Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  So he scurried back to his king once more as the sun rose in the sky and roasted our backs. When he returned his robe was soaked with sweat for the temperature was almost unbearable.

  ‘The great King Sampsiceramus would be delighted to meet with you, majesty.’ He then bowed his head to Gallia. ‘And you, highness.’

  Gallia turned to Vagises. ‘If they try anything, kill him.’

  ‘Kings do not “try anything”, my sweet,’ I said, ‘it is considered ill manners.’

  ‘My father was a king,’ she growled, ‘and he sold his own daughter into slavery. I have little respect for royalty.’

  We walked our horses ahead as the king’s chariot edged forward, and from the ranks of the royal guard behind it came the familiar figure of Rasha, who was escorted by a great brute in scale armour, helmet, face veil and carrying a huge double-bladed axe, no doubt to kill her if any mischief was attempted. She trudged disconsolately behind the chariot until she saw Gallia coming towards her mounted upon Epona.

  ‘Gallia!’ she shouted and raised her arm.

  ‘Have no fear, Rasha,’ my wife answered back. ‘We are here to take you home.’

  The phalanx of guards behind her moved forward slowly to be near their king, while behind me the Amazons and the other horse archers pulled their bows from their cases and edged their horses forward, but in truth the atmosphere was not threatening. My initial impression was that the enemy wished to avoid further bloodshed.

  I halted Remus around ten paces from the king’s chariot. He really was an enormous man, with a massive fat neck and a bulbous nose. His eyes were very large and protruded from his fat face so that he resembled one of the goldfish that swam in the royal ponds at Hatra. He seemed to be a rather short man until I realised that he was sitting on a chair to relieve his legs of the great strain in supporting such an enormous weight. Directly behind the chariot were half a dozen slaves, all teenage boys, carrying towels and jugs.

  ‘Greetings King Pacorus,’ said Sampsiceramus in a slightly quivering voice.

  I raised my hand to him. ‘Greetings King Sampsiceramus.’

  Gallia removed her helmet and shook her hair free. The king’s eyes bulged even more as he examined my wife.

  ‘And greetings to you, Queen Gallia,’ he slavered.

  I could tell that Gallia was disgusted by his appearance and manner but she played the queen and gave him a dazzling smile and bowed her head, causing his heavy breathing to increase. I hoped he would not have a heart attack before our negotiations were concluded.

  He nodded to Harrise who waved forward Rasha. Haytham’s daughter looked sullen as she halted next to the gilded chariot.

  ‘Did they mistreat you, Rasha?’ I asked.

  ‘No, but they stole Asad from me.’

  Asad was a fine young stallion that had been given to her by her father. I pointed at Mark Antony sitting on his horse.

  ‘You see that we have allowed our prisoner to retain his horse, lord king. I would ask you to reciprocate the courtesy with regard to your captive.’

  The king screwed up his giant nose but ordered Harrise to get Rasha’s horse. While we waited one of his slave attendants rushed forward and dabbed the sweat-covered royal forehead with a towel.

  The king smiled at me. ‘This heat is intolerable.’

  ‘Indeed, lord king. Far better for all of us to be relaxing in our palaces rather than fighting each other in this bleak desert.’

  My words made him uncomfortable and he fidgeted with his plump, ring-adorned fingers while what seemed like an eternity passed before one of his horseman came trotting up with Asad in tow. Rasha whooped with delight as he was brought to her and she vaulted into the saddle, though her guard stood before the horse gripping its reins to deter her from riding away. I waved Mark Antony forward and the guard stood aside. Rasha nudged Asad as the Roman commander halted beside me.

  He offered his hand. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, King Pacorus.’

  I shook his hand, much to the disgust of Gallia. ‘The pleasure has been mine. I pray that you will return to Rome safely, Mark Antony.’

  He walked his horse forward, passing Rasha who rode to Gallia’s side to embrace my wife.

  Sampsiceramus clapped his hands. ‘All’s well that ends well.’ He gave Mark Antony a sideways glance. ‘You may retire to the rear, out of our presence.’

