Companions (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  Dobbai stood and brushed down her black robes. ‘So there you have it, son of Hatra. The kingdom functioned very well in your absence; indeed, perhaps we should make Prince Orodes king and then you would be free to spend your time travelling the world freeing slaves, which you then let go.’

  ‘We freed Burebista,’ I told her as she shuffled from the room, ‘so he could follow his own destiny.’

  ‘I call it ingratitude,’ was her parting shot.

  The next day, after I had spent what seemed like an eternity listening to petitioners in the throne room, most concerning trivial bickerings that another, less tolerant ruler would have had settled with a flogging, I rode Remus down to the Palmyrene Gate so I could stand beside the stone griffin and be alone with my thoughts. That morning I had ridden him for the first time since I had returned from my travels and he had proved a handful, nearly throwing me twice in a fit of pique. It was his way of reminding me that I had been absent for too long.

  ‘I have to be away one more time, my old friend,’ I said as I stood before the griffin. ‘But this time you will be coming with me.’

  ‘They say that people who mumble to themselves are beloved of the gods.’

  I recognised the voice of Dobbai behind me.

  ‘Though I have never put much stock in that belief. Why would the gods speak to the demented, who are invariably shunned by polite society?’

  She stopped beside me and sat on the stone plinth on which the griffin sat. The afternoon sun was dipping low in the west, casting the vast legionary camp in a golden glow. To the south were the royal estates, an unending strip of fields and date palms adjacent to the Euphrates disappearing into the distance. To the north was the bustling, dusty caravan park and beyond that more fields next to the mighty river.

  ‘Do you pine to be back in the arena at Ephesus, son of Hatra?’

  I turned and laughed. ‘My exploits on the sand are already forgotten, I think.’

  She nodded. ‘While you were listening to the gibbering idiots in the throne room Gallia was amusing us on the terrace with tales of your heroics in the arena. Lucky for you that she had not forgotten her mother tongue.’

  ‘Yes, once again she saved my hide. Looking back, it is amazing that we all escaped in one piece.’

  She sighed. ‘I told you that seven was an auspicious number. You had the favour of the gods, even if you did your best to get yourself killed.’

  She ran a finger along the griffin’s body. ‘And you returned with some interesting individuals.’

  ‘Athineos lost his ships and his living. The least I can do is recompense him for his loss.’

  Her head snapped towards me. ‘I was not talking of the pirate. You should have him flogged and banish him from the kingdom. I was speaking of the high priestess and her firebrand lover. Why are you so interested in two Greeks who should have been burnt side by side at Ephesus?’

  ‘I see that you are in a compassionate mood today.’

  ‘Do not try to be clever, son of Hatra, it does not suit you. Courtiers and politicians are masters at deception but you are neither so do not insult my intelligence.’

  She stood and stepped closer, her black eyes examining me.

  ‘I see vengeance in your eyes, but aside from Mithridates and Narses who else has stirred your wrath?’

  I shrugged in silence.

  Her haggard face twisted into a leer. ‘Shall I tell you?’

  I shrugged again.

  ‘You are like that horse of yours, you never forget. Indeed, you have a tendency to bear grudges. It must have irked you enormously when Narses convinced King Tiraios to attack Uruk, and perhaps annoyed you further when Orodes informed you that Tiraios had been killed on the orders of Narses, thus denying you of the opportunity to kill him yourself.’

  ‘Is there any point to this?’

  ‘Do you want to know what I think?’

  ‘Not really,’ I replied.

  ‘I think,’ she said forcefully, ‘that you are intent on seizing Charax for yourself and, after you have killed this Sporaces, you will install the priestess and her lover as rulers. And in so doing you will send a message to Narses that the King of Dura is not to be trifled with. Perhaps you will send the head of Sporaces to Narses to reinforce your message.’

  I turned away from her to look at the red fireball that was the sun slowly disappearing in the west and said nothing.

  ‘Your silence speaks volumes,’ she continued.

