by Peter Darman
‘A cart is being looted by bandits.’
He looked at the hills either side of the track.
‘It would take too much time to go around so we kill them. Bullus, you stay here with the camels.’
‘Why me?’ he complained.
‘Because you can’t shoot a bow,’ came the answer. ‘The rest of you wrap yourselves in your cloaks to hide your bows. Yasmina and Azar, you will form the tip of our attack.’
The girls grinned at each other, grabbed the rolled-up cloaks dangling from the rear horns of their saddles and wrapped them around their torsos. Klietas, surprised they were chosen to lead the attack, turned to Haya.
‘Stay close,’ he whispered.
She rolled her eyes and ignored him, urging her horse forward to follow the mounts of Yasmina, Azar, Talib and Minu.
When they rode round the curve in the track he saw half a dozen bandits, one mounted, the others on foot taking turns throwing a knife at a portly man tied to the side of the cart, or rather endeavouring to lodge the point of the knife as close as possible to his arms. The victim, his eyes bulging with fear, was pleading with them to spare his life, or at least Klietas surmised he was for he was too far away to understand what he was babbling. The bandits, all sporting wild beards, long hair and armed with a variety of knives, swords and axes, stopped their amusement the moment the riders came into view. They forgot about their bound captive and stood in a menacing line across the track, weapons in hand. Then relaxed when they saw the innocent faces of Yasmina and Azar approaching. They began to leer at the teenage girls, licking their lips at the anticipation of more fun. Who wanted to torture a fat man when there were little girls to be had?
Thwack, thwack.
The girls threw off their cloaks and shot two bandits at close range, the arrows slamming into their chests, killing one instantly as the thin steel head penetrated his heart. Two more cracks felled a third and fourth bandit when Talib and Minu shot their bows, while Haya put an arrow into the back of the last man standing, who spun on his heels to make a dash for his horse. He pitched forward and fell heavily on the ground, hitting his head on a large stone by the side of the track. The sixth, mounted on his horse, did not wait to be shot but turned his horse and screamed at it to move, the beast shooting forward to ride away from the scene of slaughter.
‘He’s mine,’ shouted Minu, stringing an arrow, pulling back the bowstring and shooting the missile at the rider.
She gave a triumphant smile when the arrow hit the man in the back, causing him to fall from his horse and land heavily on the ground with a thud. The captive bound to the cart still had bulging eyes, amazed at what he had just witnessed, and probably wondering if he had swapped one group of tormentors for another. His alarm did not lessen when Yasmina and Azar slipped their bows back into leather cases, slid off their horses and slit the throats of those bandits still alive with their daggers.
‘Make sure he is dead,’ Minu commanded Haya, pointing at the apparently lifeless body of the man she had shot from his horse.
Klietas jumped down from his horse and walked over to the bound victim, cutting him free with his dagger.
‘Are you hurt, sir?’
The man shook his head vigorously but said nothing.
‘What’s in the barrels?’ asked Talib, appearing beside Klietas.
The man, now shaking with fear, looked behind at the twenty or so wooden casks strapped to the cart.
‘Wine,’ he stuttered.
Talib was surprised. ‘Wine? I thought it was transported in amphorae.’
Another frantic shake of the head.
Talib, aware his black facial tattoos were doing nothing to soothe the nerves of the prisoner they had rescued, smiled and laid a hand on the man’s arm.
‘We mean you no harm. Are you hurt?’
‘I asked him that,’ protested Klietas.
Talib ignored him. The portly man gasped in alarm and his eyes bulged again when he spotted Haya caving in the skull of the bandit with a mace.
‘Give us your name at least,’ said Talib.
‘Agis,’ said the man softly.
‘I am pleased to meet you, Agis.’ Talib looked around at the hills and up and down the track. ‘You are travelling alone?’
Agis nodded.
‘Well, we should be on our way before any more bandits appear. Where are you going?’
‘Melitene.’
‘Then perhaps we could travel together, it would be safer.’
