Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  ‘It is as your adviser says,’ remarked Lord Simuka. ‘I have brought a thousand ingots of ukku with me.’

  ‘A thousand swords to equip all your cataphracts,’ added Dobbai.

  ‘Ukku?’ I asked.

  ‘The name of the steel from which the swords are made,’ answered Dobbai.

  I pointed to one of the guards standing near the dais. ‘Go to the armouries and bring Arsam here.’

  He saluted and scurried from the hall. I looked at Lord Simuka.

  ‘A most impressive demonstration. You have brought a thousand ingots of this metal, you say?’

  Lord Simuka flashed a smile. ‘Yes, majesty.’

  ‘And what price do you ask?’

  ‘A thousand ingots for a thousand bars of gold, majesty.’

  There were loud gasps from both Rsan and Aaron and even Domitus, who usually never quibbled about the price of weaponry, looked surprised.

  ‘Majesty,’ said Rsan, ‘that is an exorbitant price for a few swords, especially as your horsemen already have them.’

  ‘I would have to agree with Lord Rsan,’ added Aaron. ‘The army already places a heavy demand upon the treasury.’

  ‘What use is a full treasury if the Romans are battering down Dura’s walls?’ said Dobbai scornfully.

  ‘I will leave the decision to my chief armourer,’ I said at length, still finding it hard to believe that a brace of Dura’s swords had been cut in two so easily. He arrived fifteen minutes later dressed in a leather apron and looking flustered. He was also in a foul mood. He didn’t bother to bow as he stomped into the throne room and stood before me.

  ‘Arsam,’ I said, nodding at our guest, ‘this is Lord Simuka from east of the Indus, whose sword has just cut two of your spathas in half.’

  Arsam’s eyes narrowed as he mulled over what I had told him. Then he smiled. ‘Impossible.’

  I nodded at the officer whose swords had been destroyed. He walked forward and showed him the broken blades. Arsam frowned, snatched one of the fragments and then another, turning them over in his hands.

  ‘I am assuming that there is no fault in the blades,’ I said.

  Arsam looked furious. ‘Impossible,’ he said again, glancing at Dobbai, ‘it must be some sort of devilment.’

  ‘The metal that made the weapons that cut through your swords,’ she snapped at him, ‘was forged by the gods, that much is certain, but it is a gift not a curse.’

  ‘Lord Simuka has brought a thousand ingots of the metal he calls ukku for you, Arsam,’ I said, ‘so Dura can benefit from this divine gift.’

  Lord Simuka smiled at my grizzled, scarred chief armourer. For his part Arsam curled up a lip at him. ‘I will need to see these ingots myself, and forge a blade from one of them to see if it is of the required standard.’

  ‘I would not expect anything less,’ smiled Lord Simuka.

  Partially placated, Arsam agreed that he himself would create the blade and so the next morning we all gathered in his workshop in the city’s armouries. Lord Simuka arrived in the company of an armourer he had brought with him, a wiry man with sinewy arms and thin legs dressed in baggy leggings and a leather apron. Arsam also wore a thick leather apron to protect him from red-hot splinters. In addition, he wore a pair of thick leather gloves on his hands and iron shields over his boots to protect his feet from being smashed if he dropped any metal he was working on.

  Arsam’s most experience armourers crowded round the fire to witness the creation of a blade from the magical metal from the east. Though all the workshops had roof shutters that were nearly always open it was still unbearably hot and sweat was already pouring down my face. Most of the armourers and their young assistants worked in loincloths only beneath their leather aprons, though I thought it unbecoming of their king to wear such attire so I stood and sweated.

  Lord Simuka’s man handed Arsam the ingot that was round and resembled a baked cake. He explained that once the ore had been extracted from the earth it was packed with charcoal, the bark of an evergreen shrub called cassia and the leaves of milkweed. It was then encased in clay and heated in a fire for up to seven days. The resulting ingot was possessed of the remarkable strength and flexibility that we had all witnessed in the throne room.

