by Peter Darman
‘Allies?’
He suddenly stood up and men began to rap tabletops with their knuckles in salute when they saw him. He raised his hands to still the hubbub and then pointed to where a group of men with wild beards and moustaches sat.
‘Lord Diophantes, how many of the brave Aorsi do you bring to fight by our side?’
A tall man with a big round face, long unkempt hair and small eyes stood up. He was wearing a rich red leather jacket with a sheepskin trim fastened at the front by two large silver brooches. He grinned devilishly at Surena.
‘Eight thousand warriors ready to slaughter your enemies, great king,’ he answered in a booming voice.
There were whoops and cheers and more rapping on tables as the big man slapped his companions on their backs and Surena sat down.
‘So you see, lord, I have taken measures to ensure the security of Gordyene for my son when he is born.’
‘Who are the Aorsi?’ I asked.
‘A tribe of the Sarmatians who live north of the great Caucasus Mountains.’
I was horrified. ‘Sarmatians? I had to kill a host of them at Seleucia. They were in the pay of Mithridates.’
He was unconcerned. ‘They are hardy warriors who will fight anyone as long as they are rewarded for doing so. Some of Balas’ old warriors, the wild men who act as guardians of the northern frontier, told me about the famed Sarmatian horsemen from beyond the mountains, so I sent envoys to the tribal chiefs of the Aorsi asking for soldiers to fight for gold and horses. They sent Diophantes and eight thousand men in reply.’
‘They might not be as easy to get rid of,’ I warned him.
He looked and me and smiled. ‘I do not wish them to leave. I have asked them to stay and have promised them rich lands that they can call their home.’
‘In Gordyene?’
He shook his head. ‘In Armenia.’
I was about to remind him that we were currently at peace with Armenia when Viper rose and declared she was tired and would have to retire. Surena immediately took her arm and said he would take her to their bedroom. I rose and embraced her and Peroz bowed, took her hand and kissed it, much to her delight. As Surena led her to their private quarters located to the rear of the banqueting hall everyone rose and began to chant ‘Dasna, Dasna’ as the couple exited the chamber.
I looked at Silaces in puzzlement.
‘It means “short dagger”,’ he replied. ‘The nickname they have given the queen. It is not only the king who adores her in these parts, lord.’
While they were gone slaves brought great platters heaped with the meat of roasted mouflons – sheep that were much larger and bigger than the ordinary variety – plus cooked sturgeon and salmon caught in local rivers. They also served prodigious quantities of dolma, a local dish that consisted of minced lamb mixed with rice and flavoured with mint, fennel and cinnamon.
I watched Spartacus and Scarab at the table in front of me devouring everything put in front of them, even the boiled sheep’s head soup that had been served before the main meal. In these parts it was believed that soups consumed before a feast began had healing powers. They were both tall, sturdy framed individuals and would make fine warriors, if they did not kill each other first. Silaces pointed the mutton and spice kebab he was holding at them.
‘A curious pair, majesty.’
‘The black one was a slave at Emesa and Spartacus is with me because he needs taming.’
‘Can the son of the slave general be tamed?’
‘I hope so,’ I replied.
Silaces nodded. ‘It is appropriate that he should be by your side when he fights the people who killed his father.’
Before Surena returned I told him that he and his men would be leaving Gordyene with me.
‘Initially you will be quartered at the city of Assur,’ I told him. ‘You will be close to the city of Hatra and can reinforce King Gafarn if he is threatened, but will also be able to return to Gordyene if necessary should Surena get into difficulties with the Armenians.’
‘I do not think you have to worry about Surena, majesty. He is more than capable of holding this kingdom.’
What I did not tell him was that by taking him and his men I hoped it would make Surena more cautious when it came to provoking the Armenians.
The next morning, as snowflakes whirled around the icy courtyard, we said our farewells in the entrance of the palace to Surena and Viper, who was wrapped in a great fur-lined cloak and felt hat, her girlish face barely visible. I shook the hand of Surena and embraced his wife fondly and then took to my saddle. All of my party were wrapped in their thick cloaks, hoods and mittens, especially Scarab who seemed to feel the cold more than most.
