The Cursed Kingdom

by Peter Darman

  ‘The Armenians, Romans and any others who threaten Gordyene.’

  ‘How did you find the Siraki; do you think they will be valuable allies?’

  He looked at her in surprise.

  ‘You think it is a secret King Spartacus used some of the gold to entice more Sarmatians south? You are wrong. Here’s the thing, though. Once they have gutted Armenia, what is to stop them moving south like a horde of locusts to plunder Gordyene?’

  ‘That is a question for the king to address, highness.’

  ‘No, general, it is up to you to curb the wilder excesses of the king. Otherwise, he will suffer the same fate as Surena. You remember him?’

  ‘I was a common soldier in his army, highness.’

  Claudia nodded in approval. ‘You have done well. It is good to know King Spartacus values talent above position. Perhaps there is some hope for him after all.’

  Hovik pulled up his horse. ‘Is the king in danger? Can I ask if you have seen the future?’

  Claudia laughed. ‘We are all masters of our own destinies, general. It does not require a magic crystal to appreciate that our actions have ramifications.’

  Rasha was delighted to see Claudia, rushing down the palace steps to embrace the woman who had been like a sister to her when she had been growing up. They were around the same age and Rasha had spent much time at Dura as a result of the friendship of the King of the Agraci and the King of Dura. Queen Gallia viewed Rasha as a daughter and was delighted when she and Spartacus had married. Now they saw less of each other but the bond between them was just as strong.

  Akmon, now nineteen, looked every inch the heir to throne, his armour and helmet gleaming, his father’s sword hanging from his hip. He was all protocol and manners as he bowed to Claudia before escorting her into the palace, spits of rain on his scale armour. Castus and Haytham were still children both inheriting the dark features of their parents. But they were all healthy, respectful and proud of their parents and the kingdom they ruled. Spartacus himself, in plain tunic and black leggings, wrapped his muscular arms around his cousin when he arrived from the armouries, ordering food and drink to be brought to the feasting hall. But he chastised her for riding to Vanadzor with so small an escort.

  ‘There are Romans to the east, a raiding party so the governor of those parts informs me.’

  ‘I know, I encountered some on my way here.’

  Rasha was alarmed. ‘And they let you pass?’

  ‘They saw reason in the end,’ said Claudia, smiling at Haytham. She nodded at the sword at the king’s hip.

  ‘I see ukku is all the rage in Gordyene these days.’

  He pulled the sword from its scabbard and admired the swirling patterns on the dark blade.

  ‘Only two kingdoms in the whole of Parthia have these wondrous swords. Gordyene and Dura, though I daresay Hatra could purchase them if my father had a mind to.’

  ‘Doubtless,’ agreed Claudia. ‘And have all the ingots been transformed into swords?’

  Spartacus slipped the sword back into his scabbard. ‘They have. The Roman invaders of my kingdom will be the first to feel their wrath.’

  ‘General Hovik believes we should wait until the spring before ejecting the Romans,’ said Rasha.

  ‘That would be the logical thing to do,’ agreed Spartacus.

  ‘But you will attack them when the snow is falling,’ said Claudia.

  Spartacus was annoyed. ‘I have other things to attend to in the spring. Parthia needs me.’

  Claudia saw Akmon and his siblings smile at their father’s declaration and she wondered if they shared Spartacus’ sense of grievance against the rest of Parthia. She regarded the proud and strong king of Gordyene. How the gods made myths real. The lion of Gordyene stood before her and in the spring Parthia, and the world, would hear its roar.

  ‘It is your business in the spring that I came here to discuss with you,’ said Claudia.

  With an attack against the Roman invaders to plan, Rasha and Akmon escorted Claudia on an impromptu tour of Vanadzor’s defences instead of Spartacus. The young prince was bursting with pride as he showed off the royal armouries where they encountered a gruff Gurgen outside his workshop. He was dripping with sweat and irritable, rubbing his cheek and complaining to himself.

  ‘Gurgen,’ called Rasha, ‘this is Princess Claudia from Dura.’

  He turned his massive head, grunted and poured a bucket of water over himself.

