by Peter Darman
‘And what of Syria?’ asked Gafarn as he relaxed on the palace terrace following his arrival with Diana and young Pacorus in the days prior to the wedding of Spartacus and Rasha.
The gazebo that had been erected for Dobbai brought welcome relief from the sun because this particularly summer was proving unrelentingly hot and any shade was a precious commodity.
‘What about it?’ I replied.
Gafarn smiled at me mischievously. ‘Before he left for Seleucia Orodes was talking about you leading a great expedition into Syria in retaliation for Rome’s aggression against the empire. Surena thought it an excellent idea.’
A serving girl in a white gown and white sandals on her feet offered me a cup of fruit juice. ‘He would, but I will tell you what I told him. Attacking Syria is a waste of time and effort. Antioch’s walls are too thick and without being able to capture the city any campaign will end in failure.’
‘You will tell Orodes that?’ asked Diana, who smiled at a servant when she was offered a pastry and thanked the girl. Even after all these years of wearing Hatra’s crown she still thought of herself as a simple serving girl.
‘I will,’ I said firmly.
‘Even though you have siege engines with which to batter down the walls of Antioch?’ said Gafarn.
‘What is the point of capturing a city only to abandon it?’ I replied. ‘Unless Orodes has indicated that he wishes to conquer Syria and make it Parthian.’
Gafarn shook his head. ‘He has given no intimation that he wishes to conquer Syria.’
‘Just as well,’ I said, ‘for he would also have to conquer Judea, Egypt and the other Roman territories to the north and south of Syria.’
‘Would that be so bad?’ mused Gallia.
‘What Gallia really wants is for me to march on Rome itself and burn it to the ground,’ I said.
‘A noble enterprise,’ she replied.
‘Alas, my friends,’ I said, ‘we have more mundane matters to attend to, though perhaps not less noble. How do the people of Hatra feel about their prince marrying an Agraci princess, Gafarn?’
‘Having been liberated from the Armenians and Romans,’ he replied, ‘they are in a deliriously happy mood and are indifferent to whomever Spartacus chooses to make his wife.’
‘The people are fickle,’ reported Diana, ‘and so are Hatra’s great lords and their wives. When we became their rulers they complained behind our backs and made plots against us, saying that we were low-born and had brought bad luck on the city. Now they commission bards to write poems of interminable length that tell of how Gafarn is the greatest king that Hatra has ever had, they order musicians to create songs that extol his manly virtues and how the gods sent me to rule over them.’
‘Diana does not like to play politics,’ said Gafarn, ‘but I have to say that our position is infinitely more agreeable than it was before we crushed the Armenians and you defeated the Romans and killed Crassus.’
‘I did not kill Crassus,’ I protested, ‘Gallia did.’
‘He deserved to die,’ said my wife, ‘my only regret is that he did not perish in the Silarus Valley twenty years ago.’
‘Time has not diminished your wrath,’ Gafarn said to her.
‘Nor that of my sister, it seems,’ I added.
Adeleh had not accompanied Gafarn and Diana to Dura, notwithstanding the recapture of Nisibus and the humbling of Armenia.
‘Alas for Adeleh,’ said Diana, ‘the loss of Vata has filled her with bitterness against the world.’
‘Against the world or just against me?’ I asked.
‘She is much influenced by her sister, Pacorus,’ said Gafarn. ‘While we sit here Aliyeh and Atrax are at Nisibus.’
‘You must not be too harsh on Adeleh,’ said Diana, as ever playing the role of peacemaker, ‘the death of Vata was a terrible shock.’
‘She is young and can remarry,’ I remarked harshly.
But any dark thoughts were quickly dispelled by thoughts of the upcoming wedding. Haytham and Malik arrived with Rasha and their warriors pitched their tents in a huge circle immediately south of the city, followed two days later by Orodes and Axsen with Babylon’s Royal Guard. It was fortunate that Haytham, his son and their men decided to camp in their tents because the palace quickly filled with royalty when Silaces and Surena also arrived to attend the wedding. Fortunately Surena did not bring his Sarmatians but I had to order the evacuation of the legionary camp to accommodate the various contingents that all the kings brought with them. The last to arrive were Nergal and Praxima with five hundred of Mesene’s horse archers, who added an additional burden to the logistics of the wedding.