I nudged Remus forward and leaned forward to speak to Surena.
‘Remember, do not provoke the Armenians. We want to fight the coming war on our terms, not theirs.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘And take care of yourself and Viper. I look forward to seeing you both after the baby arrives.’
I raised a hand to Viper, wheeled Remus around and trotted from the courtyard, followed by my horse archers. Outside the city Silaces and his men were waiting for us, all of them with their quiver flaps closed, their bows in their cases. Grey clouds were hanging low and the northern wind stung our faces as we rode from Vanadzor south back to the border.
I sent riders ahead to Irbil to inform Atrax that I was bringing back Silaces and seven thousand horsemen who would be traversing his territory on their way to Assur. Though as lord high general I could go where I wanted within the empire, with or without a small army as an escort, it would have been discourteous not to acquaint him with my movements. I also did not want to give Aliyeh another excuse to criticise me if word reached Irbil that I had marched through her husband’s kingdom without permission.
Happily Atrax himself rode from his capital to meet us at the Shahar Chay River with a thousand of Media’s horse archers in their blue tunics and grey leggings, grey cloaks around their shoulders. Fortunately the wind had abated and sun shone through the breaks in the clouds to bring a degree of light and warmth to the stark winter landscape as we rode our horses through the icy waters.
Despite being married to my sister Atrax had a warm, magnanimous character that everyone warmed to. Quick to laugh and praise and slow to criticise, he was a brave and loyal friend and a good king to his people. I never understood what he saw in my aloof, serious sister but they say that love is blind and he certainly adored her. And, to be fair (loathe though I was to be so), she had borne him two fine sons to secure his dynasty.
That night we camped ten miles inland from the river and warmed ourselves around great fires made from chopped wood Atrax had brought with him from Irbil. As we stood looking into the yellow and red flames I told him that that Crassus would soon be arriving.
‘What is he really like, this Crassus?’ asked Atrax, tossing the thighbone of the roasted chicken he had been gnawing into the fire. ‘You said you met him once.’
‘Many years ago. He invited me to his house in Rome to try to persuade me to leave the army of Spartacus and return to Parthia. He offered me and Gallia safe passage if I would abandon the slave army.’ I smiled to myself. ‘I said no of course.
‘As to what he is really like; he is formal and polite, generous I suppose, very rich and very powerful. He also has that Roman certainty that everything he does will be to his advantage and every decision he takes will be the right one.’
‘He is arrogant?’ suggested Atrax.
I laughed. ‘We are all arrogant to a degree, my friend. We all believe that our abilities are superior to the majority of other men, and that we take the right decisions to ensure the safety of our kingdoms and the empire. But with Roman commanders such as Crassus it is different. They believe that they have a divine right to make the world Roman; that it is not just their duty but the will of their gods that they should conquer the world.’
‘Let us hope, then, that our gods have mo
re power than theirs,’ he replied.
I thought of the ritual that Dobbai had performed; the diversion of Aulus Gabinius to Egypt and the unexpected death of Tigranes. The rational part of me dismissed these things as mere coincidences; after all, if the gods had been summoned then surely they would strike Crassus dead and open the earth to swallow his army. But then I remembered that she also once told me that the gods loved chaos and bloodshed. Perhaps they only helped a little, just enough to ensure Parthia was not destroyed, but not enough to grant us outright victory. Perhaps they wished for war between Parthia and Rome to go on and on for all eternity until every inch of ground between the Himalayas and the Euphrates was soaked in blood. The fire hissed and spat and above us the gods toyed with us mere mortals.
