The Slave King

by Peter Darman

  They scattered in all directions in a vain attempt to escape the torment being inflicted on them: down the ramp, spilling over the sides of the ramp, and careering into the slingers and archers shooting at the immobile palace guard. The missile troops forgot the latter as they fled from the grotesque human torches running at them. The deluge of arrows and slingshots abruptly ceased, allowing the palace guard to abandon its testudo to reach the sanctuary of the citadel. When the last soldiers of the palace guard had hastened through the gates, they were slammed shut and barricaded, the nauseating smell of burning human flesh hanging in the hot air, causing many to retch.

  We had survived but were once again besieged in the citadel.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Slay whatever lives.’

  ‘I must say the enemy tactics were both innovative and daring,’ remarked Lucius, the only one among us who could see anything positive in our current situation.

  ‘Daring, innovative?’ Joro spat the words at him like a soldier hurling javelins. ‘We have lost nearly two hundred men today; the palace guard has been reduced by nearly a quarter and our ammunition supplies are almost non-existent.’

  ‘And Governor Pogon is dead,’ said Akmon softly.

  Lucius nodded. ‘But we still retain the citadel, which has its own water supply, the enemy has no siege engines and no hope of scaling its walls.’

  Joro clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent, we will only starve to death instead of dying of thirst.’

  Parmenion, the only one among us not looking the worse for wear following the morning’s exertions, held out his chalice for it to be refilled by a slave. The palace was unbearably warm in the late-afternoon sun, the air still and tinged with the mere hint of the dreadful fragrance of burnt human flesh. As a result, we had gathered in the calm of the gazebo in the centre of the royal garden, the sound of bubbling fountains only partially masking the drums being beaten around the citadel. The slaves were nervous, the one holding the wine jug staring up at the sky as the enemy’s drums sounded constantly.

  ‘My chalice,’ snapped Parmenion.

  The slave panicked and tripped, spilling wine over the high priest’s pristine white robe. Gallia laughed but Parmenion jumped up and struck the slave across the face.

  ‘You will be flogged for your insolence.’

  ‘It was a mistake,’ I said.

  The priest turned on me.

  ‘I insist he is flogged, majesty,’ Parmenion said to Akmon, ignoring me.

  The frightened slave, a boy no older than sixteen, stood quaking holding the wine jug. Akmon beckoned over another slave, older than the boy, and told him to take him away, and to bring a towel and warm water for the high priest.

  ‘We have more important things to worry about than a clumsy slave,’ said Akmon.

  ‘The situation is hopeless,’ said Parmenion in anger, ‘any fool can see that Atrax will win. At least let me meet with him to evacuate the civilians from the citadel.’

  ‘An excellent idea,’ enthused Lucius. ‘It will make our food supplies last longer.’

  ‘How will that help us?’ asked Joro, holding out his own chalice for it to be refilled.

  ‘King Gafarn at Hatra will be aware by now that his brother has seemingly vanished from the face of the earth,’ explained Lucius, ‘and will be sending out scouts to search for him. He will also be liaising with Governor Kuris at Vanadzor by courier. It is only a matter of time before Hatra turns its eyes towards Media.’

  Two female slaves hurried from the palace with towels and water to attend to Parmenion, who regarded my quartermaster general coolly as they wiped his robe.

  ‘Will you allow me to speak to Prince Atrax, majesty?’ the high priest asked Akmon. ‘He was born and raised in Irbil and will not wish to see its people suffer.’

  Gallia scoffed at such a notion.

  ‘Having already crucified some, I doubt Atrax has thought once about the people. All he is interested in is becoming king of Media and he will do anything to achieve that aim, including walking on the corpses of every man, woman and child in Irbil.’

  ‘You should not meet with him,’ I advised, ‘he is consumed with hate and loathing.’

  ‘I have known the prince for almost his entire life, majesty,’ he told me, ‘and besides, he would not dare inflict harm on a servant of the Sun God.’

  I looked at Gallia who rolled her eyes, but Akmon had a purposeful look on his face and I could see the words of his high priest had influenced him.

