by Peter Darman
My father sighed. ‘Lord Addu, Hatra is strong because her army is strong, you know this. The army ensures peace and peace means trade, which means crops grow, taxes are collected and customs duties are charged on caravans that pass through Hatra’s territory. In the same way, a strong Dura,’ he nodded at me, ‘means that Hatra’s western frontier is secure, so money spent on promoting that security is an investment in Hatra’s future, do you not agree?’
Addu did not, of course, but he merely smiled and politely bowed his head to my father.
‘Good, that’s settled, then. Pacorus, when do you leave?’
‘In a week, father.’
‘Then may Shamash protect you both.’
‘May He indeed,’ said Assur, eyeing Gallia warily. All nodded gravely in response.
The meeting concluded, all went their separate ways to attend to their duties. Assur stomped past Gallia and me without saying anything; clearly still angry at the way he had been spoken to.
‘He is arrogant,’ hissed Gallia.
‘He, my love, is the high priest of the Great Temple and a man who is used to others listening to him. He is wise and severe.’
‘And full of himself,’ she sniffed. ‘How much is two million drachmas?’
‘More than enough to pay five thousand soldiers for a year.’
The drachma was the currency within the Parthian Empire. A soldier was paid on average a drachma a day, so I would have enough to pay the legion and buy some weapons to equip them with. It was a good start.
Addu passed Gallia and bowed to her, then scuttled back to his tally sheets and ledgers. My father joined us and we walked to the gardens.
‘Thank you, father, for the money.’
‘It was your mother’s idea, she thought it inappropriate for a prince of Hatra to be unable to pay his soldiers.’
‘Will not the taxes of Dura be able to pay for his men?’ queried Gallia.
‘Perhaps, daughter, but five thousand men is a lot of boots to suddenly descend on a region.’ He cast me a glance. ‘You could always use your men to extract more taxes from the locals at sword point.’
‘That would make me a tyrant, father.’
He shrugged. ‘Kings must do what they must to hold their kingdoms.’
‘Even if it earns them the hatred of their subjects?’ Gallia shot back.
He linked his arm in hers. ‘Not every ruler has the love of his subjects. You two will find that Dura is not Hatra.’
‘But it will have the same respect for the law as Hatra does, father.’
The days following went in a blur, and in that time Domitus prepared the legion for its march south, while Nergal collected wagons, mules and camels to carry the hundreds of tents, tools and food that we would need on the journey. The royal ovens baked thousands of hard biscuits that would last for weeks, while boxes of dates were dispatched to the legion’s camp. While this frenetic activity was going on I went to find Vistaspa. I located him putting two companies of cataphracts through their paces ten miles north of the city, on a baked stretch of flat ground. The earth shook as the armoured horses and their riders galloped behind the figure of Vistaspa, the horsemen carrying their levelled lances with both hands. It was late afternoon and the fierce heat of the day was abating somewhat, but it was still warm and the men would be sweating profusely in their armour and helmets. I watched the men maintain their formation as they halted, turned around and then charged again.
Afterwards I rode over to the men as they dismounted and drank greedily from their waterskins.
‘Don’t gulp it down,’ shouted Vistaspa, sweat pouring down his bony face. ‘Take small mouthfuls and give your horses some. They are thirsty as well.’ He saw me and saluted.
‘I would have a word with you, Lord Vistaspa.’
We walked away from the tired, sweating soldiers and their mounts, whose heads were down. The men would have a long walk back to the city to save their horses further fatigue.
‘I have a favour to ask you,’ I said.
His face remained expressionless, as it always did. ‘Of course.’
‘I wish to ask Godarz to be the governor of Dura, with your permission.’
‘He is yours to command, majesty, you do not need my permission,’ replied Vistaspa, ever the observer of protocol.
