Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.

  Gallia and Praxima looked at him with concern. He arched his back and then rubbed it again.

  ‘No. Getting old. Cannot sit in saddle for hours like I used to.’

  I had never thought of Byrd as old before. In fact I had never even considered his age. He was just Byrd: ageless, withdrawn and scruffy, someone who was always there when I had need of him. But now, looking at him, I could see that the lines on his face were deeper and more numerous and it made me ponder. I had known him for nearly twenty years and they had passed in the blink of an eye.

  My daydreaming was interrupted by the appearance of the Carmanians who at first resembled a thin black shimmering line on the horizon. After a few minutes the line increased in height as thousands of horsemen approached our position, and then I could make out the different troop types as they trotted forward. In the centre of their long line was a formation of cataphracts – men in scale armour wearing helmets, carrying long lances and riding horses that wore half-armour covering their bodies but not their necks or heads.

  Either side of these heavy horsemen were dense blocks of mounted spearmen, soldiers armed with lances and carrying large round shields painted red on their left sides. They were equipped with helmets but wore no armour on their legs or arms. They were probably wearing some sort of body armour – leather most likely – though I could not tell at this range. On the wings Phriapatius had placed his horse archers to match our own mounted bowmen.

  The Carmanians halted around five hundred paces in front of us and after a tense few minutes in which neither side made any movement a solitary rider emerged from where Phriapatius was mounted on his horse in front of his banner: a huge golden peacock on a red background. The horseman galloped towards us as an officer of my cataphracts similarly left his position to meet him. This was standard protocol and indicated that Phriapatius wished to talk, which was a good sign at least.

  The riders halted before each other in the middle of the space between the two armies, and following the briefest of discourses my officer returned to state that Phriapatius wished to talk with me.

  ‘How many in his party?’ I asked.

  ‘Four, majesty, including the king.’

  I turned to Nergal. ‘I would consider it an honour if you and Praxima would accompany me,’ then I laid a hand on Gallia’s arm. ‘You too.’

  We nudged our horses forward and walked them slowly into no-man’s land, our hands clutching our reins and well away from our sword hilts. There was little danger of violence between us but such gestures showed good faith when meeting with potential enemies. I looked behind me to see the lone figure of Domitus, white crest atop his helmet, standing a hundred paces beyond the front rank of the Durans. I felt a pang of sorrow when I looked across at the Exiles where there was no Kronos present.

  ‘I will find you, Mithridates,’ I heard myself say, ‘and you will pay for all your crimes.’

  ‘What?’ Gallia was looking at me quizzically.

  ‘Nothing.’

  We brought our horses to a halt ten paces from Phriapatius’ party. He looked much the same as the last time I had met him at the Tigris where he had professed his reluctance at being part of the alliance forged by Narses and Mithridates. Now Narses was dead and Mithridates a fugitive. Their alliance was smashed, which begged the question: now neighbouring Persis and Sakastan no longer threatened Carmania, what action was Phriapatius taking?

  Not a particularly imposing figure, the King of Carmania was of medium height with broad shoulders, a thick black beard and a large nose. Like many of the people who inhabited the lands near the Arabian Sea his skin and eyes were a dark brown. He regarded me with those eyes before his mouth broke into a broad grin.

  ‘We got here as fast as we could,’ he said. ‘As lord high general I thought you might appreciate some assistance.’

  I have to confess that relief swept through me. ‘You are most welcome, lord. But I made no demand on your presence in these parts.’

  ‘When I heard that Mithridates had returned to haunt Parthia I suspected that you might need all the help you could muster, especially with the Romans and Armenians threatening the empire as well.’

  ‘You thought right,’ I answered.

  Phriapatius spread his arms wide. ‘But I am forgetting my manners.’ He bowed his head to Nergal and Praxima. ‘I am pleased that we are meeting under happier circumstances and would welcome closer relations between the Kingdoms of Carmania and Mesene.’

  This was an interesting moment as the last time Nergal and Praxima had met with Phriapatius had been after they had chased him and his army out of Mesene and back across the Tigris. He had invaded their kingdom and for an anxious moment I thought that Nergal might throw his peaceful overtures back in his face.

