by Peter Darman
‘You have the ear of Augustus, I believe, ambassador,’ said Tullus.
Gaius was startled. ‘You expect me to lobby Augustus for a war against Dura, which would lead to a wider conflict with the whole of Parthia? I think not, general. You may be interested to know that Augustus had a very low opinion of Glaphyra, calling her a “whore” on many occasions. So, I hardly think he will risk destroying relations with Parthia over the passing of a woman who prostituted herself with Mark Antony.’
‘What of Governor Cenk?’ said Tullus.
‘A fat, drunken Cappadocian who liked to abuse young girls? Some would say the world is better off without such individuals.’
Tullus was deeply unhappy. ‘I must protest, ambassador. I have strong evidence that those deaths were committed by assassins sent by the Queen of Dura herself.’
‘I tell you what I will do, general,’ said Gaius firmly. ‘As soon as we reach Sinope, I will seek an audience with King Polemon and argue most strongly for your dismissal from his service.’
Tullus pulled up his horse.
Gaius gave him a cunning smile. ‘As a private citizen without any responsibilities, you can devote all your time and energy to investigating the murders that are obsessing you. Or, you can assume your life of privilege and ease in Pontus. The choice is yours.’
Tullus grunted at his horse to walk forward, staring ahead and avoiding the ambassador’s smug expression.
‘That will not be necessary, ambassador,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘It may ease your thirst for vengeance against the Queen of Dura to know that King Archelaus, on my suggestion, has agreed to pay you two talents of gold, by way of a bonus for assuming the duties of governor of Melitene under taxing circumstances.’
Tullus beamed with delight, the first time he had smiled in days. The expression did not really suit his harsh features but he had reason to smile. One hundred and forty pounds of gold was a tidy sum.
‘A most generous gift, ambassador.’
‘Payment is subject to you forgetting all this nonsense about assassins and the Queen of Dura, of course.’
Tullus wanted to wring his aristocratic neck.
‘Naturally, governor.’
*****
Just as the ancient Babylonian kings had chosen to emphasise their power and prestige through grand building projects, and as a visible expression of their homage to the gods, so had Phraates lavished much wealth on the restoration of Ctesiphon. The former sprawling, ramshackle residence of the king of kings of the Parthian Empire had been transformed to become a shining gem in the desert, literally so when the sun shone on its white-faced outer perimeter wall. It was now a palace complex cast in the image of Babylon, the city where his mother, Queen Axsen, had ruled and where Marduk watched over its inhabitants. The huge gatehouse at Ctesiphon had become a replica of Babylon’s Ishtar Gate: a huge double gate decorated with over five hundred figures of bulls and dragons. This led to Ctesiphon’s version of the Processional Way, a road eighty feet wide paved with white limestone and red breccia slabs. In Babylon the Processional Way was flanked by high walls, punctuated by buttresses and towers, but at Ctesiphon the walls were lower to allow bystanders to gather behind them and cheer and wave at the high king as he left and entered his great palace. But no expense had been spared when it came to decorating the walls with glazed bricks depicting rows of striding lions, the animals being the symbol of the Goddess Ishtar, who had her own temple in the palace complex.
On the day satraps Kewab and Otanes made their triumphal entry into Ctesiphon, a phalanx of trumpeters atop the gatehouse heralding their arrival, the Processional Way was lined with purple-uniformed Babylonian spearmen. Adapa met the returning heroes at the gatehouse and accompanied them to the palace where Phraates himself, all his court officials, their wives and the high priests and priestesses of the temples were gathered at the top of the palace steps. Among the hues of gold, purple and red, the black-clothed figure of Claudia next to the high king looked out of place. But her expression was the same as the dozens of others who were beaming with delight when the two satraps ascended the white marble steps to stand and bow before Phraates.
‘Hail the conquering heroes,’ exclaimed Phraates, to the delight of those within earshot who clapped enthusiastically. ‘Parthia salutes you both.’
More applause and cheers followed the two satraps as they flanked Phraates and all three walked into the cool, fragranced palace interior, Adapa walking beside Claudia as they followed the high king and the two returning conquerors.
