The Slave King

by Peter Darman

  ‘Pacorus, you should see this.’

  I walked from the ramp and ascended the stone steps, a sense of unease enveloping me as I stepped onto the battlements where a row of concerned faces was staring at the thousands of civilians milling around the base of the ramp, hundreds of others on the ramp itself. Pontic legionaries were preventing them from entering streets, the only avenue open being the one leading to the western gates. But that was now filled with a throng moving towards the citadel.

  ‘Get them back inside,’ I said, ‘get them all back inside.’

  Joro gave the order, which was instantly relayed to the commander of the palace guard at the gates. He chose the only course open to him: to use his signallers to sound recall. But the trumpets sounding at the top of the ramp merely spread panic among those civilians on the slope.

  Greater panic ensued when the hill men pounced upon the civilians. We could only stand and watch the unfolding horror, the barbarians from Pontus using their axes and shields to go among the now panicking and screaming civilians to separate them into groups.

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked a distraught Lusin.

  Horrible screams reached our ears as innocents were cut down.

  ‘They are killing them!’

  Lusin was beside herself, Akmon placing an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Not all,’ said Gallia bitterly.

  Groups of civilians were being bundled down the street that led to the western gates. It was difficult to identify what exactly was going on, but Gallia was quick to offer her opinion.

  ‘They are seizing the women and the young for slaves and killing the rest.’

  The commander of the palace guard was beside Joro.

  ‘Do you want me to launch an attack, lord?’

  ‘We have been well and truly duped,’ Joro told him. ‘Use your men to get as many civilians back inside the citadel as possible.’

  Young women, girls, babies and teenage boys were highly prized as captives because they would fetch a good price in slave markets. Women who could bear children were particularly valuable because they could be bred to produce future slaves. Conversely, the old and crippled were worthless as far as slave traders were concerned. So the hill men were slaughtering them, chopping them down mercilessly with their axes. They were also killing any men they came across because able-bodied males were often more trouble than they were worth on their way to the slave markets.

  Those still on the ramp when the hill men attacked were the lucky ones, though a few tumbled off its edge to fall on the hard ground below when the panic started. But those on the ramp were in the minority and soon the area around its base was once again littered with bodies, with hundreds of hill men bundling thousands of screaming and weeping civilians away from the citadel.

  And all we could do was watch helplessly as the full extent of Atrax’s treachery was revealed. Lusin had buried her head in her hands and was weeping, Akmon was bereft of hope and Joro’s jaw was locked rigid in anger. This was a black day for Media indeed.

  The commander of the palace guard performed a minor miracle in getting hundreds of people back into the citadel, sending his men down the ramp in single file to form up at the bottom to do battle with the hill men. Bullus and his legionaries followed and for a while the Pontic barbarians had their wings clipped. But Titus Tullus, mounted on a horse with his officers around him, sent detachments into the crowd to search out and destroy the rescue force. Bullus and his counterpart were too experienced as commanders to allow their men to be cut off and butchered, and so they rescued as many civilians as was possible before conducting a skilled withdrawal. The gates were slammed shut and the wails and weeping of civilians filled the citadel. Below, the hill men and their captives disappeared to leave a carpet of dead.

  Titus Tullus and his legionaries were still present, though, and they began banging the shafts of their javelins against the insides of their shields to create an annoying racket, added to which were kettledrums from a mounted party that suddenly appeared, among them Atrax in a shining armour cuirass. He held a spear in his right hand, which he used to jab a tall, white-robed individual in the back with the point – Parmenion.

  ‘Oh, no, please.’

  I heard Lusin’s faint voice, but my eyes were fixed on the scene being played out below, the outcome of which I did not doubt.

  ‘He would not dare,’ said Akmon.

