them for vast sums.

Kavad accordingly dispatched an army of some 15,000 men under a capable general named Azarakhsh (Greek: Azarethēs, Ἀζαρέθης), who marched in company with al-Mundhir toward Antioch. Crossing the Euphrates, they passed through sparsely inhabited lands and suddenly descended upon Commagene—the first Iranian incursion through this route—causing consternation in the Roman provinces.

The Battle of Callinicum and the Defeat of Belisarius

Upon learning of the Iranian advance toward Callinicum (modern Raqqa), Belisarius was initially uncertain how to respond. Regaining his composure, he resolved to confront the enemy. Leaving garrisons in Dara and other vulnerable frontier posts, he led a force of 3,000 men, joined by 5,000 Ghassanid Arab allies under their king Ḥārith ibn Jabala, eastward across the Euphrates. Procopius, however, gives the higher figure of 20,000—including cavalry, infantry, and 2,000 seasoned Isaurian troops. Belisarius encamped near Chalkis, close to Azarakhsh’s forces at Gaboulon.

Learning of his approach, Azarakhsh and al-Mundhir began a withdrawal toward the eastern bank of the Euphrates, seeking to draw the Romans onto ground more favorable to Iranian and Arab cavalry. Belisarius, pursuing but reluctant to engage, was content to see the enemy retreat without a decisive clash. Procopius notes that both soldiers and officers quietly mocked his caution, though none did so openly.

At last, Azarakhsh halted and made camp opposite Callinicum. It was the season of Easter, and on the preceding day the Roman soldiers had kept a rigorous fast, further weakening them. Dissatisfaction now turned into open criticism: Procopius records that both rank-and-file and officers accused Belisarius of cowardice and of undermining their morale. Astonished by such bold reproaches, Belisarius altered his stance and agreed to battle—though against his own strategic judgment.

The ensuing combat on the Euphrates plain proved disastrous for the Romans. The experienced Iranian cavalry pressed hard upon them, forcing a retreat toward the riverbank. There the Roman infantry formed a dense shield wall, repelling repeated cavalry charges as the Iranian horses shied from the wall of shields. Despite this tenacity, the Romans could neither advance nor break free, and fought in place until nightfall. Under cover of darkness, Belisarius and a handful of men escaped by boat to an island, while others swam across to safety.

Procopius admits that Iranian losses were comparable to those of the Romans, yet the field remained in Iranian hands. Zechariah of Mytilene, despite his pro-Roman sympathies, acknowledges the Iranian victory, though he ascribes it to the Romans’ fatigue from fasting, unfavorable winds, and the treacherous timing of the Iranian attack. The chronicler adds that Belisarius’ nephew Bozes was taken prisoner and sent to Iran.

Azarakhsh’s success, however, did not entirely please Kavad. According to Procopius, when asked how many fortresses he had taken, Azarakhsh answered “none,” provoking the king’s displeasure. This detail may be colored by Procopius’ skepticism, for al-Mundhir himself had stressed that beyond the Euphrates there were few fortified positions to capture. Iranian custom, Procopius adds, required commanders to account for their dead by tallying tokens left in sealed baskets before a campaign. The high losses at Callinicum reportedly led Kavad to reprimand Azarakhsh and reduce his rank.

Rome’s Desperate Attempts to Make a Peace Treaty

In the aftermath of the defeat at Callinicum, Roman diplomacy moved urgently to mitigate further losses. Hermogenes was dispatched to the Iranian court to negotiate a peace treaty. According to Procopius, his mission ended in failure: Kavad remained inflamed against the Romans, and Hermogenes returned to Byzantium in despair. Belisarius himself reported the outcome to Justinian, who dismissed him from command and appointed Sittas to oversee the eastern frontiers. Zechariah records that Belisarius had been reprimanded by the emperor for the Roman losses at Thanoris and along the Euphrates, while Constantine was appointed to command in Darius’ stead.

