Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Darman, Peter

  Orodes rode beside me, his leather cuirass covered in bronze and iron plates shimmering in the sunlight. He too wore a simple wide-brimmed hat on his head, his richly appointed helmet jangling on his saddle. I always felt extremely guilty about the circumstances that Orodes found himself in; made worse by the fact that he never complained or resented the ill hand that the gods had dealt him. I swore that one day I would make it up to him.

  ‘I’ve never seen so much traffic on the road, Pacorus. So much for my stepbrother’s orders that all trade through Dura should cease.’

  ‘I heard that the Chinese emperor himself had complained to Mithridates about such a demand,’ I replied.

  ‘Even the king of kings thinks twice before interfering with the empire’s trade.’

  ‘He’s not the king of kings,’ I said, ‘he’s just a thief and murderer who occupies the high throne only temporarily.’

  Orodes smiled at me and shook his head. ‘Alas, my friend, I fear you are wrong. Mithridates is high king and is accepted as such by the other kings of the empire.’

  ‘Not this one,’ I retorted.

  He laughed. ‘No, not you, nor I for that matter, but we are in a minority, I fear.’

  But Orodes was only half right, for I had the support of those kings who ruled the western part of the empire, plus the allegiance of the two kingdoms that guarded Parthia’s northeastern border, Margiana and Hyrcania. On the other side of the Euphrates to Dura lay the Kingdom of Hatra between the Tigris and Euphrates – my father’s kingdom. The waters of these two great rivers irrigated his land and grew the crops that were ripened by the great sun god Shamash, which meant that the people prospered. And He had blessed my father’s kingdom further by ensuring that the great Silk Road ran through the middle of Hatra.

  ‘We have many supporters across the Euphrates, Orodes. We are not alone.’

  ‘None of the other kings will march against Ctesiphon,’ he said. ‘No one wants another civil war.’

  It took us five days to reach Haytham’s capital, a vast desert settlement of tents around the oasis of Palmyra. There was once a time when a column of Parthian horsemen would have been intercepted long before it reached Palmyra, but now our Agraci allies received us warmly enough. Haytham’s soldiers, black-robed men with black tattoos adorning their faces, policed the Silk Road through his territory. A party had joined us not long after we had left Dura, more for the company than for reasons of security. Their leader was a wiry man with a brown face and light brown eyes, his horse a magnificent grey mare.

  ‘Do you have any problems on the road?’ I had asked him.

  He shook his head. ‘No, lord, perhaps an argument when a collision has happened but nothing more serious than that.’ He looked almost disappointed.

  ‘A far cry from the years when your people and mine were at war.’

  His eyes flashed with enthusiasm. ‘Yes, lord. Then the desert ran red with blood when we raided Dura’s lands.’ He stopped, a mortified look on his face.

  ‘Forgive me, lord, I did not mean...’

  ‘It is quite all right,’ I assured him. ‘There was war and now there is peace. Let us hope it lasts.’

  He looked away into the vastness of the desert. ‘You have the friendship of my king and his children and the respect of my people. If someone had told me before you came that Agraci and Parthian would sit together round a fire and share a meal I would have thought them mad. But it is so and yet…’

  He cast me a sideways glance, as if reluctant to continue. ‘Speak freely.’

  He nodded. ‘But when you and my king have left this world, will Parthian and Agraci shed each other’s blood once more?’

  ‘Let us hope that will not be the case,’ I replied.

  He was right about the present, though. The only threats to the peace were the wretched caravan dogs that barked, growled and snapped at all and sundry. They were a menace to friend and foe alike. We said our farewells to our escort a day from Palmyra and made the rest of the journey unaccompanied. The landscape of the Tadmorean Desert is desolate, but the settlement of Palmyra in which it lies is green and lush, fed by the water that springs from the earth. Haytham’s son, Prince Malik, met us at the outskirts. He was tall and lean, his face adorned with black tattoos; dressed in a black robe he presented a fearsome appearance. He halted his black stallion in front of us and beamed with delight.

  ‘Hail Pacorus, hail Orodes.’

  I reached over and shook his hand. ‘It is good to see you again, my friend.’