For the first hour of the journey Agis said nothing, no doubt reflecting on how close he had come to death and how lucky he had been. His eyes stared directly ahead, occasionally saying a kind word to the four mules pulling his heavily laden cart. For his part Talib also said nothing, being content to ride alongside the cart and keep his counsel. Eventually, however, when Agis realised he was probably not going to be abused by the strange group of men and young girls that had rescued him, his mood began to lighten.
‘Not from these parts, are you?’ he eventually asked Talib.
Though he had a strong accent, he more or less spoke the same language as the Parthians, the tongue Talib had learned long ago. Cappadocia did, after all, border Gordyene and for generations there had been much intermarriage and immigration and emigration between the two kingdoms.
‘I, my wife and children, are undertaking a tour of these parts,’ said Talib. ‘I am Talib and my wife is called Minu.’
The commander of the Amazons riding on the other side of the cart gave Agis a broad grin.
Agis turned to look at Klietas and Haya.
‘My nephew and his wife,’ explained Talib, ‘and the imposing figure is a bodyguard, just in case we encounter trouble.’
Agis looked at the case containing a recurve bow hanging from Talib’s saddle but said nothing, merely smiling. He was affable enough when his nervousness had dissipated, regaling Talib with stories about Cappadocia and how he had started his wine import business from scratch and had worked hard to create what was now a lucrative commercial venture. He was like a child that had discovered a new toy when he began to wax lyrical about wooden casks behind him.
‘You asked me about amphorae, but you know the problem with wax-lined ceramic containers?’
Talib shook his head. Agis winked at Minu who was taking not the slightest bit of interest, her concentration focused on detecting any movement in the rocky hills on either side of the track.
‘They break easily,’ said Agis, ‘especially on rutted, ill-maintained tracks such as this one. The king should spend more money on the road network in his land rather than joining foreign wars. Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, these barrels are the latest thing in wine transportation. Heard of the Gauls, lord?’
An image of Queen Gallia came into Talib’s mind.
‘I have heard of them, yes.’
‘Barbarians, by all accounts,’ snorted Agis. ‘Galatia to the west is full of them, but they’ve been in these parts a long time. The ones I am alluding to live in a cold place called Gaul, which was conquered by the Romans around twenty-five years ago, or so I’m told. Anyway, you know what the Romans discovered?’
‘That the Gauls were great warriors?’ offered Minu.
Talib frowned at her.
Agis twisted up his fat face. ‘No, lady, they discovered that the Gauls transported their beer in wooden casks bound together with metal hoops. And you know why wooden barrels are better than amphorae?’
Talib glanced at the barrels. ‘They hold more wine?’
‘That as well. But, more importantly, wooden barrels are stronger than clay, weigh less and can be turned on their side and rolled. They are the future, lord, mark my words.’
For the next two hours he talked about wine, how it was produced, transported and sold for profit. Two things stood out about Agis: he was very knowledgeable about the wine-making business, and he was parsimonious. The latter quality explained his tatty, stained clothing and his scuffed boots. It was also the reason w
hy he was unaccompanied transporting a great deal of expensive wine to the town of Melitene.
That night, a cool breeze fanning the flames of the campfire they clustered around, they shared a meal of figs, cheese, rice and cured meat with him, all washed down with wine purchased in Zeugma, though Agis was too mean to offer his own supply with those who had saved his life. He explained why hiring guards was a bad idea.
‘Eats into your profits, you see. Bodyguards don’t come cheap.’
‘Whereas you thought riding alone in bandit country was a good idea,’ said Bullus, rubbing a sharpening stone along the edge of his already keen gladius.
Agis shoved a huge chunk of cheese into his mouth, much to the disgust of Yasmina who was toying with her curly locks. He jerked a chubby thumb behind him.
‘My wine will fetch a tidy sum when I get back to Melitene, especially as the governor will soon be playing host to royalty.’
Talib’s ears pricked up. ‘Oh?’
Agis rubbed his hands together with relish. ‘It’s meant to be a secret but the governor has been free with his tongue and everyone knows there’s going to be a gathering in the town of the kings of Cappadocia, Galatia and Pontus.’
‘What’s the occasion?’ asked Minu innocently.
Agis gulped greedily from his metal cup. ‘Not bad. Sorry, lady, what was your question?’
