by Peter Darman
He screwed up his face. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’ Then he was gone.
As the army made its way back to Ctesiphon my father sent out parties of horsemen after Narses. He was convinced that the King of Persis would try to build another army, though I was sceptical. Narses had fled south down the east bank of the Tigris back towards Persepolis, while the majority of my father’s horse archers went east with Gotarzes and his followers to reclaim his capital, the city of Elymais.
I rode with my father and Vistaspa on our way back to Phraates’ palace. Hatra’s army had suffered hardly any casualties during the battle.
‘When you took it upon yourself to commence hostilities,’ said my father, ‘we waited to see what our opponents opposite us would do.’
‘And what did they do?’ I asked.
‘They waited too,’ said Vistaspa, ‘until they realised that their army’s centre and other wing had collapsed, whereupon they decided to run for their lives.’
‘You see, father, you should have given me your cataphracts after all.’
‘They are mine to command, not yours to throw away.’
‘I command all Parthia’s armies now, father.’
He remained impassive to my boast, merely remarking. ‘Do not get too above yourself, Pacorus.’
In truth it was difficult not to, for at the feast I was treated like a conquering hero. Slave girls, beautiful, young and half-naked, dazzled me with their smiles and enticed me with their oiled bodies. Phraates had bards compose poems about me and harpists sang songs of my victory. Phraates was happier than anyone, I think, and acted as if a great burden had been banished from his life, which in truth it had. He was also delighted that his son still lived, despite my best efforts to send him to the underworld. Even Chosroes allowed a smile to spread across his miserable, narrow face. Nergal and Domitus sat at one of the tables in the banqueting hall with my father, Vistaspa and Hatra’s captains, while Dura’s lords sat on their own table and were soon very drunk and very loud. The queen and her ladies frowned at them, but they had earned the right to be here for they had followed Nergal unquestioningly. I sat on the king’s left-hand side, with the queen on his right and Orodes on her other side.
I may have been a king but I was a poor one compared to the rulers who sat at Ctesiphon. Here, guests ate food from intricately carved gold bowls and drank from silver cups that carried gold figures inlaid on their outsides, each one wearing a crown and Parthian dress and carrying a bow and quiver. Everyone in the hall was drinking from such vessels, an indication of the wealth at Ctesiphon. But then every kingdom in the empire paid an annual tribute to the King of Kings based on how many horse archers it could field. And Sinatruces had hoarded his annual tributes like the old miser he was. I wondered how long it would take for Queen Aruna to spend it.
An army of servants carried food on silver platters from the kitchens, where a similar number of cooks and kitchen slaves prepared the dishes. They brought pistachios, spinach, saffron, sweet and sour sauces, skewers of cooked pork, mutton, camel, goat, chicken and pigeon. For those who liked fish there was cooked sturgeon, dogfish, salmon, trout, carp and pike. Then there were almond pastries, pomegranate, cucumber, broad bean and pea, basil, coriander and sesame. The kitchens had also prepared a myriad of rice dishes, some containing almonds, pistachios, glazed carrots, orange peels and raisins; others laced with vegetables and fearsome spices. Even more dishes included stews, dumplings, sweet meats and stuffed vegetables doused in different sauces.
The queen, beautiful and icy as ever, was at least polite to me, even grudgingly grateful for saving her husband’s throne. There was no talk of Mithridates but she would have heard that he had escaped and was, as far as anyone knew, unharmed, much to my regret.
‘A most lavish feast, highness,’ I said to Phraates as he ate rice and raisins from his gold bowl.
‘The least you deserve, Pacorus.’ He leaned closer to me. ‘Tell me, that man over there, the Roman.’
‘Lucius Domitus, highness. The commander of my legion.’
‘Why does he fight for you?’
‘Loyalty, highness, and a shared bond of comradeship.’
‘From your time in the land of the barbarians?’
‘Yes, highness.’
Phraates rubbed his chin as he regarded Domitus. ‘And now he fights for Parthia.’