  ‘I have no desire to see the thousands of innocents packed into the citadel suffer unnecessarily,’ the king declared. ‘You have my permission to meet with Prince Atrax, High Priest Parmenion, though you must stress to him that you do so only to save this city’s civilians from further suffering, nothing more.’

  Parmenion rose slowly and bowed deeply, waving the slaves away. ‘It shall be as you desire, majesty. Now if you will excuse me, I will go to the temple to ask the Sun God to bless my mission.’

  ‘You will meet Atrax in the morning,’ Akmon told him, ‘we do not want to give the impression we are desperate.’

  Once more Parmenion bowed to him before taking his leave. Following his cue, Akmon and Lusin rose from their couches, occasioning the rest of us to do likewise. Akmon smiled at us but Lusin, pale and looking desperately tired, said nothing and avoided our eyes. It was obvious she was at the end of her tether and I wondered how long Akmon would be able to maintain the façade of kingship, only recently bestowed upon him. He was a foreigner in a foreign land and lacked the authority that came with being a descendent of an ancient Median family, unlike Atrax who could claim to be descended from Media’s long line of kings.

  I said as much to Gallia as we walked back to our bedroom, my limbs suddenly aching and tiredness sweeping over me. It had been a long day and I needed to lie down to regain my strength, notwithstanding the mythical beverage we had been served that infused our bodies and minds with vitality. We were, after all, mere mortals and not gods.

  ‘That priest is a fool,’ she said, ‘an arrogant, high-minded fool who knows nothing.’

  ‘But a useful fool,’ I said.

  ‘In what way?’

  We turned a corner to enter the corridor leading to our bedroom, a guard posted outside the room opening the door and snapping to attention as we entered.

  ‘Parmenion will give us time,’ I answered, the guard closing the door behind us. ‘I’m sure he and Atrax will have lots to talk about as they reminisce about the past. It will probably buy us another day.’

  ‘Atrax will kill him.’

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the stocky individual in a long robe leaning against the wall, beside him a male lion baring its canines at us. In Erra’s right hand he held a mace topped by a double lion’s head; in his belt was tucked a scimitar. He patted the lion on the head.

  ‘Hush, now.’

  He turned his face to me. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’

  I looked at the door. Erra appeared disappointed.

  ‘If I wished you both harm, you would be dead already.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’ I demanded, eager to get some rest.

  Erra smiled. ‘How arrogant you have become, King Pacorus, and so ungrateful. Your beloved wife would be dead by now if it had not been for the armour gifted to her by Girra.’

  He shook his head and tut-tutted. I swallowed my pride.

  ‘I meant to give no offence.’

  ‘As to what I want,’ said Erra cheerily, ‘I wished to convey my congratulations. Your presence has stiffened young King Akmon’s resolve and your Roman has proved most entertaining. It was delightful to witness the incineration of the Pontic barbarians. Very clever.’

  ‘You inform us of the danger to High Priest Parmenion so that we may save him?’ enquired Gallia without enthusiasm.

  Erra laughed. ‘Even though you are a foreigner, Queen Gallia, I have to tell you that of all the queens in Parthia, you are esteemed
first among equals. As to saving Parmenion, I present you both with a dilemma.

  ‘If you prevent Parmenion from meeting with Atrax, then you will save his life. But if you do nothing and the high priest dies, then Lord Shamash will damn Atrax, for it is death to murder one of his high priests in cold blood. The choice is yours. Come.’

  The lion rose from the floor and followed its master as he opened the door and casually walked into the corridor, closing the door behind him. I looked at Gallia and she stared back. She was going to speak but I rushed over to the door and opened it. The guard turned to face me, hand on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Is everything as it should be, majesty?’

  I looked up and down the corridor.

  ‘Have you seen anything amiss?’ I asked him.

  He gave me a quizzical look. ‘No, majesty.’

  I re-entered the bedroom.

  ‘Is this a dream?’

  She removed her cuirass and stretched her tired limbs. ‘If it is, it is very lifelike.’