  Orodes greeted Malik similarly. It was a happy reunion of friends who had fought together many times. He rode beside us as we walked our horses through the heaving tented city that was Palmyra where the trade caravans, their personnel and animals were housed in a separate area to the south of the main settlement. After we had brushed the dust from our clothes and rested we were shown to Haytham’s tent, situated in the middle of Palmyra. Our horses were taken from us and guards escorted us inside. Like King Haytham the tent was big and imposing. The central section was cool and light, courtesy of a ventilation hole cut in the top of the roof. The king rose from the cushions on the carpet-covered floor and we bowed our heads to him. He looked in a relaxed mood in his baggy black leggings and white shirt, his black hair hanging loosely around his shoulders.

  ‘Ah, you are here, good.’

  He walked over and embraced me, then Orodes.

  ‘You look well, lord king.’

  ‘You do not have to call me lord, Pacorus. You are, after all, a king yourself.’

  In truth I had never been able to put aside my sense of awe when in the presence of Haytham. He was the leader of the entire Agraci people, the man Parthian parents invoked when they wanted to frighten their children. Though he had proved a good friend and valuable ally, he still unnerved me somewhat. He turned to Orodes.

  ‘Now you Orodes should be a king, and would be if Pacorus had killed your stepbrother when he had a chance.’

  ‘How’s Byrd?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  Byrd may have been the Parthian army’s chief scout but he had made his home in Palmyra with an Agraci woman named Noora. Haytham gestured for us to sit on the cushions.

  ‘He’s well, as far as I know. Keeps himself to himself. Malik knows more than I do.’

  Servants brought us water. ‘He prospers,’ said Malik. ‘He seems happy enough.’

  ‘Gallia wanted him to live in the palace with us; but I think the desert suits him better.’

  More servants carried in bread that had been cooked on an open fire, mutton mixed with rice and vegetables, butter, yoghurt, cheese, honey and eggs.

  ‘Rasha is well, lord?’ I asked.

  Rasha was Haytham’s young daughter and was the chief reason that I was now sitting in the tent of my people’s greatest enemy. When I first came to Dura I found Rasha a captive in the Citadel. Ever since their first meeting she and my wife had forged a close bond. We had subsequently returned Rasha to her father, and good fortune had favoured all of us ever since.

  ‘Growing ever more the princess,’ he replied. ‘Gallia spoils her.’ Rasha had her own room in the Citadel at Dura, and I knew that Gallia had a tendency to treat her as one of her own children. ‘I fear you are right, lord.’

  ‘When she is at Dura there are five women to gang up on Pacorus,’ said Orodes, shoving a piece of cheese into his mouth. ‘He is outnumbered and outwitted at every turn.’

  Haytham smiled. ‘Three daughters and no sons. You should rectify that.’

  I avoided his eyes. ‘Alas lord, there will be no more children.’

  Haytham looked solemn. ‘I grieve for you.’

  I looked up at him. ‘Alcaeus, our Greek physician, told me after the birth of Eszter that Gallia would be able to bear no more children. Shamash has blessed me with my wife and three daughters. I can ask no more.’

  Orodes fidgeted with his food and Malik looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I am sure that you did not invite us he
re to discuss my children,’ I said.

  Haytham pointed at one of the guards standing by the entrance to the dining area where we sat cross-legged on the floor. He bowed and disappeared outside.

  ‘No indeed,’ replied Haytham. ‘I have someone here whom you might find interesting.’

  A few minutes later the guard returned with a man in tow, a figure of medium height and build with an untidy black beard and scruffy clothes. I estimated him to be in his early twenties. He eyed Orodes and me warily as he bowed his head to Haytham.

  ‘This is Aaron, Pacorus, a Jew and a man who kills Romans. Is that not correct, Aaron?’

  Aaron’s eyes darted from Haytham to me. ‘I have killed my enemies, it is true.’

  Haytham nodded at me. ‘This is King Pacorus, Aaron, a warrior who has won many great victories, most of them against the Romans. He has killed more Romans than you.’

  Aaron bowed his head to me. ‘Then it is an honour to meet you, lord.’