  Antony gave him a disparaging look before riding away, while Sampsiceramus tapped his driver on the shoulder to follow him.

  ‘Just a moment, lord king,’ I called.

  Harrise frowned and the king registered surprise.

  ‘Have not the terms of the exchange been met, King Pacorus?’

  ‘They have, lord king, but there is another matter I wish to raise.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The withdrawal of your army from King Haytham’s territory.’

  ‘That is between me and Haytham,’ he replied haughtily.

  ‘I am a friend and ally of King Haytham. I consider any aggression against him to also be an assault against me.’

  Sampsiceramus became flustered. ‘I make no war upon Dura, not at all.’

  ‘By marching your army into my friend’s kingdom you do so.’

  ‘I have returned Haytham’s daughter as I agreed to do.’

  ‘If I ride back to Haytham without your promise to return back to Emesa he will recommence hostilities. You can see the great advantage he has in numbers, and tomorrow these will increase when Dura’s army arrives.’

  His eyes bulged and he swallowed and I knew I had him. ‘Dura’s army?’

  ‘Yes, lord king, for I am pledged to fight alongside my ally. As we speak,’ I bluffed, ‘my legions and heavy horsemen are marching towards this place, fresh from their victories in the east and eager to add more glory to their already fearsome reputation.’

  The gossip that was carried by the trade caravans would have told of our great victory at Susa, of the death of Narses and the toppling of Mithridates, who anyhow was at Antioch as a guest of the Romans. As he fidgeted with his hands once more I could tell that he was very agitated. As he looked at me and then at Harrise, the parasol above his head moved slightly, allowing the sun’s rays to fall on part of the king’s head. Sampsiceramus looked daggers at the black slave who held the sunshade and then smiled devilishly as the guard lashed his back with the whip. The slave flinched in agony as the leather cut into his flesh and again the parasol moved to expose the crown of the king’s head to the sun. The guard struck the slave’s back again with his whip, making a loud crack on impact. Behind me came angry murmurs from the Amazons, many of them former slaves who had been subjected to such cruelty. The guard flogged the slave a third time, causing him to collapse to his knees and drop the parasol.

  ‘Kill him,’ ordered Sampsiceramus.

  The guard dropped the whip and drew his sword, grasped it with both hands and hoisted it above his head to deliver a fatal blow to the slave. The arrow hit him square in the neck, just under his mail face veil, and caused blood to flood in great spurts from the wound. He collapsed on the ground while behind him the other royal guards raced forward to protect their king.

  Gallia strung another arrow in her bowstring as her Amazons and other horse archers brought up their bows and aimed their arrows at Sampsiceramus’ bulk.

  ‘Order your men to stand down,’ I shouted, ‘otherwise you will be turned into a pin-cushion.’

  The king flipped up a fleshy hand to stop his soldiers as he stared in terror at me. This was not how negotiations between kings should be conducted, not at all, made worse by him no longer having any protection from the sun that was now cooking his pink flesh.

  The royal guards had locked shields and the front rank stood ready to hurl their javelins, but their king knew that he would be the first to die and so commanded Harrise to order his guards to stay where they were.

  I pointed at the slave struggling to his feet. ‘He will be coming with me. What is his name?’
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br />   The king blinked, his head beaded with sweat. ‘Name?’

  ‘Yes,’ I bellowed. ‘His name, what is it?’

  ‘Slave, er, Scarab,’ he gibbered.

  ‘Scarab,’ I shouted, ‘come here.’

  The slave looked behind him at the dead soldier whose blood was still spurting from his neck, then at the king.

  ‘Now!’ I shouted.

  He walked briskly over to me and bowed his head. I held out my right hand.

  ‘Take my arm.’

  His grip was strong as I pulled him up onto Remus’ back behind me.

  ‘Take your army back to Emesa, lord king,’ I said to Sampsiceramus, ‘otherwise you and it will be destroyed in this barren place.’

  Gallia replaced her helmet on her head as we rode back to Haytham with his daughter, Vagises and his horse archers forming a rear guard to ensure the Emesians did not attack us.

  ‘Scarab is an unusual name,’ I said to the slave behind me.