  ‘Narses must be shown that his actions have consequences,’ I said at last. ‘That force will always be met with force. He and Mithridates made a mistake in not attacking Dura while I was away, but now I am back and they will know of it.’

  She chuckled. ‘They never thought that you had left Parthia.’

  I turned away from the west. ‘Any spy worth his salt would have known that the king and queen of Dura were not in residence.’

  She pointed at me. ‘A veil of concealment enveloped this kingdom while you were away.’

  ‘You did that?’

  ‘That is what you pay me for, is it not?’

  I was surprised. ‘I pay you?’

  ‘Even though I live modestly I still require monies to facilitate the safety of the empire and your kingdom, son of Hatra.’

  ‘I thought the army did that.’

  She shuffled away. ‘How little you know, son of Hatra. Perhaps you should inform your two Greek playthings of the fate you have engineered for them.’

  ‘They are free to follow their own will,’ I called after her.

  ‘Nonsense. Their fate was determined on the day they were born, as was yours.’

  As I pulled on the oar in the fetid hold of the ship I wondered if I had made the right decision.

  ‘Pull on those oars, your miserable bilge rats.

  The booming voice of Athineos filled the hold and was met by dozens of groans.

  ‘Any complaining and you will feel the lash on your backs,’ he hollered.

  But extra effort was almost impossible in the airless, rank hold that was filled with the sweating bodies of hundreds of men.

  It was a lumbering, top-heavy warship that in its glory days might have presented an awe-inspiring sight. But now it was old and its timbers creaked alarmingly, though that was not the worst aspect of this ancient tub. It stank to high heaven. Its captain and crew had been hired in Gerrha; the trading port that was a centre for shipping, slaves, incense and silk.

  I had gathered Athineos, Cleon and Hippo on the palace terrace and told them of my intention to attack and seize Charax and install the young lovers as its rulers. I told Athineos that after the port was taken I would buy him a ship and a crew so he could resume his career of maritime trade.

  ‘You cannot sail in the Mediterranean,’ I said, ‘the Romans will catch up with you eventually and nail you to a cross. But there are no Roman ships in the Persian Gulf or in the waters of the great Indus Ocean.’

  He thought for a moment, stroked his ragged beard and then grinned mischievously. He spat in his right palm and offered me his hand.

  ‘Done.’

  I shook his hand.

  Cleon was beside himself with excitement as Dobbai snoozed in her chair nearby but Hippo seemed more concerned than delighted.

  ‘Your offer is most generous, majesty,’ she said.

  ‘You have reservations?’ I enquired.

  ‘Of course not,’ Cleon answered for her. ‘Charax is an ancient Greek city, I have been told. We will be among our own people and free from the Romans. What else could a man wish for?’

  ‘I am unworthy.’ Hippo whispered.

  Cleon rolled his eyes and Dobbai opened hers.

  ‘Only the gods decide who is worthy or not, child,’ she said. ‘You must ask yourself why you were brought here. Your goddess has not abandoned you, child, she watches over you still.’

  Cleon put an arm around her waist.

  ‘You see, the gods are with us. Dobbai speaks to them so she knows.�
��

  Dobbai glared at him. ‘I do not speak to the gods, foolish boy. They reveal certain things to me, that is all.’

  ‘But you can work magic?’ he asked.

  She gave him a malicious smile. ‘I have not used the old magic in an age but I can attempt to cast a spell that will permanently shrivel your manhood if you would like a demonstration.’

  Cleon looked uncomfortable as Hippo shook her head at him.

  ‘Actually,’ said Dobbai in a matter-of-fact fashion, ‘I think the son of Hatra’s scheme has merit, which is a marvel in itself.’

  ‘You are too kind,’ I said.

  Dobbai settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. ‘A Greek city filled with Greek temples should be ruled by Greeks. It is the natural order of things.’

  So here we were, crammed into a stinking hold of a former warship, pulling on oars in the unbearable heat. The ship, a hundred and thirty feet long and with a beam of twenty-three feet, had three banks of oars on each side. Two hundred and seventy rowers pulled on lengths of wood, those on the lowest level being operated by a single rower, the middle- and top-level oars manned by two rowers each.