  ‘Wolf,’ said Claudia, ‘though you look more like a bear.’

  He rubbed his cheek again, which she noticed.

  ‘You have toothache?’

  ‘I paid a witch to lift the curse but I wasted my money,’ he told her.

  ‘It is not a curse but a malady,’ said Claudia. ‘The ache is on the right side?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Fry an onion and wrap it in a cloth, and then place it on your right wrist. Keep it there for at least ten minutes. The ache will disappear.’

  They all looked at her as if she were mad.

  ‘You do not prescribe prayers or a spell to banish the ache?’ whispered Rasha.

  ‘Why?’ asked Claudia. ‘It is simple toothache.’

  She looked at Gurgen. ‘Unless you want me to cast a spell to turn your teeth to dust.’

  ‘Course not,’ he grumbled.

  ‘You have been in Vanadzor a long time?’ she asked.

  ‘I was an apprentice under Balas, an armourer under Surena and now I run things here thanks to King Spartacus, may the gods bless him.’

  Rasha smiled at the troll. ‘You are most kind.’

  He winced as pain shot through his gums. ‘Thank you, majesty.’

  The party moved on to a tour of the battlements, which Claudia found intensely boring as she was well accustomed to the walls of Dura and one set of walls was very much like another. But she did not want to disappoint Akmon who was clearly in his element, pointing out where the city defences had been strengthened and indicating the positions of stone strongholds in the hills above the city.

  ‘Any enemy intent on a siege of the city will have to reduce them first, which will prove difficult.’

  ‘No hostile army will come to Vanadzor,’ she assured him.

  He nodded with satisfaction and noticed a small snowflake settle on his arm. Rasha saw it to.

  ‘Winter is coming.’

  ‘Do you miss the desert?’ Claudia asked her.

  ‘When I first arrived here I hated it,’ she admitted. ‘The summers are not hot like at Palmyra and the winters can be so cold. But in time I came to appreciate the different seasons and the people made me feel very welcome. They are like the Agraci in many ways, separate and looked down upon by those living around them. And I like the snow.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘The way it covers everything with white, as though the gods are erasing the old and replacing it with the new.’

  ‘Like the new Gordyene, mother,’ announced Akmon, ‘strong and free.’

  The flakes of snow grew more numerous and a sharp wind from the northern mountains picked up to cut their tour short. By the time they got back to the palace their heads were covered with white. The steward was waiting to show Claudia to her quarters, Akmon taking his leave to undertake a reconnaissance party, the horsemen waiting for him in the courtyard that was now rapidly being covered with snow. Claudia grabbed his arm before he descended the palace steps.

  ‘You cannot be prince and have what your heart desires. Soon you must choose between family and her.’

  Shocked, he wrenched his arm free. ‘I face no such choice.’

  ‘You will, Akmon, you will. And sooner than you think.’

  He did not answer but walked briskly to his horse held by a subordinate, vaulting into the saddle, barking a command and turning his steed to lead the score of horse archers wrapped in red cloaks from the courtyard. He did not look back at Claudia as snowflakes swirled in the air.

  That night the prince was remote and deep
in thought as his father and his family dined with Claudia, eating venison and boar washed down with fine wine in a feasting hall packed with the king’s senior officers and their wives. A giant red banner emblazoned with a golden lion hung on the wall behind the king’s table, other lion banners hanging on the other walls. In the large hearths fires raged to warm the guests of the king; rosy cheeked serving girls going to and fro from the kitchens, carrying huge platters of food. Others ferried a seemingly unending amount of drink to the tables where men and women engaged in convivial conversations.

  ‘I must compliment you on your success in turning Gordyene into a first-rank kingdom of the empire,’ said Claudia sitting next to the king.

  Spartacus surveyed his commanders and their wives.

  ‘I’m sure you did not travel here to convey your compliments.’

  ‘Do you know why Gordyene is surrounded by mountains?’

  He took a swig of wine. ‘I’m a king not an historian.’

  ‘A man who has no knowledge of the past will find it difficult to negotiate the future,’ she replied cryptically.

  ‘Speak plainly,’ he told her.

