by Peter Darman
Even working day and night and paying for extra shifts the maximum that the armouries could produce was a hundred of the new swords a month, which meant ten months of work devoted to them alone. In addition, Arsam was also tasked with producing the new arrows as well as manufacturing replacement items – mail armour, scale armour, tubular steel armour for arms and legs, helmets, swords, daggers, bows and arrows – for the army. Aaron’s hair began to show flecks of grey as the weekly council meetings revealed the amount of gold that was being spent on the army.
A month later Lord Simuka and his men made ready to depart Dura with a thousand gold bars loaded on the backs of their camels. He had brought only a hundred men with him on his journey to the city but I gave him an escort of two thousand horse archers for his return trip. It became common knowledge that I had paid him a great sum for the precious metal he brought with him from east of the Indus and a paltry hundred men would be scant protection as Lord Simuka travelled back east. I was especially worried about his crossing of Susiana, Elymais and Persis, all of which were probably filled with roving bands of former soldiers of Narses now turned bandits. I therefore sent a courier to Nergal asking that he allocate more horsemen to Lord Simuka’s party when it reached the borders of Mesene, and another to Carmania to request that King Phriapatius meet with him when he reached his own frontier.
Soon afterwards we had a welcome visit from Orodes in the company of Axsen who had never visited Dura. The day was hot and sunny when he rode through the Palmyrene Gate in the company of his wife and received an ecstatic reception from the population, who lined the main street and threw flowers at the royal couple and their bodyguard as they passed. Many of the latter had been quartered in the city when Orodes had lived in Dura and they tipped the points of their lances towards the crowds so they could be garlanded.
Typically, Orodes and Axsen dismounted to get closer to the crowds, which the legionaries who lined the route had difficulty in holding back. Orodes had always been a popular resident of the city, famed for his generous and warm nature and the people had taken to him as one of their own. Now he was king of kings and they were doubly pleased. It took a full hour for the royal party to reach the Citadel and I was worried that that it might be overwhelmed by a wave of adulation and so despatched Domitus with two hundred legionaries to ensure the royal couple reached the palace in one piece.
Eventually they walked through the Citadel’s gates to polite applause from the city’s most important citizens who had been invited to attend the palace. Soldiers lined the walls and a hundred cataphracts on foot and in full dress stood to attention either side of the palace steps.
Gallia was dressed in a flowing white robe with gold earrings and a diamond-studded gold necklace. She held the hands of Eszter and Isabella as she stood beside me. Claudia was similarly attired, her hair gathered up on top of her head and held in place by a gold diadem. Domitus, Vagises and Chrestus were in their parade dress but I wore a simple white silk shirt and brown leggings.
Orodes and Axsen both wore purple silk shirts and white leggings, Orodes also sported his rich scale armour cuirass covered in shimmering silver scales, and his helmet inlaid with silver and gold. They walked over and embraced us and then Axsen was introduced to our daughters, kissing each one in turn and telling them how beautiful they looked. They remembered Orodes of course and made a great fuss of him. Isabella, now seven, asked if he had been on holiday and was he now coming to live back in Dura? It was a happy occasion and Axsen charmed all and sundry with her kind words and radiant nature.
That night a great feast was held in the banqueting hall to celebrate the arrival of our new guests. I apologised to Axsen that Orodes’ mansion was not available to them and hoped that their quarters in the palace were adequate, as I knew that Babylon’s royal residence was a hundred times grander than our smaller and somewhat spartan home. Slightly inebriated after drinking too much wine, she told me not to be silly and that she thought Dura a charming place.
Byrd and Malik had come from Palmyra bringing Rasha and several of Haytham’s lords with them. Axsen stared at their tattooed faces as they sat a few paces from the high table. In their black robes they cut a fearsome appearance and she thought it most unusual and slightly disturbing that the traditional enemies of Parthia should be sitting a few paces from the empire’s king of kings.