  I too removed my armour, which was as light as a feather, and tossed it on the couch near the double bed.

  ‘So, what do we do about Parmenion?’

  Gallia sat on the bed and began to remove her boots.

  ‘We do nothing. As I said, he is a fool and the world will not miss one less fool. Let him go to his prince and receive his reward. But if Shamash abandons Atrax, then we are saved, and so is Akmon’s reign. And that is what we came for, to save his arse.’

  She was right, we had come to Irbil to assist Akmon. But I slept uneasily that night thinking about what would happen when Parmenion met with Atrax. Did the high priest deserve to die and would I stand by and watch him unwittingly go to his death?

  Atrax, who had agreed to meet Parmenion following the despatch of an envoy at dawn, had made no effort to clear away the bodies of those slain fighting and burnt alive when Parmenion walked from the citadel in the early morning sunlight the next day. In honour of his mission, Akmon had commanded Joro to array the palace guard either side of the road that led to the gates, or at least those still able to shoulder weapons and armour. Out of courtesy I had ordered Bullus to draw up what was left of his century beside the palace guard, eighty Durans standing crisply to attention as the high priest walked past them. Beside him was Akmon, resplendent in a gleaming dragon-skin armour cuirass, Lusin beside him attired in a beautiful blue dress and both wearing gold crowns. I walked beside Gallia behind the trio, behind us four white-robed priests from the Temple of Shamash who would accompany Parmenion. One carried a white sunshade to protect their high priest from the heat, though it was pleasantly warm as opposed to the scorching heat that would come later.

  As we walked towards the gates, the door cut into one of them opened to allow the priests to exit, I began fidgeting with the hilt of my sword, turning over in my mind whether I should warn Parmenion he was in grave danger. I was about to speak when Gallia grabbed my arm. I looked at her and she shook her head.

  ‘It is fate,’ she said softly.

  The commander of the palace guard went to step beyond the open door but Parmenion stopped him.

  ‘I am under the protection of Shamash, there is no need for armed guards.’

  With all the authority and conviction of his position, he stepped onto the ramp and disappeared, his priests following. We left the gates to walk up the stone steps beside the guardroom leading to the battlements, spearmen and archers snapping to attention as we passed them. The ramparts gave a magnificent view of Irbil below and the lush green plain surrounding the city beyond. In the far distance could be seen the Zagros Mountains, but all eyes were fixed on the small group making its way slowly down the ramp. They gingerly dodged the results of Lucius’ handiwork to arrive at the foot of the ramp, a lone horseman trotting forward from one of the streets leading from the citadel to the perimeter wall. He halted his mount and gestured to the high priest, then turned his horse to head back to the street. I could see groups of soldiers – Pontic legionaries, most likely – in the side streets conducting patrols, but there was no sign of Atrax. Then Parmenion and his priests disappeared into one of the buildings halfway down the street, a shop probably, though it was difficult to identify precisely from a distance.

  ‘It is very quiet,’ said Lusin, looking around at the death and destruction visited on the city where she was queen.

  ‘Better that than the din of battle, lady,’ I said. ‘Anything that buys us time is to be welcomed.’

  I turned to Akmon. ‘If Parmenion secures safe passage for the civilians in the citadel, will you let them leave?’

  ‘Of course, why would I not?’

  ‘Because they will see Atrax as their saviour when they walk out of this place and return to their homes, especially if he fills their bellies.’

  His brow creased. ‘There is no alternative. If they stay in the citadel, our food supplies will run out very quickly. With our numbers reduced to just the garrison and your soldiers, King Pacorus, we stand a chance of holding out until help comes.’

  I caught Joro’s eye and his expression told me what I was thinking. No immediate help was coming and even if Hatra was roused to action, initially it would only be a token force to investigate what had happened to Dura’s rulers.

  ‘Quite right,’ I said to Akmon.

  ‘There’s Parmenion.’

  We all turned to look in the direction Lusin was pointing. To see a small group of white-robed figures emerge from the building they had entered just a few minutes before. I was relieved to see five individuals.