Spartacus and Rasha spent most of the days before their wedding hunting with Haytham, Malik and Peroz, allowing myself and the other Parthian kings to discuss matters of strategy. We met in the Citadel’s headquarters building where I informed Orodes that I was standing down as lord high general.
‘I have held the position twice and have fulfilled my duty to the empire,’ I stated bluntly. ‘It is time for another, younger man to assume the mantle.’
Orodes seemed unsurprised. ‘Very well, my friend, if that is your wish. Rather than a younger man I had thought of promoting Phriapatius to the position. He has been your deputy, after all, and the appointment would help to heal any lingering divisions between the east and west of the empire.’
‘Excellent idea,’ I replied.
‘I also intend to send forces into Syria next year,’ he announced.
I saw Surena nodding in agreement but decided to pour cold water on the proposal. ‘Not a good idea.’
‘You surprise me, Pacorus, given your long-standing rivalry with the Romans,’ remarked Orodes casually.
‘It is because I have known them for so long that I would counsel against an invasion of Syria. Those Roman troops still in the province will shut themselves up in the towns and cities and wait for reinforcements, which will undoubtedly be despatched.’
Orodes rested his chin on his hands. ‘You are correct in what you say, from a military point of view, but I must retaliate against Rome otherwise I will appear weak. Your victories have restored Parthian strength and now it is time to wield that strength.’
The rest of the meeting was given over to happier matters, Orodes informing me that Axsen was pregnant and he was sending me a thousand talents of gold in gratitude for my service to the empire. It was an unnecessary gesture but he was in a gracious mood and was rewarding those who had been loyal to him. We all congratulated him on his forthcoming fatherhood, and though Nergal was pleased for his friend I thought I detected a glint of sadness in his eyes. Dobbai had once told me that Praxima would never bear children and her words had, sadly, turned out to be prophetic.
‘What is your opinion of Peroz?’ Orodes suddenly asked me.
‘A fine young man,’ I replied.
‘I have spoken to him a great deal during our recent campaign against the Armenians and have come to the same conclusion. He will make an excellent king.’
‘Brave and loyal,’ concurred Nergal.
‘Humble as well,’ said Gafarn.
‘While I am basking in the glow of victory,’ said Orodes, ‘I have to think about the welfare of the empire, and that means ensuring loyal kingdoms. That is why I intend to make Peroz King of Sakastan.’
The throne of Sakastan had been vacant for many years since its ruler, Porus, had been killed in battle when he had sided with Narses and Mithridates, in what seemed another lifetime. Narses had subsequently assumed control of Sakastan but since his death at the Battle of Susa it had been ruled by Orodes, along with the other kingdoms that also had vacant thrones: Elymais and Persis, Narses’ old kingdom. Silaces had now returned to Elymais as its king and obviously Orodes intended to fill the other two thrones as quickly as possible.
I made no immediate reply, prompting Orodes’ brow to furrow. ‘You do not approve?’
‘It is a bold move,’ I replied.
‘B
old, how?’
‘He is to marry Roxanne soon.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Orodes, ‘I have heard much about her.’
‘Though not perhaps that she was formally a prostitute in this city.’
Nergal’s eyes locked on Orodes to see what his reaction would be as Praxima had been a whore while a Roman slave. Surena looked unconcerned – he had been raised among the reed huts and marshes of the Ma’adan after all – while Gafarn had grown up a slave in Hatra’s palace. Among us only Orodes and myself had been born into royalty, privilege and tradition.
Orodes smiled. ‘If I have learned anything these past few years it is that nobility is not the preserve of kings and lords but can be found in the most unlikely places.’
‘His father does not know he has chosen a whore to be his wife,’ I reminded everyone.
‘Former whore,’ Gafarn corrected me.
‘What?’
Gafarn smiled at me. ‘Well, I assume that she no longer practises her former trade.’
‘Very clever, Gafarn.’