‘They are not our enemies,’ I said, trying to eat baked carp soaked in butter without the juices dripping on my shirt. ‘The Romans and Armenians are.’
‘We have peace with the Armenians at present, Pacorus,’ said Orodes.
‘Until the end of this year,’ I reminded him.
‘I am hopeful Artavasdes might be open to making the treaty permanent.’
I smiled at him but said nothing. Making the peace treaty permanent would de facto make the Armenian conquest of northern Hatra permanent, something that neither I nor Gafarn would ever agree to.
Orodes must have read my mind. ‘I do not intend to sign away parts of the empire, Pacorus, but for the moment we must let Artavasdes think that he has permanently expanded his empire. Once the Romans have been dealt with he will be more amenable to renegotiating the treaty.’
Orodes was no fool but he was taking an enormous risk in thinking that we could defeat Crassus with ease before intimidating the Armenians into meekly withdrawing from northern Hatra. I still favoured attacking and hopefully annihilating the Armenians first but Orodes had decided otherwise.
‘It was most fortuitous that Tigranes died,’ remarked Axsen casually.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Orodes, ‘a stroke of luck.’
‘Or divine assistance,’ I said.
They both looked at me questioningly but I merely smiled and raised my silver cup to them.
The next morning I took them both on an inspection of the legionary camp and showed Axsen the golden griffin of the Durans and the silver lion of the Exiles and the Staff of Victory. Orodes had seen them all many times but he explained to his wife their symbolism and significance and Domitus arranged a display of ten cohorts on the parade square in front of his command tent. Afterwards he joined us as we rode back to the Citadel and took refreshments on the palace terrace. In the distance the road to the city was filled with traffic and on the blue waters of the Euphrates below fishing boats were going about their business.
When we arrived we found Dobbai asleep in her chair, much to the disappointment of Axsen who had wanted to speak to her. She had failed to attend the feast the night before – Gallia explaining that she hardly ever graced such occasions – and now she added insult to injury by sleeping in the presence of the king of kings and his wife. Orodes merely smiled and shrugged – he had spent too long at Dura not to know that Dobbai did entirely as she pleased and came and went according to her own desires.
We spoke in hushed tones as we reclined on couches beneath the gazebo and servants served us cool fruit juices.
‘Phriapatius is most pleased that you made him your deputy,’ remarked Orodes.
‘I thought it best that one of the eastern kings should be trusted with the high offices of the empire,’ I replied, ‘lest they think we do not trust them.
He grinned. ‘And I thought I was the diplomat.’
‘There is another reason why I selected Phriapatius,’ I said. ‘In the event that we cannot halt the Romans between the Tigris and Euphrates, it would be prudent to have another army east of the Tigris ready to give battle.’
Axsen looked surprised. ‘You think we cannot defeat the Romans?’
‘I think, lady, that the Armenians will throw in their lot with Crassus when he arrives, and then we will be fighting perhaps up to two hundred thousand enemy troops. Against such numbers we may not initially prevail.
‘But while Dura, Hatra, Mesene and Gordyene slow the enemy Orodes can assume command of the army that Phriapatius has assembled and wait on the other side of the Tigris.’
Orodes looked mortified. ‘I will not abandon Dura nor an
y other kingdom, Pacorus. It would be dishonourable to do so.’
‘You would not be abandoning anything,’ I reassured him. ‘You would be merely trading space for time. If I can inflict serious damage on the Romans and Armenians then you can attack their weakened forces and hopefully destroy them.’
‘You forgot to add Babylon to those kingdoms who will stand in the first rank against the barbarian invaders,’ said Axsen defiantly.
Gallia reached over and touched her friend’s arm reassuringly and I smiled but the reality was that what was left of Babylon’s army would be next to useless on the battlefield. The kingdom had lost many soldiers during the two invasions it had suffered at the hands of Narses and Mithridates, to say nothing of the thousands of men it had lost at the Battle of Susa. But the walls of Babylon were still high and strong and the kingdom’s soldiers could still do the empire a great service in holding those walls against an invader until a relief force could be organised.
