by Peter Darman
Castus was initially stunned by my outburst and for a moment became a worried young man, but his viper of a wife soon coaxed the cunning young king back.
‘Are you going to allow him to speak to you like that in your own palace, conqueror of the world?’ she cooed.
I burst into laughter. ‘Conqueror of the world? Have you both been inhaling charas?’
They gave me quizzical stares.
‘It is a resin burnt in temples,’ I explained. ‘and whereas it has a calming effect if inhaled in moderation, if ingested in excess it can lead to delusions.’
Yesim toyed with her braid, draped over her right shoulder.
‘Were the great victories at Kayseri and Melitene a delusion, King of Dura? Was the gold paid by the vanquished to my husband a mirage?’
She pointed at Tullus and the ambassador.
‘The Romans and the traitor King Polemon will pay handsomely to get these two back.’
‘In my experience,’ I said, ‘the Romans do not take kindly to being blackmailed. I would advise sending the ambassador and general back to Pontus forthwith, along with a humble apology.’
‘Apology?’ roared Castus. ‘I did not defeat the Romans at Kayseri and their lackeys at Melitene to meekly apologise to those I vanquished.’
‘I may be old, but I seem to remember it was Kewab whose plan defeated the enemy at Kayseri and Melitene, not yours. Indeed, Kewab would not have been at Melitene had it not been…’
I stopped myself from divulging the intelligence concerning the great coalition gathering at Melitene had been gleaned by Talib and his fellow assassins. I had no desire to reveal what was Dura’s sordid secret. But Castus was now intrigued.
‘Had it not been for what, King Pacorus?’
‘I grow tired of being interrogated, Castus,’ I said, irritably. ‘When Spadines and his rabble finally arrive, you will kindly turn Klietas over to me, and in the meantime, you will release these two individuals at once,’ I pointed at Tullus and Gaius Arrianus.
‘Who is this man to dictate to you in such an insulting tone?’ sneered Yesim.
‘He was a great commander once,’ sniffed Castus, ‘but that was long ago. I tolerate him out of respect for an old man. But his words carry no weight, my love.’
‘No weight at all.’
I gave a loud groan when Spadines swept into the chamber, an impish grin on his face, which prompted equally devilish smiles to appear on the faces of Castus and his wife.
‘You have him, lord prince?’ asked Castus.
Spadines halted before the dais and bowed deeply to the rulers of Gordyene.
‘I have him, great king, as promised.’ He shot me a murderous glance. ‘Despite the attempts of some to prevent my orders being carried out.’
‘Explain,’ commanded Castus.
Spadines proceeded to inform him about the battle at Vazneh, revealing he had lost a great many men killed and wounded, which brought a smile to my face.
‘You think this is funny?’ Castus accused me.
‘There is much I find amusing, Castus, not least that you would entrust a mission to a Sarmatian, though as it was one of abduction, murder and destruction, I can see why you would choose Spadines.’
‘You will pay for that,’ seethed Spadines. ‘I demand he apologises to me immediately, majesty.’
Castus looked at me expectantly.
‘The day I apologise to an Aorsi is the day I give up on life,’ I said.
‘I demand justice, majesty,’ spat Spadines.
Yesim suddenly reached over to stroke Castus’ head, whispering into his ear. He nodded.
‘You are right. There is much to think about. King Pacorus, you and your companion will surrender your weapons and wait in the palace until I have decided what to do with you both.’
‘This is an outrage,’ said Bullus, loudly.
Castus merely flicked a hand at Shamshir who ordered Immortals to take our weapons.
‘Do as he asks,’ I ordered Bullus, unbuckling my sword belt and handing it to the nearest soldier. Gaius Arrianus looked intently at the dagger fastened to my sword belt.
‘By what strange twist of fate do you possess a parazonium dagger?’ he said.
‘Nothing strange about it, ambassador,’ I smiled. ‘It was a gift from a friend. You may have heard of him. Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa.’
Gaius Arrianus was stunned. ‘You are a friend of Agrippa?’
‘He was in Dura recently,’ I replied, casually. ‘I found him most agreeable.’