  ‘Very well. Long ago, when Parthia, or Thrace, did not exist a dragon named Illuyanka roamed these parts. Much like your Roman friends it spread death and destruction.’

  ‘They are not my friends,’ he said.

  She ignored him. ‘Inara, Goddess of Wild Animals and the daughter of the storm god Teshub, decided to curtail Illuyanka’s activities for Teshub had given her this land to rule, so blessed was it in wildlife. Mortal man had no answer to the ravages of the dragon and called upon Inara to save them. She created a beast to battle the dragon, a lion called Gordis with golden fur and claws sharper than your ukku swords.

  ‘Inara invited the dragon to a great feast, much like this one, where it was plied with wine to get it drunk. Whereupon Inara, her father and the lion killed Illuyanka. But in the elation of victory Gordis escaped and began to wreak havoc. Mortals soon realised their weapons had no effect on its golden fur, which was impervious to their blades. And Gordis’ claws could cut through any armour, much like your ukku blades.’

  ‘This is all very interesting but…’

  ‘Listen,’ she hissed. ‘Inara pleaded for help and so the gods created a ring of mountains to cage Gordis, whose domain was named after him. Thus was the Kingdom of Gordyene born. An angry Inara, irritated that her creation had turned against her, cursed Gordis to remain forever in his cage. If he ventured over the mountains great misfortune would befall him. But he was proud and arrogant and escaped through the mountains, whereupon he was struck by a lightning bolt sent by Teshub and killed.

  ‘You are wondering what this has to do with you.’

  ‘It had crossed my mind.’

  ‘Inara’s curse still stands, Spartacus. Misfortune will befall you if you attempt to extend Gordyene’s borders. You are the lion of Gordyene whose claws can crush any enemy unwise enough to venture into your lair. But the mountains that surround your kingdom mark the extent of your domain.’

  ‘I do not seek to create an empire,’ he assured her, ‘but merely safeguard Gordyene. Just as Hatra is surrounded by a deep and wide moat, so do I desire to surround Gordyene with a barrier to keep away foes.’

  She wanted to believe him and perhaps that was his ultimate intention, but in the warm hall, surrounded by his commanders and intoxicated with wine and the prospect of victories and glories, she feared her words had fallen on deaf ears.

  *****

  Phraates was already bored with his Armenian guests. He had packed Artaxias and his irritating general off to Susiana and Babylon on extended tours of those kingdoms, which gave him blessed respite to concentrate on his latest project. The Kushans were still causing problems in the east but Ashleen assured him Satrap Kewab and the eastern kings were containing their incursions. He received begging letters every week from King Tiridates but he ignored them. High kings had better things to think about than the bleatings of minor monarchs. But his chief of court, who was increasingly grating on his nerves, recalled the Armenian king from his travels so Phraates could inform him of the price for restoring him to his throne. He had much in common with the young king, not least spitefulness and arrogance, and he knew the Armenian would not react well when he was told of the plans for the forthcoming campaign. Still, at least his pet project was now finished and he could show it off while he spoke to him.

  The ‘project’ was a huge map of the Parthian Empire created on the floor of the high king’s private library that his father and grandfather had made extensive use of, but Phraates found redundant, having little inclination to pore over books. The couches and desk were removed and plaster was applied over the marble tiles. The plaster then painted on by court artists to show the empire Phraates ruled over. When it was completed the high king liked to don a pair of soft silk slippers and walk over the floor map, hopping over the Euphrates and Tigris and dancing around Seleucia and Ctesiphon. He liked to hover over Dura and Hatra and break wind, giggling like a girl as he did so.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ enthused Phraates when he spied the thin Artaxias standing beside Ashleen in the open doorway. ‘You will find some slippers on the rack in the corridor. No boots allowed.’

  Ashleen indicated the rack holding the slippers to Artaxias and Geghard, the pair having just returned from a stay in Susa. They proceeded to remove their boots and replace them with scarlet silk slippers with small bells on. Geghard’s heavy brow wore a mighty frown as he donned the ludicrous footwear. But he was comforted by the ridiculous spectacle of the two Scythian axe men who always shadowed the high king wearing such effeminate footwear.