  The other four priests that had accompanied Parmenion were also pushed in front of the mounted party, their heads cast down, though the high priest himself was not cowered by the prospect of imminent death. He turned his head to stare at Atrax, gesticulating with his arms and I assume spitting words at the venomous son of Darius. We could not discern what he was saying but I heard the gasps from those on the walls when Atrax thrust the spear into Parmenion’s back. The high priest’s body stiffened for a few seconds before crumbling to the ground.

  ‘Murderer!’ shouted Akmon, prompting others on the ramparts to hurl curses and threats at Atrax.

  Parmenion writhed on the ground as he died a slow and painful death. Archers shot down the other four priests, each one being hit by one or more arrows. At least their ends were quick. Atrax sat on his horse staring up at us as his former high priest crawled forlornly towards the ramp, a large stain appearing on the back of his robe where the point of the spear had been plunged into his body. Then his movements stopped, as did the threats coming from the battlements.

  ‘You will die a slow and painful death, that I promise,’ I said to myself.

  ‘It is over,’ announced Joro, ‘take the queen back to the palace, majesty.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said a shaken Akmon, ushering his wife away from the scene of carnage below.

  ‘Klietas,’ I called, ‘get your scrawny arse up here.’

  Wearing his permanent grin, he came sprinting up the steps, nearly crashing into the king and queen and receiving a cuff round the ears from Joro as his reward. Undeterred, the boy ran to my side, his grin disappearing when he saw the extent of the carnage below. I pointed at Atrax in front of the group of horsemen.

  ‘You see that rider in the middle, holding a spear and wearing shiny armour?’

  ‘Not as shiny as yours, highborn.’

  ‘Concentrate,’ I snapped. ‘You see him?’

  ‘Yes, highborn.’

  ‘Think you can hit him from here?’

  He squinted at Atrax below, around two hundred paces from the bottom of the ramp. It was a long shot from a height of one hundred and twenty feet above the ground, but I had to do something.

  ‘Yes, highborn.’

  ‘Then do so.’

  He took a stone from his bag, pulled the sling from his belt and placed the shot in its pouch. I stepped away from him as he began spinning the pouch above his head in a circular motion. Gallia was giving him a sceptical look as Klietas concentrated on the target, Atrax suddenly turning his horse to head away from the arena of death he had created. Klietas took his shot and I burst out laughing when the stone hit the rump of Atrax’s horse, sending it bolting down the street where the crosses had been planted and the hill men had carted off their new slaves.

  It was a minor victory on a black day.

  Chapter 15

  There was no weeping or wailing in the citadel that night. Among those civilians that had got back into the walled sanctuary to avoid the axes or bondage of the hill men, utter demoralisation provoked blank faces and exhausted bodies. Survivors slumped in doorways, families huddled in alleys and couples held each other tightly on the sides of streets and sobbed quietly. Only the children accepted the food that Lusin had distributed among them from the palace stores, consuming the simple fare of bread, cheese and fruit rapaciously – their first meal of the day.

  There was no feast in the palace that night, the king and queen retiring to their private quarters after Akmon informed us there would be a council of war the next morning. I sat with Gallia in our bedroom, the shutters leadin
g to the balcony open to give us beautiful views of the reds and purples of the sunset.

  ‘It would appear we will be eating camel meat from now on.’

  ‘Followed by horse,’ said Gallia.

  No doubt Lucius would agree that slaughtering the beasts made sense now we were under close siege, but for a Parthian the idea of killing and eating one’s horse was not only stomach-churning, it was close to sacrilege.

  ‘There must be another way,’ I said forlornly.

  She stretched out her long legs.

  ‘I am open to any suggestions.’

  ‘Our disappearance must have been noticed by now.’

  She smiled. ‘Why should anyone think we have disappeared? For all Gafarn and Diana know, we have ridden to Ctesiphon or Babylon, or even Elymais to see your namesake and the infant child of Silaces.’

  I too smiled when I thought of our old friend.

  ‘He was deliriously happy with Cia, you know. He told me so at Dura. I’m pleased he has a son to continue his line.’