  Nergal nodded at Phriapatius. ‘We would like that also.’

  Phriapatius looked relieved and grinned once more. He held out a hand to the two younger men sitting behind him. Like him they were dressed in open-faced bronze helmets, short-sleeved silver scale armour cuirasses with sculptured bronze plates bearing peacock motifs on their shoulders, red silk shirts and expensive red boots on their feet. They had been present at our previous meeting.

  ‘These are my sons,’ said Phriapatius, ‘Phanes and Peroz.’ He looked at the fourth member of his party, an older man in a simple iron scale-armour cuirass with a rather battered helmet on his head. Grey hair showed beneath his headdress but his eyes were clear and alert.

  ‘And this is Lord Nazir, the commander of my army.’

  Nazir gave the slightest nod but his eyes never left Gallia, whose identity was as yet unknown to the Carmanians. Phriapatius also looked curiously at the helmeted figure of my wife.

  ‘Lord king,’ I said, ‘you are already acquainted with me and the rulers of Mesene, but may I introduce my wife, Queen Gallia of Dura?’

  Gallia removed her helmet and bowed her head at a clearly delighted Phriapatius. ‘So, at long last I meet Dura’s warrior queen whose name and fame has spread to the furthest extent of the empire and beyond. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, lady.’

  Gallia gave him a dazzling smile. ‘You honour me, lord.’

  Phriapatius slapped his hands together. ‘This has been a most excellent meeting. You must all dine with me tonight in my tent before we all journey together to Seleucia.’

  ‘Alas, lord king,’ I said, ‘we are on urgent business that takes us into the east.’

  Phriapatius raised his eyebrows knowingly at me. ‘But perhaps not.’

  He turned and raised his hand and I saw three riders emerge from the Carmanian ranks. Gallia and Praxima, suspecting treachery, reached behind them to pull their bows from their cases.

  Phriapatius held up his hands. ‘It is no trick I promise. Rather it is a gift for you, King Pacorus.’

  Intrigued, I watched as the three horsemen approached in a line and saw that the two on the outside were soldiers escorting the one in the middle, whose reins were being held by the horsemen on his left. The middle rider had what appeared to be a sack over his head and his hands were pinioned behind his back. As they drew alongside Phriapatius I also saw that the feet of the covered rider were tied together under the belly of his horse. He was obviously a prisoner of some sort. Most odd.

  The soldier who had been holding the prisoner’s reins continued to keep a tight grip on them as Phriapatius manoeuvred his horse to bring him to the left-hand side of the prisoner.

  ‘We encountered him two days ago. He rode boldly into my camp with a score of horsemen and demanded my allegiance.’ He reached over and pulled the sack off the prisoner’s head. ‘Imagine that. Insolent wretch.’

  They had gagged Mithridates so he could not speak but he looked with wide, terror-filled eyes at his mortal enemies before him.

  ‘He took my two youngest sons as hostages when he was high king,’ continued Phriapatius, ‘to ensure my loyalty. When King Orodes became high king the first t
hing he did was to send my sons back to me unharmed. That in itself was enough for me to pledge my loyalty to the new king of kings. I therefore hand over his miserable stepbrother to you, King Pacorus, to do with as you see fit.’

  I could not contain my joy as I slapped Nergal on the arm and then pulled Gallia towards me to kiss her on the cheek. Phanes and Peroz grinned and Gallia politely shoved me away, smiling as she did so. I could not believe my luck. After all these years and after the spilling of so much blood I had him. I had killed his partner in treachery and now I saw Mithridates bound and helpless on a horse a few paces from me. It truly was a great day and I thanked the gods for their generosity.

  I dismounted and picked up the sack that Phriapatius had yanked off Mithridates. I regained my saddle and replaced it over the tyrant’s head.

  ‘Much better,’ I announced. ‘There are no words that can convey my gratitude, lord king. I can only offer an invitation for you and your men to ride with me to Seleucia where justice will be administered.’

