by Peter Darman
Gallia laughed but I saw nothing amusing in Dobbai’s comments.
‘Many men who are born into wealth and power end up as fat, licentious tyrants,’ I said.
‘Then consider this,’ continued Dobbai. ‘Do you not think it strange that in your first battle you managed to capture a Roman eagle, which the commander of your army informs me is a wondrous thing? And then you get yourself captured by the Romans and shipped to their homeland. But instead of ending your days as one of their slaves you are rescued and become a great warlord in an army of slaves. Now Lucius Domitus has also informed me that when the slave army was crushed the survivors were nailed to crosses as an example of what happens when slaves rebel. But you miraculously manage to escape the Romans and return to Parthia. Do you think all these things are mere coincidences or just an endless stream of luck?’
‘If the gods truly love me as you say,’ I replied, ‘then they would have given Spartacus victory over the Romans.’
‘Don’t be petulant, son of Hatra. It is not proper that slaves should be running around slitting their masters’ throats. It is against the natural order of things. Would you wish to see the slaves in your own parents’ palace rise up and slaughter Hatra’s royalty?’
I said nothing.
‘I thought not,’ said Dobbai smugly.
‘Mithridates will not march against you, Pacorus,’ said Gallia. ‘You defeated him and Narses at Surkh, you destroyed the army of Porus before that and your army still has blood on its swords after defeating the Romans and Chosroes. Only a fool would lead an army against you.’
‘You are wise, child,’ said Dobbai. She gave me a sly glance.
‘Of course you could always take your army to Ctesiphon if you are at a loose end.’
I was appalled by the idea. ‘I will not instigate hostilities. Besides, to do so would entail marching through Hatran and Babylonian territory and I will not violate the territorial integrity of those two kingdoms.’
‘Well, then,’ said Dobbai. ‘You had better find something else to amuse yourself with for I tell you now that the sun will fall from the heavens before Mithridates marches against you.’
The city council was underwhelmed by my announcement that I had written to the high king, challenging his rule in the hope that he would take the field against me. As usual we met in the headquarters building that was opposite the palace in the Citadel. It was the official office of Lucius Domitus, the commander of the army, who liked to reside in the command tent in the legionary camp immediately west of the Palmyrene Gate. But the headquarters building was never empty, being the location of the army’s records where clerks worked administering its business. Now he was sitting in a chair in the spacious room looking out onto the courtyard that we used for the meetings of the city council, as usual toying with his dagger, occasionally staring out of one of the open windows when a detail of soldiers marched or rode by.
Lucius Domitus looked as though he had been carved out of a block of granite, there being not an ounce of fat on his stocky frame. He was as fighting fit as the army he led and I could tell that he would rather be leading a twenty-mile route march than be sitting in this room.
‘And so I expect our new high king to march against Dura as soon as he receives my letter.’
I was expecting a reaction but there was silence. Domitus was trying to balance the point of his dagger on the end of a finger and Rsan, the city treasurer, had clasped his hands together and was staring at the smooth surface on the table we were sitting round. The lean, cropped-haired city governor, Godarz, wore a confused expression while Orodes, Prince of Susiana and step-brother of Mithridates, who had been banished by the new high king, stared blankly out of the window.
Eventually the prince looked at me and shook his head.
‘He will not come, Pacorus. He will regard your insults and provocations as small prices to pay if it means Dura’s army stays on the western bank of the Euphrates and leaves him and Narses free to rule the empire.’
Domitus frowned as the dagger fell and clattered on the floor.
‘I hope I have your attention, Domitus,’ I said.
He picked up the blade and slipped it back into its sheath.
‘You want to kill Mithridates? Then let us take the army across the Euphrates to Ctesiphon and storm the place. Simple.’
Orodes’ mouth opened in horror. ‘Whatever we think of Mithridates, he has been elected high king by a majority of the kings in the empire. To march against him would plunge the empire into civil strife once more.’
‘I will not be marching against Ctesiphon,’ I reassured him. ‘I have no wish to incite another civil war.’