‘The Romans will not cross the Tigris,’ snarled Dobbai, ‘and neither will the Armenians for that matter.’
Axsen grinned at Gallia like an excited child.
‘You have seen this, lady?’ enquired Axsen.
Dobbai began to rise unsteadily from her chair as Orodes left his seat to assist her. She smiled at him.
‘The son of Hatra desires a noble, heroic death on the battlefield so his name shall be remembered for all eternity just like the slave general he adored. Is that not correct, son of Hatra?’
I frowned at her. ‘Not at all.’
She sniggered at me. ‘Oh I think so. But it shall not be.’
‘You mean I will be defeated?’ I asked.
Her wrinkled brow furrowed. ‘I did not say that. Do not put words into my mouth. I merely remarked that you will not die in battle; it is not your destiny. Your destiny is to save the empire but you will get no thanks for doing so.’
‘We value Pacorus highly,’ insisted Axsen.
Dobbai nodded at her. ‘Naturally. Someone who regularly kills your husband’s enemies is most useful. Is that not so, Orodes?’
‘Pacorus is first and foremost a friend,’ Orodes corrected her.
She weighed up Orodes, dressed as he was in his silver scale cuirass, rich shirt and leggings and expensive boots, his hair immaculately groomed as usual.
‘You are both forgiving and magnanimous, which are most desirous qualities in a king of kings. I chose well, I think. But then there wasn’t much of a choice. It was between you and the son of Hatra.’
‘You are too kind,’ I remarked dryly.
‘Let us not talk about the past,’ said Orodes diplomatically, ‘but rather plan the future.’
‘That is simple enough,’ remarked Dobbai. ‘Defeat the Romans and Armenians and recover those parts of Hatra that are occupied by Artavasdes.’
‘Is that all?’ I said.
Dobbai walked forward to stand over me. ‘With the help of the gods and using what wits you have it should be straightforward enough.’
Axsen was intrigued. ‘Help of the gods?’
Dobbai examined her. ‘The Romans unexpectedly turn around and decide to butcher the inhabitants of Egypt instead of Parthia and Tigranes dies suddenly. You think these things just happened by chance?’
Axsen’s eyes were wide with excitement. ‘You mean the gods made them happen?’
Dobbai said nothing but merely looked immensely smug.
‘You asked them to help and they granted your request?’ Axsen sat in awe of the frail old woman in her presence. She may have been the queen of one of the world’s oldest cities, a city that had high priests and priestesses who carried out elaborate rituals and prostrated themselves before their gods, but here was a woman who had called upon the gods and they had answered. Not only that but had performed miracles that had saved the whole empire.
‘You must tell me how you made the gods answer your appeal,’ ordered Axsen excitedly.
Dobbai shook her head. ‘It is forbidden.’
I thought of the evening of the ritual, the dank mist and the snarling hounds and shuddered. Dobbai had sent Gallia and the children out of the city to protect them. Including Dobbai there had been eight of us that night and now two – Kronos and Drenis – were dead. I knew that the gods did not grant their favours freely and, as Dobbai had warned, there was always a price to pay.
Dobbai suddenly turned and shuffled from the terrace, leaving a frustrated Axsen who looked indignantly at Orodes. But he merely smiled at his wife and said nothing. Dobbai stopped and looked back at us.
‘You need to kill her.’
Gallia looked at me as though I knew whom she was speaking of but I shrugged.
Orodes looked slightly alarmed. ‘Kill who?’
‘Your stepmother, of course.’
‘Queen Aruna?’ I said.
‘Of course, and do it quickly.’
Orodes was both shocked and appalled by the idea. ‘My stepmother lives in exile in Antioch. She must be at least sixty years old now. I will not sanction any attempt on the life of an old woman who is no threat to us.’
Dobbai nodded to herself. ‘Too forgiving.’ She continued to walk from the terrace, calling out as she did so.