He pointed at me. ‘If I can tolerate my son marrying an Agraci girl then I am sure Phriapatius can bear his youngest son taking this Roxanne as his wife.’
‘Especially as he will be ruling the kingdom adjacent to his own,’ added Orodes.
So that was that, Spartacus would marry Rasha and Peroz would marry Roxanne.
‘And that only leaves the matter of Persis to be decided,’ said Orodes. ‘As one of the largest kingdoms in the empire its throne cannot remain empty.’ He looked at me. ‘I had thought of making it a gift for my retiring lord high general.’
The prospect filled me with horror. ‘I have a kingdom, my friend.’
‘You could rule them both,’ suggested Orodes.
‘Pacorus, King of Persis and Dura. It has a nice ring about it,’ smiled Gafarn.
‘You would be the first among equals,’ said Surena admiringly, ‘a fitting reward, lord, for Parthia’s greatest warlord.’
They all voiced their approval of his words but I held up my hands, my cheeks colouring with embarrassment.
‘Orodes, my friend, though I esteem your wisdom greatly I cannot accept your most generous offer. Dura is my home and I have spent too long away from it already. I have had but fleeting glimpses of my daughters growing up and now wish only to stay in the kingdom I have come to love.’
‘I understand,’ said Orodes, ‘though I have one last call on your service before you hang up your sword.’
‘I cannot imagine a time when Pacorus of Dura will ever hang up his sword,’ remarked Surena.
‘Nor I,’ added Nergal.
But in the days following, when Gallia, Diana and Praxima painted Rasha’s hands and feet with henna to bring her luck and good health during her married life and Agraci and Parthian laughed together, had drunken fights and afterwards, bloody and bruised, embraced and pledged oaths of friendship, ran camel races and revelled in each other’s company, I stood above the Palmyrene Gate, to gaze west into the desert. I looked beyond the black goat hair tents, and was gripped by a strong desire to remain at Dura. What was all the fighting and death for if not to be able to live in peace afterwards?
Rasha and Spartacus were married on a beautiful summer’s day, Shamash having cleared the sky of every cloud and provided a gentle breeze to ease our discomfort. I stood with my friends and watched the girl who had been like a daughter to me become the wife of Spartacus. Diana cried tears of joy for she had been the one who had carried him as an infant when we had fled the Silarus Valley following the death of his parents.
Alcaeus, his wiry hair now thinning and showing grey, smiled and shook my hand as the couple walked back to the city to attend the feast that had been prepared in their honour. He had been the one who had delivered the son of Spartacus all those years ago.
‘Do you remember that night?’ I asked him as we watched the newlyweds walk towards the city gates surrounded by a great throng of well-wishers.
‘Like it was yesterday. They would have been proud, Claudia and Spartacus. I wished they could have been here to see it.’
I sighed. ‘There are lots I would have liked to have been here to see today. We have lost too many.’
He slapped me on the back. ‘Come, we need to get some food in your stomach to stop you getting morose.’
If eating was a cure for depression then I must have been deliriously happy that night as the palace kitchens produced a seemingly endless supply of cooked eggs, chicken, goat, mutton and fish. Beer and wine flowed like floodwaters through a wadi and loosened everyone’s tongues to such an extent that by the time the servants lit the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling and walls of the banqueting hall I had to shout to make myself heard.
Despite his fearsome appearance and reputation Haytham made great efforts to be civil to both Gafarn and Diana. He knew their history, of course, and knew that Gafarn was a Bedouin who had been captured as a small child and raised as a slave in Hatra’s palace. The Agraci waged constant war on the Bedouin who inhabited the southern part of the Arabian Peninsular, and their mutual animosity was age old. A part of Haytham probably wished that his daughter was marrying the son of one of his lords, but as he informed me long ago she had seen a world beyond the black tents of the Agraci and longed for adventure.
At the wedding I had told the newlyweds that they could reside in Miriam’s mansion. She had given it back to the crown after she had gone to live with Aaron and Rachel. This solved the immediate problem of where they would live but offered no long-term solution.