  Arsam’s workers stood on benches and stools behind us to catch a glimpse of the process as the armourer from across the Indus instructed him in the proper procedure. Domitus and Vagises stood riveted as Arsam place the ingot in the red-hot fire with a pair of tongs and left it there until it was a dull red. Lord Simuka’s man then ordered that it be taken out of the coals and left to cool naturally, during which time Arsam hammered it on an anvil to stretch and flatten it to make a sword blade. After it had cooled it was again placed in the fire until it once more looked a dull red, following which Arsam took it out of the heat and worked it on the anvil once more, his expert hands soon creating a straight blade. This process was repeated a third and final time before the wiry armourer informed Arsam that the blade was now ready to be tempered.

  This involved returning it to the fire and heating it to red-hot before withdrawing it to allow it to cool naturally. He informed us that the blade must be left for six hours before it could be hardened, so we all left the workshop to walk back to the palace. Even though the process was not finished the metal already showed the unusual swirling patterns that characterised Lord Simuka’s sword.

  Rsan and Aaron did not attend the lesson on sword making and when I returned to the palace I found them both waiting for me in the throne room where Gallia was dealing with a complaint from the head of the city’s guild of prostitutes concerning soldiers of the army demanding free services in return for keeping order in Dura’s brothels.

  The great number of trade caravans that passed through Dura on their way to Palmyra were staffed by thousands of young men who were guards, camel drivers and merchants, all with money in their pouches and lust in their loins. Every city along the Silk Road attracted whores, both male and female, to service the carnal needs of the men of the caravans, and Aaron had hit upon the idea of establishing licensed brothels within the city to service these needs. The amount of tax paid was related to the number of prostitutes employed in each brothel, and in return for their taxes the prostitutes were given protection from the city authorities. The number of brothels grew in proportion to the increase in Dura’s prosperity and soon the establishments had formed themselves into a guild and elected a woman to represent them.

  Samhat was at least fifty years old now and her once beautiful face showed signs of years of hard usage at the hands of drunken, lecherous men. But her hair was still immaculate and she wore rich robes and gold jewellery on her fingers and in her hair. The throne room was filled with the aroma of her intoxicating perfume.

  Gallia did not approve of prostitutes, mainly because Praxima had been forced by the Romans to be one but also because she thought it demeaned women and made them the slaves of men. Anything that even hinted of slavery was bound to raise my wife’s hackles. That said, Samhat was a strong and forceful woman who could hold her own in any argument and after their first few meetings their relationship had stabilised into one of mutual respect, if not admiration. Gallia liked Samhat’s honesty and plain speaking while the city’s head whore liked the fact that my wife was forthright and a warrior.

  Now Samhat stood before Gallia, her voice echoing around the chamber.

  ‘All the city brothels pay their taxes on time, lady, I can show you their records if you so desire.’ She pointed at Aaron. ‘And the royal treasury benefits handsomely from my girls opening their legs.’

  Rsan looked mortified and Aaron shifted uneasily on his feet.

  ‘And in return,’ continued Samhat, ‘we expect the city authorities to maintain order and protect my girls.’

  Gallia looked at the squirming Rsan and Aaron and then at Samhat.

  ‘The soldiers who patrol the streets do not protect your girls?’ she asked.

  ‘Only if the
y lie on their backs and spread their legs in payment,’ replied an indignant Samhat. ‘They are therefore paying twice. It is outrageous, lady.’

  I smiled to Gallia as we walked towards the door at the far end of the chamber.

  ‘Domitus,’ she called. ‘May we have a moment of your time?’

  Domitus, his tunic soaked with sweat, stopped and smiled politely at Gallia.

  ‘Of course.’

  I followed him as he stood near Samhat who regarded him coolly.

  ‘This is Samhat,’ said Gallia, ‘head of the city’s guild of prostitutes. It would appear some of your men have been abusing their position.’

  Domitus looked at Samhat disapprovingly. ‘I find that hard to believe. My soldiers are the most disciplined in the world.’

  I nodded at Samhat who was not in the least intimidated by our sudden appearance in the throne room.

  ‘Oh they are disciplined all right,’ she continued, ‘the way they extort my girls to lift their robes for them after they have thrown out the troublemakers from one of our establishments was obviously thoroughly pre-planned and expertly executed.’