Domitus grunted. ‘Orodes’ brother is a coward. You will have a long wait.’
‘My step-brother,’ Orodes reminded the army’s commander. He was always keen to emphasise that though they shared the same father they had two different mothers.
I pointed at Rsan. ‘We will be withholding the annual tribute to Ctesiphon until further notice. Let us see how the king of kings likes that.’
The tribute was a yearly payment of gold that every Parthian kingdom sent to the treasury at Ctesiphon, based on the number of horse archers every king could raise.
Rsan appeared alarmed. ‘Is that wise, majesty?’
‘Very wise,’ I replied. ‘I would rather use the gold to raise and maintain my own soldiers than see Dura’s money being spent by Mithridates.’
Domitus laughed. ‘First sensible thing you have said all day. But it still won’t provoke Mithridates or Narses. What is the King of Persis doing, anyway?’
Godarz ran a hand over his crown. ‘The reports garnered from the trade caravans is that he has returned to Persepolis, prior to marching east to consolidate his new kingdom.’
I had won a great victory over Porus of Sakastan and his elephants prior to the even greater victory at Surkh. But it continually irked me that so complete had been my victory over Porus that his kingdom, Sakastan, had a vacant throne, his sons also being killed in the battle near the Euphrates. Sakastan was located immediately east of Persis and following Narses’ intrigues he had been given the crown of Sakastan by Mithridates. Thus did Narses become the king of both kingdoms thanks to my actions.
Dobbai opened her eyes. ‘Narses plays the great king and will amuse himself in his new domain for a while. He is no fool and knows that to offer battle to you, son of Hatra, will result in his defeat and possible death. As such the prospect offers little attraction. However, that does not mean he will not try to strike at you.’
‘Or those closest to you,’ said Gallia.
Everyone looked at her.
‘You fear an attempt on your life?’ said Godarz with concern.
Gallia shook her head. ‘Not me, or indeed anyone here, but there are others who are vulnerable.’
I wracked my brains. ‘Who?’
‘Nergal and Praxima,’ she replied.
Before I had stormed Uruk I had made plans to install an ally on Mesene’s throne, and in the aftermath of my victory had asked Nergal, the former commander of my horsemen, to become King of Mesene. I had promised that Dura would always support him until he was able to rebuild his kingdom’s army. Gallia had vehemently opposed the idea, believing that Nergal and Praxima would be too isolated and vulnerable at Uruk.
I pointed at the hide map of the empire on the wall behind me.
‘You are right, my love, that Mithridates could strike at Mesene from Susiana, but if he did then we would receive intelligence from Babylon and Elymais, which would give us time to reinforce Nergal.’
Gallia stood and walked over to the map, pulling her dagger from her right boot. She rested the point at Susa and then pointed it at Uruk.
‘Mithridates is closer to Uruk than we are and could reach our friends’ city before we can.’
‘You are right, Gallia,’ agreed Domitus, ‘but such an eventuality would be welcomed by Pacorus.’
He looked at me. ‘Am I right
?’
Gallia spun round to look at me as I felt my cheeks flush. She then eyed Domitus.
‘What do you mean?’
The chiselled features of Domitus’ face broke into a broad grin.
‘Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Mithridates and Narses send an army to attack Nergal. We’ve all seen Uruk’s high walls. Which means that an army will have to lay siege to the city to capture it. Only one kingdom in Parthia has siege engines to batter down defences and that is Dura. So an army lays siege to Uruk to starve it into surrender.’
Domitus rose and laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘And that gives Pacorus time to march his army south, cross the Euphrates and destroy the besieging army before the walls of Uruk.’
‘Is this true, Pacorus?’ asked Gallia.
‘If Mithridates or Narses attack Uruk then I will march to its aid,’ I answered.
‘That is not an answer, son of Hatra,’ smirked Dobbai. ‘What your wife wishes to know is are you using Mesene as a bait to entice your enemies to walk into your trap?’
‘There is no trap,’ I protested. ‘Dura is Mesene’s ally and will stand by Nergal. Mithridates knows this and so does Narses.’