  Phriapatius grinned and bowed his head as Mithridates thrashed around as much as his fetters allowed him to do so, and from under the sack we heard muffled sounds as he tried to shout something.

  ‘We would be honoured,’ replied Phriapatius.

  I left Domitus to bring the legions back to the city as I rode at speed in the company of Carmania’s, Dura’s and Nergal’s horsemen back to Seleucia. Once we had arrived Mithridates was confined in one of the palace’s towers with Udall, the rapidly fading Nicetas and the Sarmatian commander. Guards were posted in and around the tower, on the walls and throughout the palace compound as a precaution against any rescue attempts, though as Domitus pointed out when he and his men reached the city six hours after we had arrived, who would want to rescue Mithridates?

  After washing and changing into fresh clothes and when night had fallen I went with Domitus to see him and the others. They had all been given food, water and fresh apparel, though I had ordered that Nicetas be removed to a separate, more comfortable room as he was falling in and out of consciousness and Alcaeus informed me that he would probably not last another day.

  ‘He has lost too much blood. The arrow that Gallia put in him shattered his shoulder joint and I could not stop the bleeding.’

  ‘She knows how to shoot a bow,’ I replied. ‘Try to keep him alive until the morning.’

  ‘So you can execute him,’ said Alcaeus.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied coldly.

  ‘Hardly seems worthwhile,’ he mused.

  ‘Justice has to be seen to be done,’ I told him.

  ‘He’s the son of Narses,’ said Domitus, ‘if he lives he will try to kill Pacorus to avenge his father. I would rather have him dead than Pacorus.’

  Alcaeus laid a hand on my arm. ‘So would I.’

  We were on the ground floor of the tower that held the prisoners and from the first floor we could hear the almost hysterical voice of Mithridates.

  ‘I demand to see King Pacorus! How dare you hold me here like a common criminal. I am the king of kings!’

  The six legionaries who guarded the entrance to the tower looked at each other and rolled their eyes. I had placed Thumelicus in charge of the prisoners and he now descended the stone steps next to the wall that led to the floor above.

  ‘Do you want me to put his gag back on?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I will see him, if only to shut him up.’

  Domitus looked concerned. ‘He might try to attack you. You know what a slippery bastard he is.’

  ‘I’ll take that risk,’ I said. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

  Domitus drew his sword. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Thumelicus preceded us as we ascended the steps to arrive at the storeroom in which the captives were held. Two guards stood either side of the thick wooden door and two more sat at a table opposite, standing to attention when they saw us. Thumelicus ordered the door to be opened and then went inside, reappearing moments later with a firm hold on Mithridates’ arm.

  ‘Unhand me you brute,’ he snapped as he struggled in vain to free himself of Thumelicus’ iron grip. He froze when he saw me and for a second I thought I saw fear in his eyes, to be quickly replaced by contempt.

  ‘I wish to see my brother,’ he demanded.

  I nodded at Thumelicus to let go of his arm. ‘Your stepbrother is at Hatra dealing with the Armenian threat, but then you would know of that.’

  His dark brown, almost black eyes looked away. ‘I know nothing of the affairs of Armenia.’

  Domitus guffawed, earning him a hateful stare from Mithridates.

  ‘And I suppose you know nothing of the recent Roman threat to the empire, notwithstanding that you have been their guest these past few months?’ I queried.

  ‘I do not deny it,’ he replied haughtily. ‘The Romans were kind enough to offer me and my mother sanctuary after my brother and his deluded allies forced us to flee for our lives.’

  ‘And provide you with an army to invade the Parthian Empire,’ I replied.

  A smirk creased his lips. ‘As king of kings I have every right to use whatever means I deem fit to regain my throne from usurpers.’

  ‘Such as bringing Thracian and Sarmatian mercenaries into the empire to slaughter its inhabitants,’ I suggested.

  ‘No worse than enlisting Agraci vermin into your service,’ he shot back, then turned his reptile-like face towards Domitus. ‘But then, what can one expect of a king who surrounds himself with freed slaves, criminals and the like?’