  Gallia’s face hardened. ‘We need to make sure he ascends to Elymais’ throne and not become a victim of Phraates’ duplicity.’

  ‘Agreed, when we get back to Dura we will think about a plan to clip the talons of our scheming high king.’

  ‘To say nothing of ungrateful,’ she added. ‘To think, we saved his arse, and this is how he repays us.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t like to split hairs, but your scheming with Diana and Rasha was to exact revenge on Tiridates, was it not?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And I seem to recall you telling me you cared nothing about whether Phraates kept his throne or indeed his head.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, such disregard for the high king can hardly be placed in the category of saving his hide. It was more a by-product of your scheme.’

  ‘He’s a liar and a rogue,’ she insisted.

  ‘Perhaps we could ask Claudia to poison him.’

  Our eyes met, and we burst out laughing. Dark humour seemed entirely appropriate in the dire situation we found ourselves in.

  The mood in the palace had not changed the next morning. Akmon, tired and pale, sat beside his wan queen at the council meeting convened in the office to the rear of the throne room. Or at least it should have been, for we were just about to take our seats when the duty officer of the palace guard rushed in and bowed to his king.

  ‘The enemy has gone, majesty.’

  Akmon stared at him, not realising the gravity of what he had announced.

  ‘Gone?’ said Joro. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Quite certain, lord,’ the officer told him.

  Akmon grabbed Lusin’s arm. ‘We will see for ourselves.’

  It was amazing how a rumour could transform people. Strictly speaking, only the officer should have known the news that the enemy had apparently disappeared. But there were soldiers on the walls and they would have gossiped to their comrades and they in turn would have informed others, with the proviso ‘do not tell anyone’. In no time at all the rumour would have spread like wildfire throughout the citadel. This was confirmed when we had hurriedly saddled our horses to ride from the palace to the citadel’s ramparts, exhausted people rising to their feet to cheer and applaud Akmon and Lusin. This in turn delighted them, especially Lusin, a broad grin spreading across her pale face.

  At the gates we left our horses to once again climb the stone stairway, a spring in everyone’s step. The sun was climbing into a cloudless sky to herald another beautiful late summer’s day, though the unimpeded view afforded us when we reached the battlements also reminded us of the horror that had taken place the day before. Bodies lay strewn over the ground on and around the ramp and the citadel, the ghastly sight of ravens picking at dozens of corpses. For them it was a veritable feast; for us, a stomach-churning spectacle. Lusin’s smile disappeared but as we scanned the streets, the buildings and the perimeter wall, the enemy having replaced at least two of the destroyed bridges across the ditch to give access to Irbil, we could see no signs of life. I switched my gaze to the enemy camp a mile north of the city and could see nothing: no horsemen, no carts, no individuals, nothing.

  The duty officer pointed to the west.

  ‘Horsemen, majesty.’

  We peered towards where he was indicating, everyone straining to identify the small black shapes riding down what had been the street of crosses and more recently the avenue along which the hill men had dragged off Irbil’s women and children into captivity. No one said anything as the riders – six in number – cantered down the street, the horseman at the head of the column halting to order two of his men to ride into a side street. A second group of riders appeared behind them, these too attired in dark robes. They cantered up to the halted first group and were also diverted into side streets.

  ‘They appear to be carrying out a reconnaissance of the city,’ said Bullus, the burly centurion frowning at Klietas who had suddenly appeared behind me.

  ‘Do you wish me to kill them when they get close, highborn?’ he asked.

  Bullus clipped him round the ear and Joro’s blue eyes bored into him, but the teenager ignored them to reach into his bag to retrieve a stone shot.

  ‘Not yet, Klietas,’ I said.

  After perhaps ten minutes the riders despatched into side streets returned to their commander, after which the whole group trotted on, towards the citadel.

  ‘Archers,’ called the duty officer.

  On our flanks bowmen nocked arrows in their bowstrings. But the horsemen were still out of range and so there was no need for haste. Only if they rode to the ramp itself or the base of the mound would they shoot at the riders. But the latter once again scattered into other streets as they reconnoitred the city north and south of the citadel.