‘And now he fights for Parthia, highness.’
Phraates looked down at his bowl. ‘You are indeed fortunate that you command such loyalty Pacorus.’
I assumed that he was talking of his son, Mithridates, though I did not press the matter. At the bottom of it all he was a father who had been betrayed by his son. That must have wounded him most severely.
Phraates may have been indifferent as a king and he was certainly no warlord, but the years spent running his father’s errands throughout the empire were not wasted in the days following. His skill as a diplomat came to the fore and he quickly set about isolating Narses from the other kings who had sided with him. He dispatched messages to the rulers of Drangiana, Carmania, Aria, Anauon and Yueh-Chih asking that they now accept him as King of Kings. He did not demand their obedience, merely requested it. He further stated that the past would be forgotten and that the empire should present a united front against our external enemies. When Phraates told us these things in a meeting of the war council I must confess I was deeply sceptical, but I was proved wrong. The army was prepared for a fresh campaign in the eastern provinces of the empire, but after two weeks couriers arrived from Monaeses, Vologases, Cinnamus, Tiridates and Phriapatus begging Phraates for his forgiveness and assuring him of their loyalty. And as surety for their pledges they would be sending members of their families to Ctesiphon to be hostages. Phraates was beside himself with joy, for at a stroke he had secured the eastern half of the empire and effectively isolated Narses.
‘Then, highness,’ I said, ‘all that remains is to march on Persepolis and destroy the last vestiges of the rebellion.’
Orodes, who had returned from Elymais, having seen Gotarzes placed back on his throne, agreed with me. ‘Narses should at least be banished for his treachery, father.’
Phraates, though, thought otherwise. ‘No, no, no. I will not have more blood spilt unnecessarily. Once Narses’ wounded pride has healed, he will see the impossible situation he is in and renew his allegiance. After all, he cannot fight the whole of the Parthian Empire on his own.’
It was at that moment I realised what Phraates’ main failing was — his willingness to believe the best of everyone no matter what their transgression. He should have sent his army south without hesitation to rid the world of Narses for good. Instead he chose inaction.
‘Easier said than done,’ remarked my father afterwards. ‘Persepolis is four hundred miles from Ctesiphon, and I’d bet a great sum that Chosroes for one would find a way of wriggling out of such a venture.’
I shrugged. ‘No great loss.’
‘You cannot defeat Narses on your own, Pacorus.’
‘I would not be on my own, father, for I would have Orodes, Vardan and you with me. More than enough to destroy the remnants of Narses.’
We were riding to his camp along the banks of the Tigris. He suddenly pulled up his horse.
‘We are going home, Pacorus. Back to Hatra.’
‘Surely you wish to see Narses destroyed?’
‘No, Pacorus. I wish to see peace restored to the empire, and it has been. And you will find that Vardan is of the same opinion. Let Narses fester at Persepolis. Phraates has no stomach for more fighting.’
‘And you?’
He sighed. ‘I have done what I came here to do.’
My father was right, for Vardan came to see me personally and confirmed that he was indeed going home.
‘I’m too old to be tramping halfway across the empire to fight Narses. Besides, he’ll probably make his peace with Phraates now.’
‘You really think so?’
He shru
gged. ‘He has no army to back up his demands since you have destroyed it. He will sulk for a while and then accept Phraates’ offer of friendship. He has little choice. None of the other kings will support him. His credibility has gone.’
‘Perhaps you are right.’
He placed an arm around my shoulder. ‘If I were you I would get myself back to that young wife of yours. Baby on the way, as well. Far better to be with her than living in a tent in some God-forsaken stretch of desert chasing after a beaten king, if you ask me.’
I smiled. ‘You are right. How is Axsen, by the way?’
‘Like all daughters, looking for a husband.’
He left the next day, the long column of purple-clad Babylonian soldiers and their horses and camels kicking up great clouds of dust as they marched west. Chosroes and his rabble departed the day after, a move welcomed by everyone as we all thought that we would catch the plague or some other pestilence from the army of Mesene.