  Gallia smiled but Domitus was far from amused. Hot and irritable, the last thing he wanted was to be berated by an aged whore.

  ‘Report the incident to the camp prefect in the headquarters building in the Citadel. He will have the offenders flogged.’

  ‘Flogging is no good,’ insisted Samhat.

  Domitus’ nostrils flared at her insolence. ‘What would you suggest, that I have them executed?’

  ‘They stuck their manhoods in my girls, a service that other men pay for, so they should also be charged,’ replied Samhat. ‘We all have to make a living.’

  ‘That seems reasonable,’ added Gallia.

  Domitus smiled at Samhat through gritted teeth. ‘Very well, report to the prefect and tell him that those responsible are to reimburse you from their wages.’

  A delighted Samhat bowed to Gallia, then to me, ignored the others and sauntered from the chamber, her expensive jewellery jangling as she did so.

  ‘It is her who should be flogged,’ mumbled Domitus.

  ‘Aaron and Rsan have been waiting for you, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.

  ‘It is about the purchase of these new swords, majesty,’ said Rsan.

  ‘A thousand gold bars is a very high price, majesty,’ added Aaron.

  ‘If they help to give the army victory then the price is worth paying,’ I replied. ‘Besides, nothing is decided as yet. The decision is Arsam’s to make.’

  Aaron began to protest once more. ‘But, majesty…’

  ‘Enough!’ I shouted. ‘I have told you of my decision. Raise the matter again at the weekly council meeting if you must, but I will hear no more on the issue now.’

  They both meekly bowed their heads and retreated from the hall. As they departed Dobbai entered from the door at the far end and made her way to my throne.

  ‘Marvellous,’ I said to myself.

  She sat herself down next to Gallia. ‘The demonstration went well in the armoury, son of Hatra?’

  ‘Arsam has some more work to do before the sword is finished, but yes, so far it appears to be going well.’

  ‘It is a good job that our enemies are not armed with such weapons,’ remarked Domitus.

  ‘The metal is confined to only a few areas east of the Indus and is therefore rare and expensive, Roman,’ she replied.

  ‘As my governor and treasurer keep informing me,’ I added.

  ‘And as I told them, son of Hatra, what use is a treasury full of gold when the enemy are battering down the gates of your city. And as Orodes has decided not to fight the Armenians you have the time to equip your horsemen with the black swords before you fight them, for fight them you must.’

  ‘You disapprove of Orodes being high king?’ I asked.

  ‘I did not say that. I was eager for him to sit on Ctesiphon’s throne for I knew he would bring unity to the empire, which he is doing. He has others to think about butchering his enemies, chief among them being you, son of Hatra.’

  ‘Pacorus thinks Orodes has made a mistake making peace with the Armenians,’ said Gallia.

  ‘Events decided that peace would break out,’ insisted Dobbai, ‘not Orodes or the Armenians. The death of Tigranes was responsible for the cessation of hostilities, and the gods decided that would happen, not men.’

  ‘Were you responsible for his death?’ Domitus asked her, wiping his sweaty brow with a cloth.

  She looked at him as though he was deranged. ‘How could I be responsible for his death? He was a great king who lived an immense distance from here and I am a frail old woman.’

  But Domitus continued to press his point. ‘I heard that a wolf was heard howling the night he died.’

  Dobbai spread her arms. ‘That is what wolves do, in addition to pissing over everything and scavenging. Next you will be telling me that I turned into a wolf with wings and flew to Tigranes’ palace.’

  Domitus feigned indifference. ‘It is nothing to me.’

  But like me he must have been thinking of that night when she had performed the ritual with the clay dogs that had disappeared by the morning. It was uncanny that just at the moment when the Romans had been poised to invade the empire and link up with a victorious Tigranes, with a prostrate Hatra at their mercy, they had marched south to Egypt and Tigranes had died suddenly.

  In the armouries, meanwhile, the blade that Arsam had been working on was once more heated in the fire until it was red hot before being plunged into a vat of heated oil. Afterwards it was allowed to cool naturally to bring the tempering and hardening process to an end. The next day it was fitted with a walnut grip and Arsam himself brought it to the palace in the afternoon.