Godarz had once served under Vistaspa many years ago, before Godarz had been captured and enslaved by the Romans, and I knew that his return to Parthia had delighted Vistaspa. I therefore felt a pang of guilt that I was making this request, but Godarz was a friend and had been the quartermaster general in the army of Spartacus. I needed his administrative abilities at Dura, and more than that I respected and trusted him.
‘But I would prefer to have your permission.’
I thought I detected a slight look of contempt on his face. ‘You have my permission, majesty.’
I knew that I was a king only by dint of a strange turn of events, and that in normal circumstances I would not have inherited Hatra’s crown until my father’s death, which hopefully was many years away. Vistaspa knew this too, just as he knew that I had fought in a slave army. He had once saved my life when I had let my guard down around some Roman captives, and soon afterwards I had been captured by the Romans. No doubt he believed that going to Dura was a fool’s errand that would lead to disaster, but if he did he kept his council on the matter.
And so, with Vistaspa’s permission, I asked Godarz if he would accompany me to Dura.
‘I do not wish to drag you away from Hatra if you do not want to leave. It must be your decision.’
Godarz now busied himself with finding the best horses for Hatra’s army, especially pure whites; indeed, while a slave in Italy he had assembled a fine collection of horses for his master. One of these beasts was a white stallion with blue eyes that I took and named Remus. I had ridden him thereafter.
‘I would have to ask Prince Vistaspa for his permission, Pacorus.’
‘I have already done that, for I know that you are friends and so I sought his permission to approach you and he consented.’
He nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘And what do you want of me?’
‘To be governor of Dura,’ I replied, ‘to ensure that taxes are spent wisely and the city’s defences are strong.’
‘I know nothing of Dura.’
‘You know what Godarz, neither do I. But perhaps we can learn together.’
He accepted my offer.
There remained one more task to fulfil before I could leave Hatra. Years ago, in another lifetime, my father had sent a raiding column into the wild country of Cappadocia in reprisal for Rome’s aggression against Hatran territory. I was part of that raiding party, as was the man I now sought out in Hatra, a guide named Byrd who had also been enslaved by the Romans, and who had subsequently been the leader of a ragged band of scouts in the army of Spartacus.
I went into the city the next morning, walking through the bustling streets bursting with Hatra’s citizens and foreign visitors. The air was hot and filled with the smells of pungent spices from the East. The markets were heaving with people buying and selling garments, animals, pottery and exotic foods. The stalls were packed full of wares, customers haggling, shouting, cursing and laughing. Kogan’s guards kept order, but in general the atmosphere was good-natured although frenetic. I walked down to the southern part of the city, past brothels, inns and along litter-strewn streets. Beggars, their limbs distorted and their faces diseased, pot-marked and ugly, held out their filthy hands for money. I reached into my leather pouch and gave them some drachmas, for I too had been a penniless wretch once. I walked under an arch into a small square, around which more stalls were arranged. This was the poorer quarter of the city, and the wares on sale reflected that — coarse garments, poor quality utensils and thin loaves. Around the square were shops, mostly one-roomed affairs that opened out on to the square, their owners placing benches to separate the square from their abodes. I had consciously dressed in a simple
white tunic, brown leggings and leather boots, but the sword hanging at my hip marked me apart from the dozens of others, some barefoot, all haggard, who were there to buy products.
I walked up to one of the shops on the south side of the square, which like the others had a wooden bench placed in front of its entrance. The bench was piled high with earthenware pots, and behind it a scruffy man, tall with dark, shoulder-length hair, his face lean, was arguing with a portly man with thinning hair.
‘You no like, then don’t buy.’ The seller’s eyes, narrow and brown, fixed the customer with a cobra-like stare. The man threw his arms into the air and walked away.
‘You won’t become rich with that attitude, Byrd.’
He recognised me instantly. ‘Lord, I not expect to see you in this part of the city.’