‘The gathering of the kings,’ she said slowly.
‘No idea. Probably something to do with the Romans.’
‘Romans?’ asked Talib.
‘They seem to be pulling the strings in these parts, when the Parthians aren’t invading, that is.’
‘I’ll take first watch,’ said Bullus, standing and sheathing his sword.
Agis leaned in closer to Talib. ‘Is he a Roman? I meant no offence.’
‘You have not caused any offence,’ said Talib. ‘We should get some rest. And no, he isn’t a Roman.’
The next day they recommenced their journey to Melitene, the terrain remaining one of wind-swept hills, rocky outcrops and mountains in the distance. Grateful that his life and had been saved and that Talib and his family were not going to rob or kill him, Agis babbled incessantly about his wine business and how Melitene was a place where a man could make his fortune.
‘Given the lack of rainfall and high summer temperatures, the vegetation around the town should be sparse,’ he informed Talib, ‘but the water from the mountains, plus the many natural springs, has created a fertile oasis where everything grows in abundance. Vineyards, orchards and fields surround the town. I myself have a vineyard,’ he announced proudly.
‘If you have a vineyard, why do you need to transport wine to the town?’ asked Klietas.
Agis turned and gave him an impish grin. ‘It is a seller’s market, young lord. The gathering of the kings means a gathering of their retinues, which means a lot of thirsty men. They will drink the town dry, which is why those with foresight have been importing wine.’
‘You must be very wealthy,’ said Klietas.
Agis looked alarmed. ‘I’m just a struggling merchant, young lord, with barely a drachma to my name. One day I might be rich like Melitene’s governor, but not for many years.’
‘Who is the governor?’ enquired Talib.
Agis curled his lip. ‘A lazy fat oaf by the name of Cenk, who levies taxes on honest citizens to fund his depraved lifestyle. He is supposed to provide security for travellers on the road.’
He threw up his hands. ‘Do you see any soldiers? No! His name derives from an old Persian word for “battle”, not that the governor has even fought in one. Rumour has it he was on the verge of a breakdown last year when the Parthians neared the town.’
He shuddered. ‘Then again, we all feared for our lives at that time. They are barbarians, you know.’
‘Who?’ asked Klietas.
‘The Parthians. Their behaviour at Kayseri was disgusting.’
Klietas was about to raise an objection but Haya riding beside him lashed out with her leg to kick him, diverting his attention. She shook her head to indicate he should keep his mouth shut.
‘You dislike the governor?’ asked Talib.
‘Intensely,’ Agis shot back. ‘He is fat and corrupt.’
He was oblivious to his own obesity and dishevelled appearance, and obviously had no notion of irony. But his detestation of Melitene’s governor was visceral.
‘Likes little girls,’ he spat, pointing at Yasmina and Azar riding in front of his mules. ‘You should take great care to keep your daughters away from him. His lust for young flesh is well known in these parts. Disgusting.’
Agis was disappointed by the muted reaction of Talib and his family when they reached the well-watered and lush Melitene plain two days after rescuing the wine merchant. He did not know they had all visited it the year before as part of the Parthian army that had swept through Pontus, Galatia and Cappadocia like a hurricane. But they did notice the different-sized tents pitched outside the town walls as they approached Melitene from the south, and the banners hanging limply from flagpoles atop the gatehouse at the entrance to the town.
Agis pulled up his cart around two hundred paces from the open gates into the town, smaller carts pulled by a single donkey or mule entering and exiting the walled stronghold.
‘Well, this is where we part company. I would invite you to lodge with me, but my house is too small to accommodate you all, and I have barely enough food to feed myself. There are inns in the town, though the owners would have increased the price of lodgings with all the kings here. Still, you look like you can afford it. Good day.’
With that he urged his mules on and his cart trundled towards the gates. It was Bullus who put into words what they were all thinking.
‘Ungrateful bastard. If it wasn’t for us, he would be lying dead by the side of the road with his throat slit. He didn’t even offer us any of his wine as a thank you.’
‘If there is one thing I despise,’ hissed Minu, ‘it is ingratitude.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Talib, ‘we will camp outside the town tonight before carrying on to Pontus where four of our six targets are resident.’