  ‘All Egyptian slaves are named so, highness,’ he said. ‘It means “dung beetle”, the lowest of creatures. That is what the Emesians think of Egyptian slaves.’

  ‘You are a slave no longer,’ I told him.

  Rasha hugged her father when we reached Agraci lines where we also found Spandarat. I ordered Vagises to find our new friend a horse, not knowing if he could ride or not. Haytham ordered that Rasha was to return to Palmyra at once and to ensure she did assigned a score of warriors as her escort, telling their commander that upon arrival she was to be confined to his tent under armed guard. When she began to protest he erupted like an angry volcano and threatened to have her banished if she said another word. So she went back to Palmyra and we waited for the Emesians to make their move.

  They did so an hour later when scouts informed Haytham that a long line of foot and horse was exiting the enemy camp from the western entrance back towards the city of Emesa. Roman horsemen led by a commander with a red-crested helmet were providing a rear guard for their allies. Haytham may have felt cheated of a victory but I was relieved. Palmyra was saved, albeit temporarily, and I could now concentrate on affairs to the north, specifically the Armenians.

  We stayed for two days at Palmyra, long enough for Scarab to get his back cleaned and bandaged and for me to convince Haytham that it would be wise not to raid Emesa. I sent Spandarat and the nobles back to Dura while Haytham ordered his lords and their men back to their territories but sent Malik west to keep watch on the enemy. I knew that he was thirsting for vengeance, not only to avenge the death of Vehrka but also to appear strong to his people. I believed that forcing the Romans to retreat was a victory but the king of the Agraci did not agree.

  ‘They will be back,’ he complained as we sat cross-legged in a circle on the floor of his tent.

  ‘And when they do we will once more stand together,’ I reassured him.

  He was not convinced. ‘We should have destroyed them when we had the chance. Vehrka must be avenged.’

  He looked at Gallia.

  ‘You should have killed that fat king when you had the chance.’

  ‘Sampsiceramus may prove useful to you yet, lord,’ I said.

  Haytham picked up a piece of flatbread and dipped it in yoghurt.

  ‘How so?’

  I shoved a date in my mouth. ‘A weakling client king will think twice before invading Agraci territory again in a hurry. The Romans promised him an easy victory, no doubt. But he will be reluctant to venture east again, notwithstanding their promises.’

  He was still sceptical. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Return to Dura and await Orodes’ instructions.’

  Haytham smiled. ‘The prince is now the high king of the Parthian Empire?’

  ‘He is, lord,’ answered Gallia.

  ‘He will make a good king of kings,’ I said.

  Haytham studied me for a few seconds. ‘I heard that the crown was first offered to you, Pacorus.’

  ‘It was, lord, and I turned it down.’

  ‘Or rather Dobbai turned it down for you,’ Gallia corrected me.

  Haytham’s eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘What business was it of your sorceress?’

  I shrugged. ‘She said it was not my destiny to be high king. Besides, in truth I had no appetite to try to keep the kings of the empire happy, to listen to their interminable squabbles and grievances and try to appease them. Orodes has a thoughtful nature and the tongue of a diplomat.’

  ‘He will make a great king,’ said Rasha.

  Gallia laughed and placed an arm round her shoulders.

  Haytham looked at them both. ‘Yes, he will. Perhaps I should send you to him, Rasha, so you can learn to be a good princess.’

  Rasha clapped her hands with excitement. ‘That would be a great honour, father.’

  He pointed a finger at her. ‘You are still in disgrace for disobeying my orders and will remain here until I can find a husband for you.’

  A veil of sadness descended over Rasha’s face and she said no more. Poor Rasha, she so wanted to see the world and all the mysteries in it, but her father desired her to be married as quickly as possible to tame her wild spirit.