He smiled, one of the few times I had seen him do so in the years that I had known him. He still looked the same as when I had first clapped eyes on him before the fateful raid into Cappadocia. He had been hired as a guide and my first impression of him was far from positive. Dressed in scruffy clothes, I had, I am ashamed to say, looked down on him. But he proved his worth in Cappadocia and afterwards the more so when he became the chief scout in the army of Spartacus. He collected a ragged band of like-minded and similarly attired individuals, fifty in all, who became the eyes and ears of the army. They operated in small groups, riding ahead and reporting back on Roman garrisons and any armies that might be heading our way. And then, after that terrible spring day when Spartacus fell in battle, the scouts had simply melted away like they had never existed. All except Byrd, who elected to travel back with me to Parthia. Since my return to Hatra I had seen him little.
‘I close early today, lord. Come inside.’
He threw an old brown blanket over the pots on the bench and beckoned me to enter his shop, which in reality was a small space with a table on one side. A drawn curtain barred the entrance to what I assumed was a bedroom. He gestured at one of the stools tucked underneath the table. I pulled it out and sat down and he did the same. He filled a cup with water from the jug on the table and handed it to me.
‘You want to buy some pots, lord?’
I laughed. ‘Not quite. I have come to see if I can interest you in coming on another journey.’
He drank some water. ‘Journey?’
‘I have a new kingdom to go to.’
‘I know, lord. You travel to Dura soon.’
‘So, I see your old skills have not deserted you.’
He looked disinterested. ‘It is common knowledge.’
‘I would like you to come with me, to be my chief scout, or anything else that you might like to be.’
‘You very kind, lord, but I have a new life.’
I looked around his miserable quarters and his threadbare clothes. I could not believe that he was happy living such an existence, and then I remembered that the Romans had killed his family in Cappadocia when he had been away on the road selling pots. Perhaps he felt guilty that he had lived and they had died. Maybe living in misery was his way of atoning for the wrong that he felt he had committed, but perhaps I was thinking gibberish.
‘We miss you, Byrd,’ I said absently.
‘Who “we”, lord?’
‘Well, Gallia for one, and Diana and Gafarn.’
A smile spread across his lean face. ‘They are fine people. And the child, it thrives?’
‘He thrives. He is strong, just like his father.’
‘And Gallia, she is well?’
I drained my cup. ‘Strong, proud and defiant as ever, Byrd, just like in Italy.’
‘I came to temple when you were married. She very beautiful woman.’
‘You were at my wedding, why didn’t you come to the banquet afterwards?’
‘I stay at back of temple, lord, make no fuss.’
I laid a hand on his arm. ‘There are no barriers between those who served Spartacus, my friend, always remember that. It matters not if you are a king or a pauper; those of us who were in Italy are brothers. Nothing will ever change that. Please think about my offer.’
I took the purse hanging from my belt. ‘Take this. There is enough money for you to purchase a good horse and a saddle. We leave for Dura the day after tomorrow. I would feel a lot safer knowing that you are with us.’
He shook his head. ‘Hatra not like Italy, lord, no Romani here.’
I stood up and we shook hands.
‘Please give the matter some thought, Byrd. If you decide to stay, then please go to the palace and see Gafarn and Diana from time to time.’
‘They stay in Hatra?’
‘Yes, my mother likes having a young child in the palace, and everyone loves Diana too much to see her go.’
‘It will be hard on Gallia to leave her friend.’
‘It will.’ I pointed at him. ‘That is why your presence is all the more important. She will want as many of her old friends around her as possible.’
I walked back to the palace not knowing if I had convinced him, but hoping I had said enough, if only to give him a better life. But then, perhaps he was contented.
‘So, will he come?’
Gallia was checking her bow and the arrows in her quiver and her mail shirt was hanging on a wooden frame by the side of our large bed.
I shrugged. ‘You know Byrd, he’s a law unto himself.’
She pulled her sword from its sheath. Like mine it was a Roman cavalry weapon called a spatha. Its blade was straight and each edge was sharpened. My spatha had been a gift from Spartacus and was one of my most treasured possessions. My most treasured possession was standing next to me, examining the razor-sharp edges on her own sword.