  It was my misfortune that I was seated on a stained, sticky bench on the lowest level, seawater sloshing beneath my feet from the leaking hull. Iron rings fastened to the old timbers were mute testimonies to the slaves who had rowed the ship until only a few days ago: chains fixed to those rings and threaded through other rings attached to the ankles of the poor wretches condemned to this stinking hulk.

  Athineos had hired the vessel on my behalf and had sailed it north from the ‘white walled’ city of Gerrha with a crew of fifteen sailors and two hundred and seventy slave rowers. The ship had a mainsail and an artemon in addition to its oars so propulsion was not a problem, the more so with a keen northerly wind. Malik had told me that a man could purchase anything in Gerrha, no questions asked. As long as a buyer had gold the city’s authorities were not interested in what the purchase was for, which suited me fine. Athineos steered the ship north along the west coast of the Persian Gulf until he arrived at a spot in Agraci territory where a great signal fire had been lit on the beach. I was also waiting on the sand, along with four cohorts of Durans, two hundred horse archers and Gallia’s Amazons. As before, when we had marched to save Uruk, the men, women and horses had been loaded on rafts and floated down the Euphrates and then south to the rendezvous point on the Persian Gulf’s shoreline.

  Because they had missed out on the trip to Ephesus Orodes and Malik insisted on joining my mission to Charax, as did Yasser who sent a message informing me that it was considered bad manners among the Agraci to exclude friends from impending shedding of enemy blood. Drenis and Arminius behaved like spoilt children and pestered me to be included in the party of Durans going south. I submitted to their adolescent pleas just to shut them up.

  Out of courtesy I informed Nergal and Praxima of my plan and they immediately wrote back informing me that they too wished to be included in the ever-increasing force that I was assembling. It was ridiculous. However, once Gallia read their missive she declared that she too would be travelling south with me, along with the Amazons who had been most upset that their queen had travelled to Ephesus without her. With the additional two hundred horse archers that I added to the force over seven hundred men and women made the journey down the Euphrates.

  I had sent Surena, still flushed with his exploits at Ephesus, ahead to make contact with his Ma’adan concerning collecting intelligence regarding the defences and layout of Charax. I had asked Nergal but it seemed there was no one in the whole of Mesene who knew anything of worth about the Greek city on the Persian Gulf. I had also asked Malik to ride with Athineos south through Agraci territory all the way to Gerrha to hire a large vessel that could accommodate all our forces.

  ‘There ain’t a ship existing that can carry six hundred soldiers,’ he told me as he counted out the gold pieces on the eve of his departure.

  ‘How may men can a warship carry?’ I asked.

  He picked up a gold coin and bit on it. ‘Two hundred, two hundred and fifty at a push.’

  We were sitting in the headquarters building with Malik and Domitus, the latter with a face like thunder because I had told him that he should stay at Dura and command the army, which was his official role.

  ‘The answer’s simple,’ he growled.

  It wasn’t to me. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

  ‘How many rowers on a large warship.’

  Athineos carefully replaced the many coins in the large leather saddlebag he had been given.

  ‘Two hundred and seventy, give or take.’

  ‘Then use the Durans as rowers,’ said Domitus sharply. ‘They are stronger and have more stamina than any half-dead galley slave.’

  Athineos nodded. ‘Makes sense. What shall we do with the galley slaves, though, kill them?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ I said. ‘We will deal with them when you arrive at the rendezvous point with the ship.’

  So he had set off with Malik and an Agraci escort, and a great deal of gold in his saddlebag. I asked Malik to stick close to our Cretan friend who might be tempted to abscond with my gold before he reached Gerrha. But he did not and when he and the ship arrived at the point two hundred miles north of the city after three days at sea, I decided to have the slaves taken back to Dura. They would stay with the hundred horse archers detailed to guard the horses while we were at Charax, either that or take their chances fleeing west into the desert. Weak, emaciated and half-starved, they decided to await our return.