  The throne room was packed when he strode across the stone tiles to present me with it. It had been encased in a red leather scabbard with brass fittings and Arsam looked very pleased with himself as he bowed before me and held out the sword. I rose from my throne, took it and then drew the sword from the scabbard. Like Lord Simuka’s weapon it had a black blade that had strange swirling patterns along its length.

  I looked at the dozens of faces staring at me, including Kronos’ replacement, a serious native of Pontus named Chrestus who had travelled from his homeland with his former commander in the aftermath of his land’s occupation by the Romans.

  All the company commanders of the cataphracts were present along with Vagises and his senior officers from the horse archers, while opposite them stood the cohort commanders from the Durans and Exiles. I smiled to myself – how tribal men were. Despite Dura’s army being composed of a myriad of different races once men joined a formation their immediate allegiance was to that unit and the men who were a part of it. They all owed loyalty to me but they died for their friends.

  I stepped from the dais and nodded at Domitus who left his officers to face me. He raised his arms.

  ‘This should not take long,’ he shouted, prompting cheers and whistles from those around the walls. Gallia and the Amazons grouped around her laughed as Dobbai waved a hand dismissively at the racket and sat down on my throne, much to the consternation of Rsan and Aaron. Peroz glanced at the tall Scarab nervously but the latter was all reassuring smiles. I saw Arsam standing near the doors to the chamber, arms folded, in the company of Lord Simuka’s armourer. The latter, surrounded by a dozen of his brightly dressed warriors, stood nodding and smiled at me.

  I drew my new sword from its sheath and threw the scabbard at Chrestus.

  ‘Remember,’ I said to Domitus who stood like a ravenous wolf gripping his gladius, ‘this is only to test my sword.’

  He grinned evilly and then came at me with a series of blistering attacking strokes, hacking left and right in quick succession. I parried his blows as he forced me back towards the dais. The chamber was filled with whoops and screams as the spectators cheered us on. As I had a longer blade it should have been easy for me to keep him at bay, but he wielded his
blade so deftly that I had difficulty and it took all my concentration to block it.

  I jumped to the left and aimed two scything strokes at his shoulders that he met with his gladius before aiming a downward cut at my left leg. I blocked this and then raised my sword above my head and used it to deliver a vertical cut. In combat the intent would be to split an opponent’s skull but as Domitus was one of my dearest friends I aimed the blow to miss his head and left shoulder. Nevertheless, he instinctively raised his gladius above his head, parallel to the ground, to block the blow. The two blades struck each other and the top half of the gladius was sheared off and fell to the ground.

  I stepped back as the tumult died instantly and a wall of faces stared in disbelief at what they had just witnessed. Domitus stopped, picked up his broken blade and looked at me.

  ‘That settles it, then.’

  I examine the black-bladed spatha etched with its magical swirling patterns. ‘Yes, it is settled.’

  The cataphract officers nodded to each other and smiled because they knew that they and their men would now be receiving these marvellous swords. I walked over to Lord Simuka.

  ‘You have your thousand gold bars.’

  He bowed his head to me. ‘Majesty.’

  After everyone had left I instructed Aaron to pay Lord Simuka immediately. He generously offered to stay at Dura for a few more weeks to ensure that there was no problem with the rest of the ingots, which in the proceeding days were transported from the storerooms in Orodes’ old mansion to the armouries. Arsam made the production of the new swords a priority, his task made easier by the fact that his armouries were already highly efficient centres of production. The small and costly army of smiths and their apprentices meant that the manufacturing process was both speedy and cost efficient, though if the cost of procuring the base metal was taken into account then Dura’s new swords would be the most expensive weapons in history!

  Though Arsam himself had made the first sword, which had been fitted with a temporary hilt, it went back to the workshops to be fitted with a proper grip and was also sharpened. At Dura sword production was carried out in stages and in different workshops. First a blade was forge by two strikers, after which it was sent to a separate workshop for grinding. From there it went to a third workshop for hilting and then to a fourth where it was fitted with a scabbard. On average it took ten days to turn a round ingot into a sword complete with scabbard.