‘You said he was selling pots.’ She gingerly stroked one of the edges with a finger, smiling in approval at its lethality.
‘That’s right, down in the south of the city, in one of the less salubrious districts.’
‘You should have commanded him to come.’ She slammed her sword back in its scabbard.
‘And you think he would have obeyed?’
She looked at me. ‘Of course not, but it would have got you used to issuing commands. Isn’t that what kings do?’
I ignored her jibe. ‘In any case, I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want to be with us. How do you feel about Diana staying here?’
She pulled her dagger from its sheath and examined its blade. ‘I will miss her, but she likes it here and everyone adores her, especially your mother. I think she sees the baby as a sort of grandchild. And knowing that Diana is happy and safe is a weight off my mind.’ She giggled. ‘Who would have thought it, a Roman kitchen slave who has become a princess? It’s a strange world.’
A loud knock on the door startled us. ‘Lord king, a courier has arrived with a package for you. He awaits you in the throne room.’
We followed the guard from our bedroom, through the palace’s private chambers and along a long corridor that led to the rear of the throne room. Kogan’s guards stood around the room at intervals of ten paces, looking like bronze statues in their breastplates and helmets. My father sat in one of the high-backed chairs, my mother in another. Assur stood to one side of the marble-covered dais, along with Kogan and Vata. Gafarn, Aliyeh and Diana were standing on the other side, all of them looking at a distinctly nervous soldier who held what appeared to be a large bundle of hides in his hands. The silence was oppressive as we entered the room.
‘Ah,’ said my father, ‘perhaps now the mystery can be solved.’
I was bemused. ‘Mystery, father?’
‘Indeed. This man,’ he pointed at the soldier stood in front of him, ‘has brought a gift for you. Tell him.’
The soldier wore red leather boots, red leggings and a yellow tunic. He cleared his throat.
‘Thank you, majesty.’ His eyes darted between me and my father, who began drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne, until a disapproving look from my mother persuaded him to desist. The soldier continued. ‘This package is
to be delivered to King Pacorus in person.’
My father pointed at me. ‘Here he is, so you may deliver it, finally.’
The soldier bowed his head at me and laid the bundle at my feet. He then reached into his tunic and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment, which he handed to me. ‘I was also instructed to give you this, majesty.’
I took the parchment, which had a wax seal. ‘Instructed by whom?’
‘The sorceress of King of Kings Sinatruces, majesty.’
My father suddenly looked interested, as did everyone else. He waved the courier away.
‘Open it Pacorus,’ said my mother.
I broke the seal on the parchment and unrolled it. The writing was in a language I did not recognise. ‘I do not know these words.’
‘Let Lord Assur take a look.’
Assur walked over to me and took the scroll. He peered at it for a long time.
‘I believe it is written in ancient Scythian, majesty, though I recognise only a few words. However, there is a clerk in the temple who is an expert on languages. I will bring him.’
He then handed me back the parchment and marched from the room. My father pointed at the bundle on the floor.
‘Perhaps Dobbai herself is in there, ready to spring out at you. While we wait for Assur to return, we will see what’s in it.’
‘It is Pacorus’ gift, Varaz, so he should open it,’ said my mother.
I pulled my dagger from its sheath and cut the cords wrapped round the hides.
Inside was a rolled piece of cloth. I gestured to Vata and Gafarn to give me assistance as I unrolled it. It was a large square standard, white in colour with gold edging. Vata held one corner and Gafarn the other as they held it aloft in front of me. It was as high at both of them, and Gafarn was over six foot in height. In the centre of the banner was a red mythical beast, with the head and talons of an eagle and the body of what looked like a lion. It also had wings.
‘How magnificent,’ remarked my mother.
‘There’s enough gold in that edging to pay for a palace,’ noted my father.
‘How long do we have to hold it here,’ complained Gafarn, ‘my arms are aching?’