  Nergal and Praxima joined us at Uruk along with a bodyguard of fifty horse archers. They also brought an abundance of food and fodder from the city’s warehouses to supplement our own rations.

  I now had Nergal’s long legs above me as I pulled on my oar as Athineos steered us towards Charax. Sitting next to him was Malik, with Orodes and Yasser above them.

  ‘This is most bracing,’ said Orodes as he heaved at his oar.

  ‘I tell you what, prince,’ shouted Drenis directly behind him, ‘to make you feel at home we’ll shave your head, shackle your leg to the hull so you have to relieve yourself where you sit, feed you watery slop twice a day and lash your back at regular intervals.’

  Orodes ignored his sarcastic comment but those soldiers around him burst into laughter. A few of them, now highly trained soldiers in my army, had been former galley slaves and bore lash marks on their backs. But those backs were now broad and strong as they pulled on the oars that propelled our aged ship towards Charax.

  It was the beginning of autumn now but still fiercely hot and though on deck there was a welcome wind, in the hold it was airless. So we sat in our loincloths only, our weapons and armour stacked on deck where the archers kept watch for enemy vessels.

  Surena had returned from his reconnaissance mission with news that a mud-brick wall that had round towers at regular intervals along its length encompassed Charax, but reported no defences on the seaward side. That was because in all its history it had never been assaulted from the Persian Gulf. That was about to change.

  Athineos steered our top-heavy and leaking ship into a shallow bay a few miles from Charax on the evening before our assault, the rowers taking the opportunity to escape the foetid hold and sleep beneath the palm trees beyond the sandy beach. I forbade the lighting of fires lest the garrison or any fishing vessels observed their glow, not that there was any need for warmth. The temperature decreased slightly during the night but it was still very mild. Guards were posted but Surena assured me that the only people who inhabited this area were either mad or fleeing from justice. It was too close to Charax for the Ma’adan to establish settlements, the Greek inhabitants of the city having a hostile attitude to the people of the marshlands.

  I sat with Gallia, Nergal and Praxima on the beach as the sun disappeared in the west and a pale grey moon appeared in a starlit sky. Durans sat around sharpening their swords and horse archers checked their qu
ivers and bowstrings. Praxima and Gallia were chatting away like a pair of young girls, remembering their exploits in Italy and their subsequent time together in Parthia before Praxima had become the Queen of Mesene. Nergal, though, appeared withdrawn.

  ‘Something troubles you, my friend?’ I said.

  His gangly legs were drawn up so his chin was resting on his knees.

  ‘Narses can send soldiers to attack Charax at any time, Pacorus.’

  He turned and tilted his head to where Surena, Viper, Cleon and Hippo sat in a group on the sand, engaging in jovial conversation.

  ‘They will be in danger.’

  ‘Cleon raised a small army in Ephesus,’ I told him, ‘right under the noses of the Romans. Narses made a mistake killing Tiraios and his family and installing one of his men as ruler of Charax. That will have alienated the people, or so I hope.’

  ‘You took a great risk going to Ephesus, Pacorus.’

  ‘You are right,’ I agreed, ‘but I had to go to see if Burebista still lived.’

  He nodded. ‘And the gods smiled on your curiosity. What was it like being back in a Roman city?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘Like I did not belong. They are still as cruel and pompous as when we were fighting in Italy. Nothing changes as far as Rome is concerned.’

  ‘Nothing except the extent of the territory they control,’ he said grimly. ‘Burebista should have returned with you to Parthia.’

  ‘He wanted to be among his own race. He had a Dacian wife and his countrymen were preparing for another war with Rome, together with their Thracian allies. At the end of the day we all must choose our own destiny.’

  ‘And those we wish to die among,’ he remarked sombrely.

  ‘Do not worry about what Narses might or not do regarding Charax,’ I said. ‘When civil war resumes in the empire his hands will be full dealing with events elsewhere.’

  ‘When will that be, Pacorus?’ asked Praxima, who had been listening to our conversation.

  ‘Soon, I hope,’ I said. ‘My army is itching to get to Ctesiphon.’