‘You are being unkind,’ remarked my father as I dined with him as a guest of Phraates in his private chambers. It was an intimate affair, just the three of us being served food and drink as we reclined on couches in a small but beautifully appointed room with frescos painted on the walls depicting a lion hunt. And as a bonus, the queen had made herself scarce.
‘Chosroes and his army were useless,’ I replied.
‘But at least they fulfilled their duty.’
Phraates, dressed in a simple blue robe with a red leather belt and pointed red slippers on his feet, was in a relaxed mood. ‘How can I thank my two most loyal generals?’
‘Serving you is our reward, highness,’ said my father.
Phraates smiled at him. ‘Well said, King Varaz, but fealty must be rewarded, for it seems to be in scarce supply these days.’
He clapped his hands and four guards, escorted by a captain of the garrison, brought in a large wooden chest carried by means of two poles inserted through metal rings fastened to each corner. It was placed on the floor in front of Phraates, who ordered it to be opened. The captain opened the lock with a key and I gasped as the lid was lifted. The chest was filled with drachmas, thousands of them.
‘Enough to pay for your campaign, I think, King Varaz.’
My father rose from his couch and bowed to the king. ‘You are too generous, highness.’
Phraates waved away my father’s protest then looked at me.
‘And for you, King Pacorus, a reward for each of the three times you have come to my aid.’ Phraates ordered my father’s chest to be taken away, then clapped his hands again.
‘Three occasions, highness?’ I was confused.
‘First you defeated Porus, then you helped me awe the Romans, and finally you were instrumental in beating Narses. All quite simple.’
Three more chests were brought into the room, each as large as my father’s, and laid before Phraates who likewise ordered them to be opened. I was truly speechless when the lids were lifted to reveal neatly stacked rows of gold bars in each one.
Without thinking I left my couch and stood beside one of the chests, extending my arm to stroke some of the bars, just to make sure they weren’t a mirage. They were cold to the touch.
‘They are quite real, I can assure you,’ said Phraates, smiling.
I felt myself blushing. ‘Of course, highness, I did not mean to imply otherwise. Forgive me.’
Phraates clapped his hands and grinned. ‘This is most excellent. You are pleased with your gift?’
‘Words cannot convey my gratitude, highness.’
In truth his gift was beyond my wildest dreams. Three chests of gold would go far, and in my mind I was already making plans for the expansion of Dura’s army.
‘And what will you do with this wealth?’ asked Phraates.
‘Strengthen my army, highness.’
Phraates rose from his couch and embraced me, much to my surprise.
‘I congratulate you, King Varaz, you have raised a most excellent son, both wise and brave.’
My father bowed his head. ‘You are too kind, highness.’
I have no recollection of the rest of the evening. I just kept going over in my mind what I could do with such a sum. Dura suddenly seemed too small a kingdom for my ambition.
I found my father’s ability to read my mind disconcerting to say the least during his probing of me the next day. Hatra’s horsemen had packed up their tents and were heading back west, and so my father took the opportunity to ride over to my camp and bid me farewell.
‘I will bring Gallia to Hatra soon, I promise.’
‘Good,’ he said, ‘your mother misses her, as do Gafarn and Diana.’
We were both staring at the opened chests containing the gold that had been placed in my tent for safe-keeping, legionaries standing inside and outside to make sure they did not ‘walk’ before they were loaded on to a cart for the journey back to Dura. Even Domitus wore an expression of wonderment at my good fortune.
‘I have not seen such a haul since Spartacus captured that silver mine in Italy I was condemned to. Do you remember?’
‘Indeed I do,’ I said, ‘only this time all of it belongs to me.’
‘Phraates is indeed a clever king,’ mused my father.
I was hardly listening. ‘Mm?’
‘He has paid a high price to secure your loyalty.’
I was annoyed at my father’s attempt to spoil my good fortune. ‘He had that already. Loyalty has nothing to do with it.’