Claudia had seldom seen Phraates in such a jovial mood, his character being naturally suspicious and sarcastic. But in the days following the courier who arrived from the north with news that King Castus had won a great victory outside the town of Melitene, the high king had become a generous and magnanimous man. He had rewarded the courier with a pouch of gold coins, granted pardons to fifty criminals about to be executed, much to the chagrin of the Royal Company of Torturers and Punishers whose task it was to carry out what their title suggested, and ordered food to be distributed to the poor of the nearby city of Seleucia. He had good reason to be generous. Tiridates and Atrax were both dead, a large army of Rome’s allies had been annihilated for little loss, the reverberations of which would be felt as far away as Rome itself, and for once Parthian arms had triumphed without the direct involvement of King Pacorus. Admittedly, Kewab was a protégé of the King of Dura, but it was a sign that times had moved on and Ctesiphon was no longer in Dura’s shadow.
That night Phraates gave a great feast in honour of the two satraps. Ctesiphon’s banqueting hall was grand and cavernous, with white marble columns supporting a high roof of cedar beams and red terracotta tiles. But it seemed small and crowded with hundreds of guests sitting at long tables positioned at right angles to the top table where Phraates, his closest confidantes and two masters of war sat. A small army of flustered slaves scurried between the tables and kitchens where a large group of cooks prepared the food for the cream of Parthian society.
Because it was a special occasion, Phraates had ordered peacock to be served to his guests, the meat coming from his private farm where the beasts were raised. Other meats served included beef, pork and chicken, together with catfish, eels and barbels caught that very morning in the Tigris and speared in the large fishponds adjacent to the great waterway. Huge quantities of beer and wine were consumed, but many of the noblewomen, reluctant to imbibe, drank pomegranate juice instead. Small pyramids of bread stood in rows in the centre of each table, along with silver dishes of cheese, butter, sauces and yoghurt, which had been kept fresh by storing them in damp, underground ‘cold’ rooms close to the Tigris.
For those who did not wish to gorge themselves on meat and fish, there was an endless supply of dates, olives, grapes, pistachios, almonds, raisins, pears, figs, plums and melons. All brought from the kitchens on silver platters or in silver, jewel-encrusted bowls. Drinks were poured into gold rhytons and even the knives and spoons used for cutting and eating food were silver and gold.
Phraates sat in the middle of the top table, flanked by Kewab and Otanes, engaging both in conversation and playing the perfect host. The petulant, sadistic boy had long gone, to be replaced by a king of kings who had grown into his exalted position. He could still be spiteful, but he seldom flew into a rage now, his character being more calculating and patient. But the ruthlessness borne of knowing that he had no friends and that by its very nature his position meant he would always be isolated and vulnerable, only increased with each year he sat on Ctesiphon’s throne.
Claudia sat at the end of the top table, picking at a bowl of olives and regarding Kewab with an unblinking stare. She was like a raven waiting to swoop and pick at a carcass, and made those near her decidedly uncomfortable. Kewab was not particularly imposing, being of average height and build, with a small chin and curly black hair that he always wore short. Like many officers in Dura’s army, he kept a clean-shaven face
like King Pacorus, and without the king’s magnificent shining cuirass he looked more like a lowly palace official than the all-conquering warlord he was. As the evening wore on, Phraates became aware of Claudia’s stares and, following the departure of Kewab and Otanes to other tables where nobles and their wives had requested to meet the pair of heroes, the high king ordered Adapa to fetch her to him. She plonked herself beside the high king and clicked her fingers to a slave to indicate her rhyton should be topped up.
‘An excellent feast, lord,’ she said, looking around at the scene of joviality and excess.
‘Looking at your face one would not have thought so.’
‘I was just wondering what you are going to do. With Kewab, I mean.’
Phraates was bemused. ‘I’m not going to do anything to him.’
‘With him, I said,’ frowned Claudia. ‘Too much wine dulls the senses.’