  ‘Atrax hasn’t murdered them,’ said Gallia, ‘that is something, at least.’

  ‘Perhaps the gods do not know everything, after all,’ I remarked, absentmindedly.

  Lusin gave me a confused look. ‘Lord?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I smiled, ‘just an old man thinking out loud.’

  I had to admit I was astounded when Parmenion returned to inform us Atrax had agreed that those civilians that desired to leave the citadel could return to their homes. He further promised to provide them with food and even allow those farmers who had become refugees after fleeing their villages, to return to their homes to gather in the harvest.

  ‘Not so generous, then,’ I remarked, ‘Atrax will send the farmers back to their villages to harvest the crops ripening in the fields, after which he will take those crops to feed the city.’

  Akmon, his spirits having been revived by Parmenion’s embassy, leaned back on his throne and frowned at me.

  ‘That is the nature of commerce, lord, the farmers harvest their crops, which are sold in the city.’

  ‘Except there will be no exchange of money,’ I cautioned, ‘which makes it theft.’

  Parmenion cleared his throat. ‘King Pacorus, your enthusiasm regarding the welfare of farmers is to be commended. However, having met with King, er Prince Atrax, I can state unequivocally he will abide by his words. He has only the interests of Media at heart.’

  ‘If that was the case, he would have stayed in Pontus or Armenia, or wherever he was skulking, rather than march an army into this kingdom,’ remarked Gallia caustically.

  ‘When can the civilians return to their homes?’ asked Akmon in haste, eager to avoid a clash between my wife and the high priest.

  ‘This afternoon, majesty,’ said Parmenion. ‘I will go to the temple to give thanks to Shamash for bringing about this miracle.’

  ‘It might be wise to remove the bodies on and around the ramp,’ advised Joro, ‘we don’t want to cause a panic.’

  ‘And put them where?’ I asked.

  ‘Perhaps Atrax can arrange their cremation,’ offered Gallia, ‘seeing as he is in a generous mood.’

  ‘I will go out of the citadel once more to ask if he can arrange for the removal and disposal of the dead,’ said Parmenion.

  Akmon nodded his assent. Parmenion bowed his head to the king, turned and marched from the throne room, Gallia curling her lip at him as he did so, a gesture th
at made Lusin laugh. I grinned. It was good to see some colour back in the queen’s cheeks, her lovely face wearing a smile.

  Many of the civilians were also smiling as they made their way to the citadel’s gates, mothers holding the hands of their young children and elderly couples arm-in-arm and chatting excitedly now their ordeal was over. Many men, whom I assumed had volunteered to be archers or slingers but who had fled from the reality of combat, cast down their heads when they passed through the open gates of the citadel, ashamed their courage had faltered. Klietas stood beside me, smiling like a fool and nodding his head as hundreds of civilians made their way down the ramp, which Atrax had cleared of corpses. I had offered him sanctuary in Dura and he had accepted, though whether we would get out of Irbil alive remained to be seen.

  ‘It is not too late to go with them,’ I told him.

  His head stopped nodding. ‘No, highborn, I will go to the rich city of Dura and find myself a princess to marry.’

  ‘Princesses usually marry a prince, Klietas.’

  ‘When I kill Prince Atrax, then King Akmon will make me a prince,’ he said with conviction.

  I had to admit I found his simplistic notion of the world and everything it in endearing. That and his unshakeable belief he would survive the predicament he found himself in.

  Klietas smiled at Parmenion who passed us with a coterie of priests, the high priest ignoring him and giving me a triumphant smile. As a servant of Shamash his overriding loyalty was to the Sun God; everything else came second, including allegiance to the man who currently occupied Media’s throne. As he joined the throng of civilians moving down the ramp, I wondered what, aside from the agreement concerning the non-combatants, had passed between him and Atrax during their meeting.

  Pontic legionaries could be seen across the ends of some of the streets, leaving the main one through from the citadel to the western gates into the city open, to presumably channel the civilians down that route. I did not give this a second thought until I heard Gallia’s voice coming from the top of the steps inside the gates.