‘Send the son of Hatra, then, or better still ask Haytham to send his assassins to slit her throat.’
‘I will not be sending anyone to kill my stepmother,’ said Orodes seriously, looking at me. ‘And would ask that you also refrain from attempting to murder her.’
‘I am delighted that Queen Aruna is far away in Antioch,’ I replied, ‘and hopes she dies there.’
‘Your sorceress could weave a spell to kill her,’ mused Axsen, much to the amusement of Gallia and the disapproval of Orodes.
‘There is always a price to pay for such endeavours,’ I found myself saying.
‘What price?’ asked Gallia.
I thought of Drenis and Kronos. ‘A high price, sometimes too high.’
The next morning, following my ride and yet another lesson in swordplay from Domitus, whose reflexes appeared to quicken as he got older, I rode back to the Citadel, unsaddled Remus and afterwards stood by the gates looking at the granite memorial to the Companions. One hundred and twenty men and women had travelled back with me from Italy in the aftermath of Spartacus’ death. That was sixteen years ago and in that time over half had died, some from natural causes but most in battle. Each one of their names was now carved on the stone before me, Drenis being the most recent one. I looked at the empty space that was yet to be filled. How long would it take until the memorial was filled with the names of all those who had fought with Spartacus, including my own and Gallia’s?
‘Pacorus?’
I turned to see Axsen dressed in leggings, purple silk shirt and red boots. Her face appeared flushed and her hair was in a long plait down her back.
‘I have been on morning exercises with the Amazons. Most exhilarating.’
She looked at the memorial. ‘What is this?’
‘A monument to those who sailed back with me from Italy after Spartacus had died.’
She read aloud the word that was twice the size of the letters that spelled the names below it.
‘Companions.’
‘That is what we were, what we are,’ I said, ‘individuals who were thrown together in the enemy’s heartland and who had to fight for their survival every day. A host of different races united by two things: a desire for freedom and devotion to one man.’
‘You mean Spartacus? I have heard Orodes talk of him, though he did not know him.’
I smiled. ‘I fear I bored Orodes to death talking about him. But yes, his name was Spartacus.’
‘What was it like, being a slave, I mean?’ she asked sheepishly.
‘Terrifying, humiliating and unbearable in equal measure, and I was a slave but for a short time. After I was liberated I met others who had been slaves for many years. After fighting beside them I swore that I would never own another slave in my life.’
‘We have slaves in Babylon,’ she said almost apologetically.
‘So does every kingdom in the empire, as do many mansions in this city. It is the way of things in the world.’
‘Did your friend, Spartacus, seek to change the world?’
I thought for a moment. ‘If he had been victorious and destroyed Rome then yes, he would have changed the world, or at least the Roman part of it, but I do not think he set out to do so. He was a very simple man, really, who wanted nothing more than to live in peace and freedom.’
‘Just as we do in Parthia.’
I thought of her great palace in Babylon, the golden throne she sat on, the opulence she lived in and the small army of slaves who pandered to her every wish. Her notion of freedom was perhaps very different from that of Spartacus’.
I smiled at her. ‘Yes, just as we do.’
‘Do you think we can beat the Romans?’ I detected a note of concern in her voice. Babylon, after all, was only a month’s march from Roman Syria.
I smiled at her. There was no point in alarming her. ‘Yes, we can beat the Romans.’
She looked past me to the gates. ‘He looks like an angry young man.’
I turned to see a well-built individual, with black shoulder-length. He was wearing a white shirt edged in blue, an expensive sword at his hip and a bow in a hide case attached to his saddle. His quiver was slung over his shoulder and a helmet was fixed to one of the front horns of his saddle. He rode a well-groomed brown horse. Behind him were half a dozen other riders on white horses wearing scale armour cuirasses of alternating steel and bronze plates, helmets on their heads – members of Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard.
The angry young man walked his horse into the courtyard and then noticed me standing by the memorial and half-smiled.