  Once they had donned the slippers, Phraates beckoned his guests into the library, standing in the centre of the room at the mid-point of the floor map.

  ‘This is the result of months of work by the palace’s cartographers and artists, who have produced the most accurate map of the Parthian Empire on earth.’

  Geghard looked closely at the areas around the empire, which had deliberately been made to look small so Parthia dwarfed them.

  ‘This map is to scale, majesty?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Phraates irritably.

  But Geghard and Artaxias looked at each other knowingly. Armenia appeared small and insignificant in comparison, as did the Roman provinces of Syria, Cappadocia and Pontus. In the east, the Kushan Empire was but a thin strip of territory. Phraates pointed at Irbil.

  ‘In the spring my army will march into Media to defeat King Darius and his Roman allies, after which we will advance north across the Araxes River to liberate Armenia itself.’

  Artaxias smiled contentedly. ‘Your assistance will not be forgotten, lord.’

  Phraates was not happy at being called ‘lord’ but had more important things to address.

  ‘The main component of the Parthian army that will lead the liberation of your homeland will be the soldiers of Gordyene. I have promised King Spartacus lands in Media as a reward for his participation in the forthcoming campaign, along with a strip of land fifty miles wide to the north of the Araxes to safeguard his kingdom from enemy raiders.’

  Artaxias and Geghard were outraged at this, the former wagging a finger at Phraates.

  ‘That is not your land to bequeath, lord. All lands north of the Araxes are Armenian.’

  Phraates peered at the floor. ‘Perhaps you are right. I will amend my plans and liberate only those lands south of the Araxes. You and your general can lead your soldiers across the river to battle the Romans who occupy your homeland. How many men did you bring to Ctesiphon, general?’

  Geghard bit his lip to prevent losing his temper.

  ‘Two hundred,’ he said quietly.

  Phraates cupped his ear. ‘I did not hear you, general, speak up.’

  ‘Two hundred,’ said Geghard loudly.

  ‘Precisely,’ smirked Phraates. ‘If you want the assistance of Parthia you will have to accept its terms.’


  ‘King Spartacus is the son of a slave whose allies, the Sarmatians, have tortured southern Armenia for years,’ moaned Artaxias, pointing at Geghard. ‘He abducted General Geghard’s daughter and only returned her when paid a large amount of gold. He is a thief and murderer.’

  The Scythians closed on Artaxias but Phraates waved them back.

  ‘I quite agree.’

  Artaxias was momentarily speechless.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Of course. I do not condone hostage taking or the encouragement of barbarian peoples. But the fact is we need King Spartacus and his army, which appears most efficient.’

  He grinned mischievously. ‘After the war is over, Parthia will take no action should King Artaxias decide to take back the territory previously given to Gordyene.’

  Artaxias took a few seconds to realise what Phraates had just told him, then beamed with delight at the revelation.

  ‘You are most generous, lord.’

  Geghard looked at the two pale young men smiling at each other like errant schoolchildren. They were poor examples of kingship.

  *****

  Spartacus felt the rage building up inside him as he looked up at the rotting carcass on the cross, the feasting crows having scattered on the approach of the horsemen. It was one of a dozen villages he had visited since arriving in the area, emptied of their inhabitants, the corpses of the menfolk either left on the ground with sword or arrow wounds, or nailed to crosses. Of the women and children there was no sign. They had obviously been abducted to be sold as slaves.

  ‘We should take them down and burn them,’ suggested Hovik.

  ‘I don’t want any tell-tale signs of our presence,’ said Spartacus. ‘We will cremate the dead after we have finished our business.’

  He had marched from a Vanadzor white with snow at the head of two thousand Immortals, the same number of medium horsemen and five thousand horse archers to deal with the Romans ensconced in eastern Gordyene. It had taken several days for the column of horses, foot soldiers, mules and carts to traverse rutted tracks that alternated between mud and iron-hard surfaces depending on the weather. Most days a bitterly northerly wind had brought snow during the day, to disappear at night as the clouds parted and the land was gripped by a hard frost.