Chapter 8
Dura had always been a frontier city. Originally founded by a general named Nicanor, one of Seleucus I’s commanders, it had subsequently passed to Parthian control and became a bulwark against the Agraci on the western bank of the Euphrates. The lords who settled on the strip of land north and south of the city lived in great strongholds and existed in a state of perpetual war with the Agraci tribesmen who inhabited the vast desert to the west. The Agraci raided their lands and they in turn launched reprisals and the desert ran red with blood. And then a great and terrible king called Haytham became the ruler of the Agraci tribes and all the lands between Emesa in the west, Dura in the east and the vast expanse of desert to the south. He inspired fear and loathing and his cruelty sent a shiver down the spine of the hardiest warrior. Dressed entirely in black and riding a black stallion that legend told had been sent from the underworld to bear this scourge of civilisation, Haytham led a host of black-clad devils that plundered and killed without mercy. And nowhere had Haytham been more feared and despised than in Dura.
Eszter giggled, tugged on Haytham’s sleeve and then ran away. Now five years old, she had inherited a mischievous streak from somewhere and wore a permanent smile on her round face.
Haytham jumped out of his chair and growled at her, causing her to scream with delight and race round the terrace. Gallia told her to be quiet and sit back in her chair. Isabella giggled and Claudia frowned and looked away. Dear Claudia. Now eleven, she was old and serious beyond her tender years as a consequence of spending so much time in Dobbai’s company, not that the old woman had corrupted her in any way. Rather, she had taught our daughter about the gods, the signs they gave mankind, the plants that could heal and harm and how to ask for divine assistance. She largely ignored our other two daughters and apart from periods spent with her tutors she devoted the rest of her time to the company of Dobbai. Now she sat beside her on the palace terrace as we entertained Haytham and Rasha.
‘Cannot a man get any peace in this world?’ opined Haytham, screwing up his face at Eszter who giggled and stuck out her tongue at him. Gallia told her not to be so rude.
‘Malik would have come,’ said Haytham, retaking his seat, ‘but Jamal insisted he stayed at Palmyra. Ever since the death of her father she is worried that the Romans will assault Palmyra again. She nags him incessantly.’
Jamal was Malik’s wife and a beautiful woman who would one day be queen of the Agraci.
‘Aaron’s religion,’ I said, ‘states that his god created the world in seven days and rested, and then he created man and rested. But what it does not teach is that after he created woman no one has rested.’
The eyes of my wife, Claudia, Rasha and Dobbai bored into me to indicate that my attempt at levity had failed miserably.
Haytham laughed. ‘You are a brave man, Pacorus, to make such a statement in front of so many women.’
‘Foolish is a word that would be more suitable,’ growled Gallia.
I had asked Spartacus and Scarab to be present so they could both meet Haytham, which for the young prince was at first difficult. He had been brought up in Hatra where the Agraci were looked upon as little more than pests to be exterminated. It was well known that I had forged an alliance and friendship with the Agraci ruler but this had resulted in Hatran opinion of me being lowered. To most Parthians the Euphrates marked the boundary where civilisation ended and barbarity began. Spartacus had been surprised when I had informed him that Haytham was visiting the palace and astounded when I told him that Rasha had her own room there.
Rasha was now a stunning young woman with hair as black as the night, flawless skin and the most beautiful brown eyes. When she had arrived, those eyes lingered upon the handsome face of the young prince who was introduced to her. He in turn had bowed most graciously to her and had insisted on escorting her into the palace. I had been worried that he might be aloof with Haytham and Rasha but her striking looks were enough to make him forget her race easily enough.
‘How is Byrd?’ enquired Gallia.
‘Rich and growing richer,’ replied Haytham. ‘Perhaps one day he will be able to purchase a new robe. He has gone to Antioch to inspect his offices there.’
‘I hope he will be safe,’ I said with alarm.
Haytham laughed. ‘They will think that he is desert lord, nothing more. No one will know that he is the chief scout and close friend of King Pacorus, lord high general of Parthia. He will outlive us all, of that I am sure.’
‘Hopefully he will learn more about the arrival of Crassus,’ I said.
‘I remember that name,’ reflected Haytham. ‘He once tried to bribe me to permit a Roman army to march through my territory to attack Dura. And now he comes himself.’