Shamshir stood in front of me and pointed towards the throne room’s entrance. I took the hint and walked away from the dais.
‘I hope you are the conqueror of the world, Castus,’ I called, ‘because the number of Gordyene’s enemies is increasing by the day.’
Chapter 8
We were not marched to the cells after our audience with Castus; rather, we were placed in a wing of the palace where Gaius Arrianus and Titus Tullus had been confined. A thick oak door led to a communal area, off which were a number of small bedrooms. There were couches, tables and chairs in the communal area and each bedroom had a single bed, a small bedside table and candles for night-time illumination. But the windows were narrow and high on the walls, allowing some light to enter the rooms but small enough to prevent anyone from escaping through them.
‘Refreshments will be brought to you, shortly,’ smiled a gloating Shamshir.
‘If you have any influence with your king, I would strongly advise you convince him to release us all at once,’ I said. Gordyene’s new army commander closed and bolted the door behind him.
‘You are wasting your breath, majesty,’ sighed Gaius, ‘our new Alexander has been seduced by the twin evils.’
I flopped down on a couch, glad to take the weight off my aching feet.
‘Twin evils?’
‘Gold and glory,’ replied Gaius, also sitting on a couch.
I indicated to Tullus that he too should sit, as I placed my helmet on the floor beside the couch.
‘Arrogant little bastard wants to ransom us,’ spat Bullus, ‘for ten thousand talents of gold each.’
‘Language, general,’ Gaius rebuked him. ‘You insult an ally of King Pacorus.’
‘Dura’s alliance with Gordyene is like a frayed rope, ambassador,’ I said, ‘it weakens by the day. But it is I who should be apologising to you for the ill-treatment meted out to you both.’
The door was unbolted and slaves carrying food and drink appeared, along with Immortals who kept a close eye on us as we were served wine. The slaves left fruit, bread, cheese and sweet meats, along with two jugs of wine. They also left us with fresh water, bowls and towels with which to wash our faces and hands.
‘Our confinement in this palace is not unbearable,’ admitted Gaius, ‘aside from our loss of liberty. The hospitality of Queen Yesim and her people, on the other hand, leaves a lot to be desired.’
He told me how he and Bullus had been ambushed in the highlands of Pontus, after which their lives had been spared, though they had both been mistreated harshly. They had expected a grisly death, but instead Yesim had hauled them off to Gordyene.
‘Yesim is not to be underestimated,’ Gaius cautioned me. ‘She essentially sold us to King Castus in exchange for food for her people.’
‘Food?’ said Bullus. ‘Don’t they know how to grow their own?’
‘Unfortunately for the hill tribes of Pontus,’ replied Gaius, ‘many of their menfolk were killed by King Castus outside Melitene last year. But she also enchanted the young king to make herself Queen of Gordyene.’
‘Not to be underestimated, indeed,’ I agreed. ‘I would not worry, ambassador. Before I came here, I despatched couriers to Irbil to alert King Akmon of what was happening in the north of his kingdom. They will also notify Dura.’
‘I fear King Castus is unhinged, majesty,’ said Gaius.
‘He will kill the one you came here to save, lord,’ added Tullus.
‘If
he does, he will face war,’ I said.
Gaius’ eyes opened wide with surprise and even Tullus was astonished.
‘This man is dear to you, majesty?’ enquired Gaius.
‘He was, and indeed is, a poor farmer, an orphan who for a while was my squire,’ I told him. ‘He also saved my life, and for that alone I am in his debt. But even if that were not the case, I would still go to war for him.’
‘For a farmer?’ Tullus was amazed.
‘For a principle, general,’ I answered. ‘All men, irrespective of whether they are born high or low, deserve the protection of the law. Without the law there is no order; and without order there is only chaos.’
‘I mean no disrespect, majesty,’ said Tullus, ‘but you are here, alone, and at the mercy of King Castus and his bitch of a wife.’
I filled a cup with wine and took a sip. I registered surprise at the taste.
‘At least Gordyene has fine wines,’ said Gaius.
‘I learned long ago not to prize my life too highly, general,’ I replied to Titus Tullus. ‘If Castus kills me, my wife will avenge me, and my eldest daughter is adviser to King of Kings Phraates.’