‘Oh I think it does. He knows that you will use this gold to strengthen your army, and a strong Dura means a strong Phraates. He can achieve much with such a weapon as you in his arsenal.’
I really did not see where my father’s logic was heading so I merely agreed with him. But we parted on good terms and he reminded me again not to get ‘too big for my boots’. After he had gone I told Domitus to bring all the legion’s officers to my tent so they could view our bounty, and also had Nergal bring Dura’s lords. I told them all that the gold would be used to increase Dura’s strength, for a strong kingdom was a safe kingdom. Then we dismantled the camp and headed for home, back to my Gallic queen who was carrying my child.
Chapter 12
It took us ten days to get back to Dura, a leisurely march that turned into something of a victory parade as farmers, traders, shepherds and a host of others lined the roadside to cheer the horsemen and legionaries as we passed by. Everyone wanted to see the legion’s golden griffin most of all, though Domitus had to use his cane when some got too enthusiastic and tried to touch it. I saw beggars and cripples implore him to allow them to lay their filthy, misshapen hands upon it, believing that to do so would restore their health and banish their deformities. How strange are the thoughts of men. Domitus was having none of it, telling the colour party guarding the griffin, big men who had served with him in Italy, to use the sharp ends of their javelins if anyone got close, or even to use the unfortunates for sword practice should they so desire, an order I countermanded at once.
‘You can’t kill people just because they are an inconvenience, Domitus, especially if they are old or infirm.’
He was most unhappy. ‘Why not?’
‘Because they only want what we all want — a stroke of luck or good fortune. We have become heroes to them, bringing hope to their unhappy lives, if only for a short while. To betray them so basely would be grotesque.’
‘No one’s going to lay their filthy mitts on my griffin.’
‘Well just place more guards around it, but tell them not to kill anyone, and certainly not to draw their swords. That’s an order.’
He marched off, muttering to himself. But no one was seriously hurt or killed on the journey back to Dura. The whole of the city turned out to welcome us back, plus many of the farmers who worked on the kingdom’s estates who had come to see their lords who had won great victories. It took the legion a full hour to cross over the pontoon bridge and march to its camp west of the Palmyrene Gate. And all order and dis
cipline started to break down as dozens of young women threw their arms around their loved ones and placed garlands over their heads. Domitus had maintained the Roman practice of forbidding legionaries the right to marry, but many had taken women anyway who became their de facto wives, the females living in rented accommodation in the city. And many now held infants in their arms as both mother and child welcomed back their man and gave thanks to whatever gods they worshipped that he had returned to them safely and in one piece. As the legion and its small army of camp followers inched its way back to camp, I rode with my cataphracts and Dura’s lords under the Palmyrene Gate and through the city to the Citadel. I bowed my head to the stone griffin above me as I passed through the gates themselves, and then waved to the crowds that lined the main street as I headed towards my palace. Vagharsh held the banner behind me, and Nergal was on my right side as we moved slowly though the throng. Behind us the cataphracts rode bare headed and without lances, their white cloaks around their shoulders. Women threw rose petals at us from balconies and children banged pots with sticks, making a racket that made Remus prick his ears back. The lords left their horse archers outside the city. They dismounted to mingle with their friends and neighbours who had made the journey to the city.
When we reached the palace, guards lined the street outside and kept the crowds back as I rode through the gates and into the courtyard. I had told myself that I was a great warlord returning home as a conqueror, and as such would display no emotion as I greeted my queen. But as I caught sight of her standing at the top of the palace steps I felt tears of joy and happiness welling up inside me, and by the time I had vaulted from my saddle and ran up those steps to embrace her they were streaming down my face. I held her close, my face buried in her hair, telling her that I loved her, then kissed her on the lips. This brought a hearty cheer from the cataphracts now drawn up in the courtyard, while the Amazons standing behind Gallia in front of the palace entrance, Praxima at their head, also cheered.
I stepped back and looked at Gallia, her eyes of deep blue and her hair the purest blonde.