  ‘Perhaps they are bandits looking for loot,’ suggested Lusin.

  ‘Not bandits, lady,’ I said, ‘because bandits would not be so thorough in their reconnaissance.’

  ‘Then who are they?’ asked Gallia.

  No one had an answer to her question, so we just stood and stared, watching black-clad horsemen disappear before reappearing in a different place. They were slowly getting nearer to the citadel, though it would take a while yet. The archers either side of us relaxed and Klietas placed the stone back in his pouch. Eventually, one rider walked his horse from a side street and halted it on the edge of the open space between the buildings and the foot of the mound on which the citadel stood. He was out of arrow range and even a slinger would have difficulty hitting him. He was looking left and right, also glancing up at those of us standing on the ramparts. He waited until more of his men arrived before urging his horse forward.

  ‘It’s Talib.’

  I heard Minu’s voice and squinted at the black-robed figure on the horse.

  ‘It’s Talib,’ she said again, ‘praise the gods.’

  ‘It is,’ cried Gallia.

  ‘Who’s Talib?’ asked Lusin.

  I ran across and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘My chief scout.’

  I bounded down the steps, Gallia, Zenobia, Minu and Klietas following.

  ‘Open the gates,’ I called, ‘open the gates.’

  When I reached the gates, I ordered the soldiers to open the door cut in one of the gates as I did not wish to wait until they had removed the heavy wooden beam slotted in iron brackets that spanned the rear of both gates. The door was opened, and I stepped on to the ramp and ran down the concourse, the others following.

  I began waving my arms. ‘Talib, Talib.’

  It was perhaps rather undignified for a king of the Parthian Empire to behave in such a way, and was undoubtedly the first time it had happened in Media. But I was so delighted to see my chief scout I cared not. He saw me and urged his horse towards me, the beast moving nervously as it negotiated a route through a carpet of corpses. When I reached him, he jumped down from his horse an
d bowed his head. I gripped his shoulders with my hands.

  ‘You are a sight for sore eyes. By what sorcery are you here in Irbil?’

  Slightly discomfited by my gesture of familiarity, he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. I released my grip on his shoulders to put him at ease.

  ‘No sorcery, majesty, I am with the army. General Chrestus is less than a day’s march from the city.’

  He looked around at the dead. ‘What is left of it. Prince Atrax has fled north.’

  ‘You know about Atrax?’

  He nodded. ‘At the Tigris we were met by Lord Soter and his forces. He acquainted us fully on the recent events in Media.’

  I was elated. So Soter had proved himself a loyal lord of Akmon after all. This was wonderful news indeed. Gallia, Zenobia and Minu arrived, the latter throwing herself into Talib’s arms and the two embracing warmly. Talib stroked her hair and she kissed him fully on the lips. I looked at Gallia who was as surprised as I was. The two parted and looked at us sheepishly. Gallia laughed and embraced the deputy commander of the Amazons.

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘We thought you would disapprove, majesty,’ said Minu, glancing at Zenobia who flashed a reassuring grin.

  I slapped Talib on the arm. ‘You should always seize the chance of happiness, Talib. Let us go and give King Akmon some good news.’

  Talib, leading his horse, walked beside Minu, both oblivious to the grisly scene around them as they talked to each other in hushed tones. With hindsight, it made perfect sense. They were both unmarried, attractive and had spent much time in each other’s company when the army marched or engaged in manoeuvres.

  ‘Looks like we will be attending a wedding soon,’ I grinned, nodding at the couple in front of us.

  ‘We?’ said Gallia. ‘What makes you think you will get an invite?’

  ‘Well, I am responsible for bringing Talib to Dura,’ I replied smugly.

  ‘You are also responsible for saving Atrax’s life and look how that turned out.’

  ‘Sometimes, you can be very cutting with your remarks.’