‘The taste of victory has intoxicated King Castus, I fear,’ remarked Gaius, ‘and combined with the entrancing Yesim, I fear his mind has been corrupted.’
As far as I knew, Spartacus had never been cruel to his sons. But he had been hard with them, taking them on their first campaign when they were mere boys and showing them the horrors of the battlefield after his great victory at Mepsila. I doubted he showed them any affection and was quite prepared to lose Akmon when he had the effrontery to run off with Lusin. Akmon did not have a cruel streak, but the same could not be said for his brother.
I had noted how both the ambassador and Tullus had stubble on their faces, Gaius informing me that Castus only supplied shaving instruments to the pair once a week. He knew Roman men liked to keep clean-shaven faces and so denied them the opportunity to shave on a daily basis. He did the same with me that night, knowing I too did not sport a beard. He also denied me writing materials when I requested them. I found it irksome but, more ominously, these things pointed to a disturbed mind.
The next morning, after we had been treated to a fine breakfast and given fresh clothes, albeit the uniform of Gordyene’s soldiers, we were escorted back to the throne room. The oily chief steward had taken away our old clothes, helmets and armour to be cleaned and polished, or so he said. I wondered if we would ever see them again. This annoyed me in particular because my spatha had been a present from Spartacus and my armour and helmet a gift from Castus, two friends now long dead. My humour did not improve when standing in a line like prisoners about to be sentenced, we faced a grinning King Castus and Queen Yesim. My blood boiled when Shamshir appeared leading Klietas by a rope wrapped around his young neck. He was also shackled and had a few cuts and bruises on his face. That visage lit up when he saw me.
‘Are you hurt, Klietas?’ I asked.
‘No, majesty, I am fine,’ he lied.
Shamshir turned and struck him across the face with the back of his hand.
‘No talking.’
‘You have had your fun, Castus,’ I growled. ‘Now it is time to grow up. I make this pledge now. If you kill Klietas, you will have war with Dura.’
Spadines, Shamshir and Haytham were shocked by my declaration but Castus waved a hand dismissively in my direction.
‘Yes, yes, we have all heard the threats of the King of Dura before, but this one is an empty one. I could have you killed right here, right now.’
‘Then why don’t you?’ I said.
‘I am a fair man, King Pacorus,’ he spouted, prompting Bullus to laugh. Castus ignored him.
‘Years ago,’ waxed Castus, ‘I heard a story of how you and your queen travelled to a Roman city to take part in gladiatorial games.’
‘Ephesus,’ I said, glancing at a bemused Gaius Arrianus. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘And, of course, you were a friend of the gladiator Spartacus, whom my father was named after.’
He laid a hand on Yesim’s arm.
‘My wife had a vision last night. She saw two men fighting in a great arena to decide the fate of a farmer, presided over by a king and queen. One of those fighting had the feet of a griffin.’
He pointed at me. ‘That man was you, King Pacorus.’
He then pointed at Klietas. ‘You wish to save this wretched individual? Then fight for him, King Pacorus. Let the gods decide if he should live or die. Do you accept the challenge?’
Yesim had a smug expression on her face, Castus feigning indifference. But Bullus was outraged.
‘You dare talk to King Pacorus in such a manner?’
Castus chuckled. ‘I will say what I like in my own palace and do as I like. I have given your king a chance to save his former squire, who was due to be sacrificed in honour of my wife.’
‘My conqueror is merciful,’ said Yesim, looking lovingly at her husband.
‘I will take the king’s place,’ offered Bullus.
‘Your offer is declined,’ said Castus, dismissively. ‘King Pacorus wants to save the farmer so much, let him fight for him.’
‘I accept,’ I said, ‘if only to shut you up.’
‘Prince Spadines will select a champion from among his people to face you in the arena,’ said Castus, ‘for you have consistently denigrated the Aorsi over the years, thus damaging their reputation.’
‘Their reputation?’ I scoffed. ‘The only reputation they have is for being thieves and murderers, though granted they maintain it impeccably.’
‘You have insulted me and my people long enough, King of Dura,’ shouted Spadines. ‘You will now face the consequences of your actions.’