‘Would the people accept an Agraci princess among them, or even an Agraci queen?’ Haytham was relaxed and happy as he sat on the palace terrace the day after the wedding, but his question was in the minds of all of us.
Gafarn rubbed his neatly cropped beard and glanced at Diana. ‘We all like Rasha, King Haytham, and she has been a guest at Hatra as you know.’
Haytham held up a hand to Gafarn. ‘We all like Rasha, King Gafarn, your son most of all. But you know as well as I do that the people of your kingdom will not accept her as the wife of your heir, much less as their queen.’
‘I fear it is so,’ said Diana sadly.
‘They can stay at Dura then,’ I offered.
Haytham shook his head as a steward brought me Najya, the saker falcon that he had given me years ago, and she walked onto my arm.
‘I blame Pacorus for all this,’ he said.
Najya craned her neck as I stroked her under her beak. ‘Me. Why?’
Haytham winked at Gallia. ‘Before you came to this city the Agraci and Parthians were quite happy butchering each other, raiding each other’s lands and swearing oaths of vengeance so that our sons and their sons would carry on the blood-letting. But then you came and offered the hand of friendship, and against my better judgement I took it.’
He pointed at Malik sitting beside Jamal flanked by Byrd and Noora. ‘My son became your friend and served in your army. Your scout became my friend and now owns half of Syria and Egypt.’
‘An exaggeration,’ protested Byrd, grinning.
He held out a hand to Nergal and Praxima. ‘The friends of Pacorus rule their own kingdoms from the great marshlands in the south,’ he pointed at Surena, ‘to the high mountains in the north.’ He smiled at Orodes. ‘And some have become rulers of half the world.’
‘Pacorus turned me,’ continued Haytham, ‘from a warlord into a merchant and now my daughter has married a Parthian. I sometimes wonder if it is not Pacorus who in fact wields the greatest power. He has defeated Parthia’s internal enemies, laid low the Armenians and Romans and made peace with the Agraci.’
‘I have been most fortunate in the choice of my friends, lord,’ I replied.
‘And your sorceress,’ he insisted, ‘for though she has returned to the realm of the gods we must remember that she spent years in this very palace, weaving her magic.’
‘Pity she is no longer with us, she could have created a kingdom out of the d
esert for Spartacus and Rasha to rule,’ remarked Gafarn irreverently.
Haytham looked at Orodes. ‘If you conquer Syria then my daughter and her husband can rule it from the palace in Antioch.’
I looked at Gallia and shook my head. Everyone was becoming obsessed with Syria, forgetting that the Romans would not relinquish it without a fight.
That afternoon I went hunting with Haytham and Orodes, Rajya bringing down a brace of buzzards and Haytham’s own falcon bringing down three more. Orodes broached the subject of Agraci warriors joining his expedition into Syria and the king said that he himself would not go but Malik was free to partake if he so wished. The two of them clasped forearms on it but I said nothing.
Three days later, on a sunny morning, we said goodbye to our friends in the courtyard inside the Citadel. A company of cataphracts stood on parade and the route from the Citadel to the Palmyrene Gate was lined with legionaries to honour our guests’ departure. Grooms held the reins of horses as we all gathered at the top of the palace steps and said our goodbyes.
I can see their faces now – Haytham, Malik, Jamal, Byrd, Noora, Surena, Nergal, Praxima, Gafarn, Diana, Orodes, Axsen and Gallia – all full of life and happy that the great time of trial was over. Haytham and Malik left first, their black-clad bodyguard trotting after them as they rode through the gates of the Citadel and down the city’s main street to the sound of cheers and applause from the crowds that stood either side of the road.
Orodes and Axsen followed them, the dragon-skin armour of their bodyguard shimmering in the sun as they followed the high king and his pregnant wife back to Ctesiphon and its treasury full of Armenian gold. Surena embraced me and then Gallia, whose animosity towards him had finally died, and then rode form the Citadel with a score of his spearmen. At the gates he turned his horse, drew his sword and saluted me, or perhaps he was paying homage to the place where his dead wife had been one of the Amazons, before cantering into the city.