‘For your information, I have drunk very little.’
‘Then you should get the court physician to remove the wax from your ears. But I digress. There is an old saying, lord, that one can never step in the same piece of water twice.’
He sighed. ‘Another of your tiresome riddles, Claudia? What does it mean?’
She sipped at her wine and tipped her rhyton at Kewab engaged in polite conversation with a stunning woman whose round hazel eyes were staring adoringly at the Egyptian.
‘Not so long ago, Kewab was Satrap of Aria and Lord High General in the East. You dismissed him from those positions and he went back to Dura.’
Phraates shrugged. ‘So?’
‘So, he has now won a great victory in Cappadocia and has returned to Parthia even more famous than when he left. Such achievements deserve being rewarded.’
Phraates nodded thoughtfully.
‘I will give him a gift of gold.’
Claudia laughed. ‘Men like Kewab do not covet gold.’
‘Then what? Slaves, horses?’
‘Respect.’
‘He has my respect, and that of the whole empire.’
‘Then give him a kingdom to rule,’ she said.
‘There are none vacant,’ he answered.
‘There will be one, soon.’
He slammed his fist down hard on the table, making heads turn.
‘No, I forbid you or your fellow sorceresses to interfer in Carmania’s affairs.’
She smiled and slowly bowed her head.
‘As you wish, lord. But I have to tell you that others may dangle the prospect of kingship before Kewab, and he will be tempted.’
Phraates gave her a cool stare. ‘What others?’
‘I do not know, lord, the head of our order speaks in riddles that even I cannot fathom.’
‘I thought you were the head of the Scythian Sisters.’
‘No, lord, there is another higher and more powerful one than I.’
‘The mind boggles.’
‘Parthia should reward its faithful servants,’ said Claudia.
Phraates gave her an evil leer.
‘Perhaps I can persuade the Romans to give Zeugma back to us.’
She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Good luck with that. The Romans are like an old miser who hoards his money and counts it afresh each morning. Once they have something, they never give it up.’
‘Perhaps if King Ali dies of his leg wound,’ he mused, ‘I could make Kewab lord high general of the empire.’
‘Ali will not die. He has a wedding to attend to, unless the boy king disgraces himself.’
‘Another riddle, Claudia?’
She smiled and bowed her head once more. ‘Ignore my ramblings, lord, too much wine.’
He did not believe her but had no inclination to question her further. The evening was still young, a Parthian army had returned to the empire covered in glory, and there was a buxom slave girl waiting in his bedchamber for his after-feast pleasure. The gods were certainly smiling on him and his rule.
‘Perhaps you could give Kewab Susiana.’
Phraates nearly choked on his wine, prompting Adapa and two Scythian axe men behind the commander to walk forward with concern, the axe men gripping their fearsome weapons with both hands.
‘It is quite all right,’ said Phraates, dabbing his mouth with a white cloth. The axe men and Adapa retreated, the latter winking at Claudia. She and he would also be enjoying an after-feast evening of delights.
‘Susiana is my kingdom,’ said Phraates, ‘as you well know.’
‘As was Persis, but you gave that kingdom to Silani.’
‘On the suggestion of your father, as I seem to recall,’ he retorted. ‘It was a sensible suggestion and solved the problem of Persis, a kingdom that I inherited from my father, who in turn gained lordship over it following the death of Narses.’
‘I have not heard that name in a long time,’ said Claudia.
‘The point is, my dear weaver of magic and mischief, is that Babylon was my mother’s kingdom and Susiana my father’s, and I would rather die than surrender them to another. My father was very fond of Susiana. He visited it often during his reign.’
It was a rare occasion when he talked about his father, who had been quietly forgotten in the years subsequent to his death. She looked at him and was tempted to ask, after the passing of so many years, whether he regretted poisoning Orodes. But even she, confidante of the high king and the woman who was very much the power behind that throne, hesitated to broach the topic. What did it matter anyway? Orodes was dead, Phraates was king of kings and the Parthian Empire prospered. To her and her sisters, that was all that mattered.