Gallia returned to her chair. ‘You should write to Nergal warning him that his kingdom faces an attack.’
‘He already knows that, my sweet,’ I said. ‘Besides he is no fool. He has the city garrison, eight hundred Margianans to stiffen his forces, plus whatever Surena can raise among the Ma’adan.’
Domitus chuckled. ‘The marsh dwellers? About as useful as a paper sword.’
I wagged a finger at him. ‘You underestimate them, Domitus. They will prove useful allies to Nergal.’
For years Chosroes had waged a war of annihilation against the Ma’adan, the people who inhabited the great marshes through which the Tigris and Euphrates meandered before they emptied their waters into the Persian Gulf. Surena, my former squire and now an officer in Dura’s cataphracts, was one of those people and was currently helping Nergal enlist recruits from among the Ma’adan.
‘You should recall the marsh boy,’ Dobbai said suddenly. ‘His destiny does not lie among the swamps and reeds of his people.’
‘I’m sure Nergal will send him back to us presently,’ I replied.
Orodes leaned forward to look at Dobbai. ‘Have the gods revealed his true purpose to you?’
Dobbai flicked a hand at him, rose and walked towards the door.
‘The gods have better things to do than whisper in my ear, prince. But I will say this: Mithridates will never set foot on the western bank of the Euphrates and neither will Narses. If you wish to kill them you will have to go and get them.’
With that she opened the door and departed, mumbling to herself as she did so. Gallia was still studying the map as Dobbai closed the door behind her.
‘What is this place?’ she said, turning to Rsan who had spent his whole life at Dura. She was pointing to a settlement at the spot where the Tigris and Euphrates entered the Persian Gulf.
‘That is Charax, majesty,’ answered Rsan. ‘A port that was formerly under the control of the King of Mesene, but no longer.’
‘No longer? Why?’
‘It was established by Alexander of Macedon nearly three hundred years ago, majesty,’ said Rsan. ‘Since then its fortunes have declined sharply. It has been destroyed by floods at least twice.’
‘It is part of Mesene?’ queried Gallia.
‘Technically, yes,’ said Rsan. ‘But it has been many decades since Uruk has exercised control over Charax. Today the port exists as a sort of independent city, though only because it is out of the way and no one has the inclination to subdue it. But it too pays dues to the empire.’
Gallia was intrigued. ‘In what way?’
‘Boats dock at Charax and then sail up the Tigris or Euphrates to trade their goods in either Babylon or Seleucia where they are taxed.’
‘Who rules Charax?’ I asked Rsan.
He stroked his beard. ‘Let me see. Ah, yes, a man named Tiraios if my memory serves me correctly. The port was prosperous many years ago but the Silk Road has reduced it to a backwater in every sense of the word. Alas for Tiraios.’
After the meeting I wrote letters to King Vardan at Babylon and King Gotarzes at Elymais, both allies, alerting them of my missive to Mithridates and asking them to keep watch for any troop movements in Susiana and Persis. But with the news that Narses was travelling east to Sakastan I thought it improbable that Mithridates would attempt anything on his own. And so I waited. After two weeks nothing had happened, and after a month it became obvious that my letter had been ignored. Frequent messages came from Nergal reporting no activity on his eastern border, and from Vardan stating that nothing was happening at Seleucia. Even Gotarzes bewailed the torpor. He hated Mithridates and Narses more than I did and would have liked nothing more than a war against them. But Ctesiphon sent envoys to Elymais to maintain cordial relations with its king and pointedly ignored the Kingdom of Dura and its ruler. The army trained, the trade caravans travelled through the kingdom on their way to Palmyra and I paced the palace terrace waiting for an invasion that would never happen. I received a letter from my father, admonishing me for insulting the high king and reporting that the Romans in Gordyene were quiet. Zeugma sent protestations of peace and my mother wondered when we would be visiting Hatra again. The whole empire appeared to have been gripped by an outbreak of peace that was as infuriating as it was welcome.
The only bright spot was the gathering of the Companions.