A sudden gust of wind blew in their faces and made the banners atop the gatehouse billow. Minu pointed at them.
‘No, they are here.’
Klietas looked up at the banners and saw one that was very familiar: a black flag emblazoned with a silver dragon. It was the emblem of Media, his former homeland. The ones next to it displayed a boar, an apricot and an eagle grasping a dolphin, the standards of Galatia, Cappadocia and Pontus, respectively. He had seen all of them, or at least variations of them, last year, but the final flag – a deer – he had never seen before. But Talib, Minu and Bullus were all too familiar with the banner of the Kingdom of Aria.
‘So Tiridates is here,’ said Talib.
‘This changes everything,’ stated Minu.
‘The gods smile on us,’ grinned Klietas.
Talib gave him a half-smile, knowing that the majority of their targets had conveniently gathered in one place. Getting to them, let alone killing them, was another thing entirely.
‘There is another matter we need to address in addition to sending our targets to the afterlife,’ said the scout, ‘and that is the reason for the gathering of the kings and the Parthian traitors.’
‘If you want a simple soldier’s opinion,’ said Bullus, ‘it would be they are here because they are planning a war.’
Talib nodded. ‘We need to know what is going on. If Tiridates and Atrax are involved, then it can only mean an attack on Parthia. But we need to find out precisely what is happening.’
But how to achieve that aim was going to be difficult, if not impossible.
Chapter 5
Melitene had once been a great city but that had been hundreds of years ago. Since then it had been periodically sacked by the Assyrians, Cimmerians and Scythians, which had resulted in both its size and population being greatly reduced. But afte
r every setback it had been rebuilt, albeit on a smaller scale than its previous incarnation. The truth was Melitene would never disappear from the world because it occupied a strategically important position, being at the crossroads where the great highroads that ran east-to-west and north-to-south met. To the east of Melitene the road led to Armenia and Gordyene, and to the west into the interior of Cappadocia. The northern road from the town led to Pontus and the southern route would take a traveller to Zeugma and Syria. For this reason alone, Melitene was a place of importance. And located as it was next to the Tohma River and blessed with an abundance of freshwater springs and streams, it also lay in a fertile plain.
Apricots from Melitene were a famous export, the fruit being dried and exported to far-off Syria and even Rome. But wheat also grew in abundance and cattle grazed on the lush grass ringing the town. No king would surrender Melitene lightly, which was why its defences had been well maintained by King Archelaus of Cappadocia. The wall that surrounded the town was formed of well-dressed stone, with stout towers at regular intervals along its extent and strong gatehouses at all four points of the compass. In the centre of the town stood the palace, now the residence of the governor and his garrison. An imposing structure with Assyrian stone carvings on the walls instead of paintings, it was built around a square courtyard, on three sides of which were stables and barracks. An imposing throne room fronted the fourth side.
Behind the throne room was a smaller courtyard, the governor’s private quarters being opposite the rear of the royal chamber, with a banqueting hall and temple occupying the other two sides. The stone carvings depicting ancient military triumphs, hunting scenes and mythical episodes adorning rooms and corridors made the palace’s interior rather dour and forbidding. But when the kings gathered at the palace, its exterior was a blaze of colourful banners, as was the throne room where the rulers assembled to discuss the question of Gordyene.
‘I want vengeance,’ bellowed Amyntas, spittle bursting from his mouth and veins on his thick neck bulging as he vented his spleen.
The King of Galatia was an intimidating slab of a man, even without his fearsome war hammer that he used on the battlefield to crush enemy skulls. He stepped down from his dais to stomp around the middle of the throne room. Governor Cenk had worked hard to ensure the visiting dignitaries were treated with the respect their positions demanded. When he was acting as the representative of King Archelaus, he sat on the square stone dais in the throne room. But today Archelaus himself occupied his seat. Around the square chamber were four other daises, though these were wooden instead of stone, each one accommodating an anointed monarch or a Parthian prince: Amyntas of Galatia, Polemon of Pontus, Atrax of Media and Tiridates of Aria.