Phraates suddenly had an evil glint in his eye. Perhaps he was going to reveal a dark secret.
‘I could always remove Cia and her son and give Kewab Elymais.’
Cia was the former slave who became Queen of Elymais and then a royal widow following the death of King Silaces in the battle outside the walls of Ctesiphon, a battle that had saved Phraates’ crown. Cia had given birth to a son, also called Silaces in the months after her husband’s death. Silaces the elder had been a close friend of King Pacorus, which meant Cia had the backing of Dura, and indeed Hatra, Prince Pacorus being resident in the kingdom to safeguard the queen and her infant son until he came of age.
‘My father and uncle would take a very dim view of that, lord,’ said Claudia. ‘Besides, Prince Silaces is the legitimate ruler of the kingdom, or at least will be when he comes of age.’
‘Let us hope he has more manners and respect than his father,’ grumbled Phraates. ‘He was always very rude to me. His widow is very charming, though.’
Claudia was surprised. ‘She is?’
‘Magnificent breasts, I have to say. I should invite her to the palace, really.’
‘So you can inspect them more closely?’
He was staring into the distance. ‘Indeed. What? No. Don’t be impertinent. High kings have better things to do than examine women’s breasts.’
‘So, returning to Kewab, what do you propose, lord?’
He emptied his rhyton. ‘I do not propose anything. Kewab will return to Dura and bask in his newly won glory. Though, perhaps King Khosrou will do me a great favour and die, then I can give Kewab the throne of Margiana. By all accounts a miserable, windswept place constantly besieged by nomads.’
‘Khosrou has sons, lord.’
‘Course he does. He does not like me, either.’
‘A king of kings does not need to be liked, lord, just feared and respected. As I said at the beginning of our conversation, it all comes down to respect.’
Chapter 18
The bulk of the Pontic soldiers remaining in Cappadocia had returned to Pontus via Kayseri and Galatia, the latter now firmly under the control of Roman legionaries. But Titus Tullus and Gaius Arrianus took the road directly north, which would take them first through the Pontic Mountains, also called the Munzur Mountains by the Cappadocians, before entering the coastal plain of King Polemon’s kingdom. Their party was small and unencumbered by ca
rts or wagons, the supplies loaded on the backs of mules or carried on furcas manhandled by legionaries.
The Pontic Mountains, called the Parhar Mountains by the Pontic tribes, ‘parhar’ originating from the Hittite word meaning ‘high’, were covered with dense pine forests on their lower slopes. Penetrated by steep-sided valleys, those gorges were still free of snow when the column of horsemen and legionaries ascended the lush green foothills, though the jagged wall of peaks in the distance were all covered in snow. It would take around ten days to reach the port of Trabzon in Pontus, and a further three to reach Sinope further west along the coast. Tullus set a quick pace as he did not wish to share the company of Gaius Arrianus longer than necessary. The ambassador was everything he was not – cultured, educated, well connected and the scion of a wealthy family – and the Greek who was more Roman than Roman never let an opportunity slip to remind Tullus of his shortcomings.
‘Did I ever tell you I was an aedile in Rome, general?’
Tullus sighed and forced a smile.
‘No, ambassador.’
‘Of course, only patricians are eligible to become aediles, you understand. It was my responsibility to organise and finance a series of chariot races in Rome, which by all accounts were the most spectacular in living memory. Augustus himself complimented me on my success. A fine man, Augustus, and very moral.’
‘Mars give me strength,’ muttered Tullus under his breath.
‘What was that, general?’
Tullus looked up. ‘Looks like rain.’
They were climbing a gently inclined hill covered in orange, yellow and purple wildflowers, a stiff breeze blowing across the column. The sky had been a fierce blue but while Gaius had been reminiscing about his time in Rome, the light suddenly faded when dark clouds gathered overhead, and the rumble of thunder filled the air. The horsemen and legionaries, long accustomed to the changeable weather in the highlands of Pontus, needed no prompting as they donned their hooded thick woollen cloaks moments before a pelting rain began to lash the column.