Sources including Malalas, Zechariah, and Procopius indicate that the Persians exploited their battlefield successes to mount further offensives. A large Iranian force, composed of kanārangān (frontier guards), spāhbedān, and Mehr Mehrān’s contingent, advanced into Mesopotamia and captured the fortress of Abgaristan in Esrahun. Procopius describes how the Iranian army then established siegeworks around Martyropolis, where Roman commanders Bouzes and Bessas were charged with defending the outposts. Martyropolis, located in the strategic region of Sophene, was initially held by resolute defenders, but its fortifications were vulnerable, supplies limited, and artillery sparse. Procopius notes that the city’s resistance could not have endured indefinitely.

As Hermogenes arrived once more near Martyropolis, commanding Roman troops at Attachas, he found the situation precarious. Justinian simultaneously sought to reopen peace negotiations with Kavad. Al-Mundhir, in correspondence with the Roman envoys, requested that the priest Sergius serve as intermediary to convey peace terms to the emperor. While the emperor entertained the proposal, he maintained a firm stance: he offered friendship but warned that refusal would justify a Roman seizure of disputed territory. Sergius was duly sent to al-Mundhir with imperial offers, while gifts were dispatched to the Iranian empress Awand, sister of the Shah.

Zechariah provides further details on Iranian military deployments: in the summer of 531, Kavad appointed a general named Godar of the Qadiseh to guard the eastern borders of Melabasa in Arzanen province, extending as far as Martyropolis. Godar, described as eloquent and impudent toward the Romans, crossed the Tigris with 700 cavalry and infantry, accompanied by apsar raiding parties. Bessas, governor of Martyropolis, intercepted him at Beth Helte on the Tigris, defeating Godar and capturing Yazdegerd, nephew of the local Padakhsh (the king’s provincial representative). Subsequent Roman counterattacks inflicted significant damage, including the capture of Iranian soldiers and conscripts. Malalas reports that of Godar’s 6,000 men, 2,000 were slain, though the chronicler’s pro-Justinian bias may exaggerate the scale of Roman success.

Despite this local victory, the Iranians quickly regrouped. Godar sent reinforcements under Espahbed Mehr Girvi, accompanied by conscripted Marzians, with orders to recapture Martyropolis and neighboring fortresses. Martyropolis, fortified by Justinian early in his reign, remained a critical defensive position in the region. Zechariah emphasizes the economic and strategic importance of the surrounding villages in Arzan, whose taxes were remitted to the Iranian crown and administered by the Padakhsh. Besas’ previous incursion had caused substantial disruption, including the capture of the Padakhsh’s half-brother, amplifying Kavad’s concern for the region’s security.

Kawād subsequently dispatched Mehrgirvi with orders to besiege Martyropolis, promising reinforcements from the Massagetae, a group long integrated into Iranian military aristocracy since the time of Bahram Gur. Procopius provides insight into intelligence operations preceding these maneuvers: Iranian and Roman spies operated extensively, both to uncover enemy plans and to betray information when advantageous. Reports reached Justinian that the Massagetae were mobilizing in coordination with the Iranian army, prepared to march against Roman territories.

By October 531, Mehrgirvi’s forces had laid siege to Martyropolis, excavating trenches and assaulting its walls with sustained pressure. Bozes, commanding the Roman defenders, successfully repelled the attacks. Procopius narrates that an unfaithful Iranian agent, Agachin, informed the emperor of the Massagetae’s arrival. In response, Justinian bribed Agachin to spread the claim that the Massagetae had been bought by the Romans and would imminently join the defense. This ruse caused panic within the Iranian camp, illustrating the effectiveness of Roman psychological and intelligence operations in offsetting Iranian numerical superiority.

Thus, despite repeated Iranian victories and the initial collapse of Roman morale at Callinicum, the resilience of frontier fortresses such as Martyropolis, combined with timely Roman countermeasures and subterfuge, prevented a decisive Iranian conquest in Syria and Mesopotamia. The interplay of diplomacy, espionage, and battlefield strategy in 531 AD underscores the complex dynamics of Byzantine–Sasanian warfare, revealing that even a formidable and seemingly invincible adversary like al-Mundhir could not secure unqualified success against the coordinated, if strained, Roman defenses.