  ‘Perhaps Aaron could sit with us,’ I said to Haytham, ‘so that we may be spared aching necks from having to look up at him.’

  Haytham waved his hand at Aaron for him to sit with us. The way he tucked into the food before him indicated that he had not eaten properly for weeks. This view was confirmed by Haytham who told us his story while our guest tried to devour everything that was brought to us by the servants, in between taking large gulps of water and then wine. The son of a merchant, he had spent the last two years in hiding in Judea and fighting the troops of a Jewish king named Hyrcanus. Aaron had been in the army of another king named Aristobulus who had lost the civil war in Judea. The names meant nothing to me, but the end of Aaron’s story did intrigue me.

  ‘Ever since that bastard Pompey came to Judea my homeland is nothing more than a plaything of the Romans.’

  I stopped eating. ‘Pompey?’

  Aaron also desisted his interpretation of a pig feasting. ‘You know this name, lord?’

  Both Orodes and Malik looked at me and at each other.

  ‘Indeed,’ I answered. ‘With his army he thought to conquer my kingdom.’

  Aaron was wide eyed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I persuaded him that retreat was preferable to fighting.’

  Haytham slapped his hands together. ‘Not quite as I remember it.’

  ‘Nor I,’ added Orodes.

  ‘Pacorus summoned the might of Parthia to his side,’ said Malik, ‘and then my father added his army to the strength of Pacorus. Pompey turned back and never returned.’

  Aaron wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘I would have liked to have seen that, lord. To have seen the Romans run.’

  ‘I thought you may have a use for Aaron, Pacorus,’ said Haytham.

  ‘You are going to march against the Romans?’ Aaron’s eyes flashed with excitement.

  ‘Not unless they march against me,’ I replied.

  His excitement disappeared. ‘They will. There are two legions in Syria, and Judea sucks up to the Romans like a helpless lamb. They will swallow up Egypt soon enough, and then…’

  He held out his arms in a forlorn gesture and spoke no more. I looked at Orodes and Malik. We knew the Romans and also knew that what Aaron had said was correct. Rome had an insatiable desire for lands and peoples to subjugate. The mood lightened somewhat when I questioned Aaron on his talents, of which he appeared to have many. His mother tongue was Aramaic but he could speak Greek, Agraci and Parthian well enough, though he said he refused to speak any Latin. His travels accompanying his father had taken him to Antioch, Jerusalem, Egypt and other towns and cities along the Mediterranean coast. Haytham was right, I could use such a man, or at least Godarz or Rsan could.

  Aaron was delighted when I told him he would be welcome to accompany us back to Dura.

  ‘One thing you should know, though,’ I told him. ‘The man who commands my foot soldiers is a Roman.’

  Aaron’s eyes opened wide in horror. ‘A Roman?’

  ‘A fine man,’ said Orodes.

  ‘And a great warrior,’ added Malik. ‘A man I am proud to call a friend.’

  Aaron looked confused. ‘I do not understand. King Haytham, you said that King Pacorus has fought the Romans.’

  Haytham nodded. ‘And so he has.’

  Aaron then looked at me. ‘Then how is it that a Roman leads your soldiers?’

  ‘It is a long story,’ I replied, ‘but suffice to say that he is a man whom I trust with my life.’

  ‘It is most strange,’ mused Aaron.

  ‘No stranger than some regarding King Pacorus as a messiah,’ said Orodes.

  ‘There is only one messiah,’ snapped Aaron.

  ‘Who is that?’ I asked.

  Aaron stared into the distance. ‘The one who will deliver us from oppression.’ He shot a glance at me. ‘And the Romans.’

  ‘Where is this messiah?’ asked Malik.

  ‘He has not come yet, but God will send him. It is written.’

  ‘What god?’ I asked casually.

  ‘The god of Abraham, the one true god.’

  ‘There are many gods,’ I replied, ‘what is his name?’

  Aaron’s eyes blazed with determination. ‘No, there is only one.’

  The next day Haytham took Orodes and me hunting. He also brought along his daughter Rasha. Now in her years just before womanhood, she had grown into a beautiful albeit wilful young lady. Her hair was as black as night, her eyes dark brown and her olive skin flawless. Like most of her people she was tall and lithe and had been raised to the saddle from an early age.