‘It is the will of the gods,’ announced Dobbai, ‘that the son of Hatra and Crassus should battle each other to determine the fate of the empire. The forthcoming clash between these two great warlords will be watched by the divine ones and the victor will be granted his wish.’
‘Surely the victor will have already been granted his wish,’ I said, ‘for he will have vanquished his foes.’
She threw back her head and cackled. ‘And after the slaughter; what then? It is your destiny, your fate to fight Crassus, son of Hatra, but what do you wish for in the next life?’
I was confused. ‘The next life?’
She beckoned Claudia to help her get out of her chair. ‘When all of us are ashes and dust, when we are not even someone’s memories, where would you be then, wandering alone for all eternity or with your friends and loved ones?’
‘With my friends and loved ones, of course.’
She took Claudia’s arm and then shuffled from the terrace. ‘Exactly. So fight well, son of Hatra, and the gods will reward you.’
Haytham looked contemplative and Gallia confused, while Spartacus and Rasha glanced at each other furtively and thought of nothing but their attraction to each other.
‘You must kill this Crassus when he arrives,’ declared Haytham after a long silence.
‘I would rather destroy his army, lord,’ I replied. ‘Besides, I have to say that I quite like him.’
Haytham was shocked. ‘A great warlord shows his enemies no mercy.’
I smiled at him. ‘I remember a time when a small group rode into the desert and returned a daughter to the King of Agraci. He did not kill them.’
He winked at Gallia. ‘That is because the beauty of your wife intoxicated me and made me forget that we were enemies.’
Gallia blushed and looked away and Isabella and Eszter pointed at her and laughed.
‘And yet we are friends now, lord, and the ancient enmity between Parthian and Agraci is no more,’ I said.
He shook his head at me. ‘We are friends, Pacorus, but you delude yourself in thinking that our two peoples can ever live in friendship. Hatreds can be difficult to forget.’
‘Not for the saviour of Dura,’ said Gallia, her face no longer flushed. ‘How is the fat King of Emesa?’
Following the defeat of the army sent from Emesa to capture Palmyra, Haytham had come to be regarded by the citizens of Dura as a hero who had turned back a foreign army intent on seizing their city and reducing them to slavery. The gossip carr
ied by the caravans on the road had reported great Agraci casualties, which had perversely been interpreted as a sign that Haytham and his people had fought desperately to save Dura – no thought had been given to the idea that the Agraci might have actually been fighting for their own land and people. As a consequence, when Haytham and Rasha had arrived in the city a grateful populace had mobbed them.
Scarab looked at Haytham with interest. ‘Sampsiceramus does not want war. He desires only to live in opulence surrounded by an army of slaves satisfying his every need. Is that not so, Nubian?’
Scarab bowed his head at Haytham. ‘It is as you say, great king.’
‘He is not the problem,’ continued Haytham. ‘If only the same could be said of his Roman overlords.’
The next day we went hunting south of the city. Along the riverbank the land was irrigated and filled with fields and villages, plus the royal tanneries that were situated far enough away so their stench would not disturb the city’s residents, including those who lived in the palace. Away from the irrigated strip, however, the land was desert and largely uninhabited. It was also mostly flat aside from a few wadis that cut deep into the earth. The old year was failing fast as I rode with Haytham, Gallia, Rasha and a score of Haytham’s warriors and my own squires into the arid land of shrubs, grasses and desert lichens. It may have appeared empty but this land was teeming with snakes, lizards, hares and rabbits. Today, though, we were hunting gazelle.
The women were bare headed with their hair free as the day was mild but not hot and was unlikely to get so with a sky filled with white clouds. Spartacus and Scarab fell in behind us as we headed in a southwesterly direction.
‘When this Crassus arrives the Romans may attempt to assault Palmyra once more,’ said Haytham to me. ‘If Dura’s army is in the north fighting him I may not be able to hold off another Roman army, Pacorus. We can melt into the desert but your city cannot do the same.’