This annual assembly was a feast for all those who had travelled with me from Italy in the aftermath of Spartacus’ defeat. As well as the survivors of the force of Parthians that I had led into Cappadocia they included Greeks, Gauls, Italians, Germans, Dacians and Thracians. After the night of revelry, when I sat on the palace terrace nursing a hangover, Byrd paid me a visit. Though he was not the most sociable of individuals he always made the effort to attend the gathering, usually ending up sitting on his own at the end of a table in the banqueting hall, alone with his thoughts.
He looked more like an Agraci in his flowing black robes, black headdress and dark, unkempt features. But then he had made his home among the desert people, residing at Palmyra with Noora who never left the settlement.
‘I trust she is well, Byrd,’ I said, pressing a damp towel to my forehead.
He nodded. ‘She well, lord.’
‘Gallia is always on at me to convince you and Noora to come and live in Dura. She has even earmarked a mansion in the city that could be your residence, should you so desire.’
He shook his head. ‘I like Palmyra.’
I eased myself back into the chair and placed my feet on the stuffed stool. The throbbing in my head was at least beginning to subside.
‘Gallia believes that living in a mansion is preferable to sleeping in a tent, Byrd.’
‘I like simple life, lord.’
I opened my eyes and looked at him.
‘You are a Companion, Byrd. You don’t have to call me “lord”. What news do you have of the Romans?’
‘Romani quiet. We hear stories of great rivalries in Rome.’
‘That’s good. If the Romans are fighting among themselves then they won’t be bothering Dura, or Palmyra for that matter.’
I immersed the towel in the bowel of fresh water on the table beside me, wrung it out and replaced it on my forehead.
‘My scouts report no activity east or west of the Euphrates,’ said Byrd.
I smiled to myself. He commanded fifty hand-picked scouts that were the eyes and ears of Dura’s army. Mostly ragged-looking Agraci, they were a law unto themselves, riding hither and thither at their own beck and call. Their refusal to obey anyone save Byrd and me drove Domitus to distraction and he was forever complaining about their appearance or non-appearance when they decided to take themselves off at a moment’s notice. But for all their shortcomings I reckoned them to be the finest group of scouts in the
Parthian Empire. And to date they had always provided me with accurate information regarding an enemy’s whereabouts and strength, and the army had never been surprised on campaign. This made Byrd and his fifty scouts priceless and that is why I never interfered with their peculiar ways. Every month a payment of gold was sent from Dura’s treasury to Byrd at Palmyra to pay him and his scouts. The amount was generous, which was a bone of contention with Rsan, but I reckoned it money well spent for it provided me with information concerning what was happening beyond Dura’s borders.
‘I’m glad that your men are collecting intelligence, Byrd,’ I told him, ‘but the caravans also convey gossip concerning what is going on east of the Euphrates.’
He reached into his robes and held out his hand to me, a gold coin between his fingers.
‘What’s this?’
‘From Gerrha,’ he replied.
‘Gerrha?’
The name was vaguely familiar but I could not place it. I took the coin. It was newly minted and on one side bore the head of Simurgel, the bird-god symbol of Persis. I placed the towel on the table and sat up as I turned the coin in my hand.
‘This is the currency of the Kingdom of Persis,’ I said.
Byrd nodded. ‘Lord Yasser recently escorted a caravan carrying incense from Gerrha.’
Yasser was one of Haytham’s warlords who commanded a large stretch of territory in the southern Agraci lands. Byrd told me that Gerrha was the capital of the Kingdom of Dilmun, a domain in eastern Arabia, and Gerrha itself was a large port that traded in goods coming from east of the Indus. Its boats transported incense and spices throughout the Persian Gulf and also into Parthia via the Tigris and Euphrates.
‘Yasser imposed a tax on the caravan and then escorted it north toward Petra,’ said Byrd.
I laughed. ‘He is a merchant now rather than a warlord.’
Byrd nodded.
‘Yasser must be getting soft,’ I remarked.
‘Haytham himself visited Kingdom of Dilmun and proposed trade treaty based on the one he has with Dura. You have changed him, Pacorus.’