  ‘You and the others are to be executed tomorrow morning,’ I announced, prompting Domitus to raise his eyebrows.

  Mithridates laughed. ‘Even you would not dare to commit such an outrage. I have the right to be tried by a council of my peers.’

  Anger began to stir within me. ‘You have no rights! You are a murderer who is responsible for the deaths of countless thousands of people. You killed your father, sent assassins to kill me and plunged the empire into a ruinous civil war that has left it weak and vulnerable to outside aggressors. You have furthermore entered into treasonous negotiations with external powers aimed at destroying the empire and reducing it to a vassal state of Rome. One of these crimes alone would warrant a death sentence.’

  ‘That is your opinion, King Pacorus,’ he sneered, ‘but it may not be the view of the other kings of the empire, kings who regard you as the reason the empire is in its present dire state.’

  ‘I am not a murderer,’ I snarled.

  His eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘Are you not? How many kings have you killed? Let my see. There was Porus and Narses. And how many other kings have you got killed? Vardan, Farhad and your father. I hardly think you are qualified to lecture me about the spilling of blood. You should look at your own hands; there is enough of it on them. Have you considered that if it had not been for you and your army there would have been no civil war? All the other kings of the empire accepted my accession to the high throne, all except you. And because of your continued intransigence you provoked me into taking actions to safeguard the future of the empire.’

  I was dumbfounded. ‘You mean sending assassins to kill me?’

  ‘The king of kings must take all necessary measures to safeguard the empire’s security,’ he replied seriously.

  He actually believed his own words. I was rendered speechless.

  ‘The death of one man,’ he continued, ‘in order to preserve the integrity of the empire is a small price to pay. But I failed and then you marched against me, and the conflict that followed sucked in the kingdoms of Babylon, Mesene, Hatra, Margiana, Hyrcania and all the eastern realms. Ask yourself this, King Pacorus: was it you or I who was responsible for this? I think the Council of Kings should decide.’

  The Council of Kings met at Esfahan, a city nearly two hundred miles east of Susa, where all the rulers of the empire’s kingdoms came together to settle disputes by diplomacy rather than by the sword. At least that was the theory. At such a gat
hering many years ago we had elected Phraates, the father of Orodes and Mithridates, to be king of kings and where King Narses of Persis had put himself forward to wear the high crown. Mithridates looked at me with a smug expression. Legally he was right: a council should be called to determine his fate. And I knew what the result of such a meeting would be – his serpent tongue would most likely extricate him from any blame regarding the empire’s troubles. Even Orodes, who had suffered banishment and disgrace at his stepbrother’s hands, would baulk at sanctioning his execution.

  I looked at Domitus and then at Mithridates. ‘This is your last night on earth. There is nothing left to say.’

  I nodded to Thumelicus, turned and walked down the steps followed by Domitus. As we did so the voice of Mithridates echoed round the tower.

  ‘You would not dare kill me. I am high king! I demand to see my brother!’

  Then he was bundled back into the storeroom and the door was slammed shut.

  Domitus replaced his sword in its scabbard as he walked beside me back to the palace.

  ‘Is he right about that council?’

  ‘In theory, yes,’ I answered, ‘but it could take months to organise, perhaps longer while we are preoccupied with the Armenians and Romans, and time tends to blur the collective memory. Mithridates knows this and thinks that he will be sent into exile once more. Sent back to Roman Syria to foment more plots. I cannot allow that.’

  He stopped and grabbed my arm. ‘If you kill him there are those who will frown upon your actions.’

  I sighed. ‘You mean Orodes.’

  He nodded. ‘Among others. It is no small thing to execute a king. All the other rulers that have fallen have done so in battle. When was the last time a Parthian king was executed by one of his own?’

  ‘Mithridates murdered his father, Phraates,’ I answered.

  ‘There is no proof of that, Pacorus.’

  ‘I believe it to be so, Domitus. That is all the proof I need.’ I looked at him. ‘Tell me, if you were in my position what would you do?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Kill him.’

  And so we did.