Castus gave the command to escort me from the throne room, Bullus and the two Romans also being roughly bundled from the chamber.
‘Rome will hear of this, majesty,’ called Gaius Arrianus. ‘King Pacorus is a personal friend of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, the second-most important individual in the Roman world.’
‘I thank you, ambassador,’ I said to him as we were led away, ‘but I fear your words are wasted on a poisoned mind.’
At the entrance to the palace we were separated, Gaius and the other two being marched across the palace courtyard and up a set of stone steps leading to the battlements. A few minutes later Castus, Yesim, Spadines and a sheepish-looking Haytham appeared behind me, walking across the courtyard to the large, three-storey gatehouse and disappearing into the imposing structure. Shamshir stood beside me but said nothing, avoiding my eyes. Behind me a pair of Immortals stood with swords drawn. The atmosphere was oppressive, laced with the threat of impending violence.
It became more so when other Immortals began to file into the courtyard, dozens of them. Under instructions from their centurions, or whatever the commander of a hundred-man battalion of Gordyene’s foot soldiers was called, the troops formed a large hollow square, each man facing inwards. Behind each Immortal stood another soldier to make two rows on each side of the makeshift square. Perhaps Castus thought I would try to escape, hence the additional security. I saw him and his wife appear on the roof of the gatehouse, giving them an uninterrupted view of the courtyard below. Shamshir placed a hand in the middle of my back to move me forward.
‘Take your filthy hands off me,’ I said, walking down the palace steps.
He smarted at my tone but said nothing, probably reasoning there was little point into getting into an argument with a dead man. The square of Immortals parted when I reached it, an officer bowing his head and handing me a shield and a gladius, though it was forbidden to call the short swords that equipped the Immortals by that name. I felt a dull ache in my left leg and smiled to myself. Whatever Castus had in store for me would not last long before my leg gave out.
I walked into the re-formed square and saw a man standing across from me, on the opposite side. He was a tall, gangly individual with a large black be
ard and shoulder-length hair. In one hand he held an axe, in the other a long knife. When he saw me, he raised his weapons in the air and screamed abuse at me.
‘I am Abdarak, champion of Prince Spadines and you are the son of a lowborn whore.’
He mimicked an effeminate walk. ‘You are a boy-lover and a eunuch who has no balls. You are a molester of horses.’
That was a new one.
‘Tonight, my people will be feasting on your intestines and my king will be drinking wine from your skull.’
His inane rantings were interrupted by a blast of trumpets, which mercifully stopped him in mid-insult. As one, the front row of Immortals knelt, resting their shields on the cobblestones. After they had done so, the second row stepped forward and rested the bottom edge of their shields on the top rims of those resting on the cobbles in front, thus creating a four-sided arena. Abdarak looked up at the assembled dignitaries on the roof of the gatehouse, raising his weapons aloft. I too gazed up at the king and his guests, and then at my fellow prisoners on the battlements, who had been joined by Klietas. Castus slowly raised his arm and then chopped it down to signal the beginning of the fight.
I was a man in his sixties, Abdarak was perhaps half my age, but he made a common mistake when a younger man fights an older opponent. He ran at me in an attempt to kill me as quickly as possible. Had he given the match any thought, he would have realised the most effective tactic would be to wear me down. He was younger, stronger and possessed of more stamina than me, and the longer the bout went on, the greater the chance of him emerging victorious. Like me he wore no helmet or armour, but unlike me his face was contorted with rage as he sprinted towards me, axe held at arm’s length, ready to swing it and split my head open. My options were to feint left and right at the last moment, to try to avoid his blow, to run at him and meet him halfway, or, the best option, use my shield to block the blow and thrust at his unprotected body with my sword.
The Roman shield was one of the world’s greatest inventions. A curved rectangular board weighing around twenty pounds, made of three strips of wood laminated in three alternate layers, faced with hide and edged with metal, it was both a defensive and offensive tool. Held by a horizontal grip positioned in the centre of the shield, which was protected by a metal boss facing the enemy, it can be used to smash into an opponent to barge him aside or knock him over.