  On the trip back to Dura I got to know more about Scarab, the latest addition to my royal household. Now swathed in black Agraci robes, his black face made him look like a demon from the underworld, though I was pleased to discover that he had an amiable and thoughtful nature. He told us that he was the son and grandson of slaves and had been purchased from his Egyptian lord for a great sum when the latter had been visiting Emesa on business. It transpired that Sampsiceramus wished to surround himself with Egyptian slaves after having been told that they were more intelligent and hard working than Jewish or Syrian slaves. Scarab’s ancestors were originally from a place called Nubia, which is on Egypt’s southern border, though he himself had been born in Egypt. He had a certain amount of education, being able to speak Egyptian and Greek and had picked up some Latin from the frequent visits of the Romans to the palace in Emesa.

  He rode behind Gallia and me and next to Vagises as our long column made its way back east, the road almost devoid of other traffic as a consequence of the recent fighting. Any whiff of trouble had the effect of making the caravans that usually plied this route disappear. Nothing interrupts trade so much as war. Hopefully the restoration of peace, albeit fragile, would restore commercial activity.

  ‘What will you do now, Scarab?’ I asked after we had dismounted to walk alongside our animals to conserve their strength.

  Throughout the journey his eyes had always been cast down to avoid our gazes, and it was so now as we walked along the dusty track.

  ‘I am your slave, divinity,’ he replied, ‘it is for you to decide.’

  ‘You are a free man, Scarab,’ said Gallia, ‘you may go where you will.’

  Scarab looked at her in confusion, then cast his eyes down when she smiled at him.

  ‘I do not understand, divinity.’

  ‘It is as my queen says,’ I replied. ‘You are no longer a slave and are free to decide your own destiny.’

  ‘There no slaves in our palace,’ said Gallia.

  Scarab was even more confused. ‘No slaves?’

  ‘It is true,’ I assured him.

  ‘But who prepares your food and serves it to you, divinity?’

  Gallia smiled. ‘We have servants, it is true, but they are free and are paid for their work.’

  ‘They are paid?’ he said incredulously.

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Why else would they work for me? Perhaps you would like to work for me?’

  ‘I would consider it a great honour, divinity,’ he replied.

  ‘You could do with a squire,’ suggested Gallia.

  I had not had a squire since I had found Surena among the marsh people, the Ma’adan, all those years ago and he had gone on to become a king himself. I doubted Scarab would follow the same path but he was young, strong and rode a horse well enough. He would do.

 
; Our leisurely ride back to Dura was interrupted a day out from the city when we were met on the road by Domitus leading a party of cataphracts. Even before I spoke to him I knew that something was wrong and my stomach tightened. Gallia and Vagises sensed it too as the commander of the army brought his horse to a halt in front of me and raised his hand in salute.

  ‘You had better hurry back to Dura,’ he said. ‘There has been a great battle in the north of the Kingdom of Hatra.’

  The knot in my stomach tightened some more and my heart began racing. ‘Battle?’

  ‘Vata engaged Tigranes and a great host of Armenians near Nisibus. We heard the news yesterday and I thought I should convey it to you myself.’

  I sighed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Vata was killed and his army scattered. Nisibus has fallen to the Armenians who now hold the whole of northern Hatra.’

  ‘What of Adeleh?’ asked a shaken Gallia.

  Adeleh was my youngest sister and the wife of Vata. Domitus shook his head.

  ‘I do not know.’

  We rode the rest of the day and through the night to arrive back in Dura as the new dawn was breaking. Tired, unwashed, our clothes covered in dust, I immediately convened a meeting of the council to decide our next course of action. After a wash and a change of clothes I went to the barracks in the Citadel and sought out the officer in charge. This long building located in front of the southern wall housed a century of legionaries, a company of horse archers and another company of cataphracts. Companies and centuries were continually rotated through the Citadel and city to undertake guard duty, which usually meant nothing more than standing sentry in the palace and treasury and manning the walls and gates of the Citadel and Dura, the horsemen providing escorts for myself and Gallia when we left the palace.

  The commander, who fortunately spoke Greek, was ordered to allocate our Nubian recruit a bed and find him leggings, tunic and a pair of boots and then get a meal inside him.

  Two hours after riding into the city I was seated in the headquarters building staring at the hide map of the empire hanging on the wall of the room we used for these meetings. It made depressing viewing as Domitus stood by the side of it with letters that had been arriving at the city.