  ‘One day, lord,’ I told him as we rode into the rock and sand vastness south of his huge settlement, ‘there will be great buildings and temples at Palmyra.’

  He eyed me suspiciously. ‘We have always lived in tents and always will.’

  ‘Would you not like a palace to receive your visitors?’

  ‘Palaces can be besieged and reduced to rubble. If I give the command Palmyra can vanish like a desert mirage.’

  ‘Who would sack your palace, lord?’ queried Orodes, riding on the other side of the king.

  ‘The Romans,’ he replied.

  ‘Have you heard reports of the Romans making preparations for war?’ I asked with concern.

  ‘No, but with Romans in Syria and now Judea a Roman province in all but name I have potential enemies to the north and west. As Palmyra grows richer then it becomes a greater prize to possess for those with envious eyes.’

  ‘We turned them back once, we can do so again,’ I said.

  ‘What do you think of Aaron?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘He needs feeding up.’

  Haytham laughed. ‘He may look like a thief, but I think you will find him useful. Besides, if he stays here he will cause problems for us. We are too near to Judea I think, and if he foments trouble then the Romans will turn their attention to Palmyra.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘Aaron tells me that there are still rebels, freedom fighters he calls them, in Judea battling the Romans and their Jewish allies. He is one of them and burns to go back there.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t he?’ I asked.

  Haytham smiled grimly. ‘He hopes to recruit others to his cause. He asked me whether the Agraci would support his friends.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said no, of course. The fate of Judea does not concern me.’

  ‘And you think it concerns me?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course not, but Dura is further from Judea than Palmyra. I think Aaron could be useful if his attention is turned elsewhere. And I wish to be rid of him. If you don’t want him then I will have him killed. It is nothing to me.’

  ‘I have offered him a place at Dura, lord, so let it be so.’

  Rasha suddenly squealed and dug her knees into the sides of her horse as a gazelle broke cover from behind a collection of large boulders ahead and bolted for its life. She already had an arrow nocked in her bow as she galloped after h
er prey. We followed hard on her horse’s hooves. I reached behind me and pulled my bow from its hide case then extracted an arrow from my quiver. Beneath me Remus powered ahead, straining to reach the gazelle as it tried to outrun us. I nocked the arrow in the bowstring as Remus caught up with Rasha’s mount. Haytham and Orodes were immediately behind. Orodes shot his bow and the arrow cut through the air beside us as the gazelle suddenly darted right and then left. The arrow missed as Remus thundered across the baked ground in the wake of our prey. I brought up my bow so the bowstring was next to my face. I had done this a hundred times on the battlefield and on hunting expeditions. Keep looking at the target, lean slightly forward; let the bow become part of your body, as one with your soul. Time crawled as Remus closed on the gazelle and my breathing slowed as I aimed at the animal’s hindquarters and released the bowstring. In the blink of an eye the gazelle changed direction once more and I missed him. Rasha pulled her horse right to follow the gazelle and shot her arrow, the iron head slammed into its side and caused the beast to stumble and roll over and over. She pulled up her horse and then lightning fast, shot another two arrows into the prostrate animal. It lay motionless, dead.

  Elated, she leapt from her horse and ran over to the gazelle to stand beside it, raising her bow in triumph at her victory. I halted Remus in front of her.

  ‘I’m glad all that time spent with Gallia and her women on the training fields did not go to waste, Rasha.’

  She grinned at me. ‘One day I will be an Amazon and will slay the enemies of your people and mine in battle.’

  Haytham, Malik and Orodes rode up to join us.

  ‘Did you see, father? I beat Pacorus, the greatest warrior in the Parthian Empire.’

  She suddenly looked at Orodes. ‘I meant no offence, Orodes.’

  Orodes smiled at her. ‘And none was taken, little princess. Well done.’

  ‘Did your hand slip, Pacorus?’ asked Malik. ‘Perhaps we can invent a fiction that will save your face, for I fear that all Palmyra will soon learn that you have been bettered by a girl.’