‘Just not with a beautiful woman half his age,’ I replied mischievously.
‘How pathetic are the carnal desires of men,’ said Dobbai as she sat down in her wicker chair stuffed with cushions. She rarely left the palace these days, being content to amble around the palace and watch over our daughters.
‘They love each other,’ I said.
They both looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses.
Dobbai picked at a date. ‘She wants something from him that is all. If you had any brains you would see that.’
Gallia nodded gravely. ‘That is what I think. I should tell Godarz before he gets hurt.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ I said. ‘He is happy and deserves to be. We will leave well alone.’
‘Ill omens are abroad in Hatra, you both would do well to take care.’ Dobbai’s face was blank as she relayed this news to us, as though speaking on behalf of another.
‘Ill omens?’ Gallia looked concerned.
Claudia put down her food and walked over to Dobbai and hoisted herself on to the old woman’s knee.
‘I saw an owl perched above the gates of the Citadel last night,’ said Dobbai, stroking Claudia’s long fair hair.
I felt a sense of dread. An owl was a sign that evil was present and was usually a portent of imminent death and destruction, or at the very least grave misfortune. Owls were believed to represent the souls of people who had died unavenged. I immediately became alarmed for the safety of my wife and children. Dobbai saw my look of concern towards the little ones.
‘They are not in danger, son of Hatra. It is you that faces peril.’
She smiled at Claudia. ‘Tell your father what happened to the smoke from the fire near the stables.’
Claudia looked very serious. ‘The smoke did not disappear, father. It hung over the flames. It should have risen straight towards the heavens. But it did not. A bad omen.’
‘What nonsense is this?’ I asked Dobbai irritably.
‘No nonsense, son of Hatra. It is an old Scythian ritual that can determine whether evil spirits are near.’
I pointed at Claudia. ‘You should not fill her head with such foolishness.’
Then I turned to Gallia. ‘This is just the sort of thing I was talking about.’
‘What about that Jew you brought back with you from the desert?’ asked Dobbai.
‘Aaron? What about him?’
‘He is an assassin,’ she replied, ‘I have seen his eyes. They are full of hate.’
‘He will be arrested,’ announced Gallia. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘If Aaron is an assassin as you say, then he had plenty of opportunities to kill me on the journey from Palmyra.’
‘You should kill him,’ said Dobbai, ‘just to make sure.’
‘Kill him, kill him,’ shouted Isabella, not knowing what it meant, or at least I hoped that she did not. Poor Aaron, Haytham was thinking of having him killed and now Dobbai wanted his head.
‘Quiet!’ I shouted. Isabella fell silent and then began to cry. Gallia walked over and picked her up.
‘Now look what you have done.’
I held my head in my hands. ‘Aaron is under my protection,’ I said, looking at Gallia and then Dobbai. ‘No harm shall come to him.’
‘Let us hope the same can be said of you, son of Hatra,’ quipped Dobbai.
I had suddenly lost my appetite, so I rose and walked from the terrace. The rigours of the training fields beckoned and were a welcome relief from the wittering of an old woman.
‘You can turn a deaf ear to me if you wish, son of Hatra,’ remarked Dobbai as I left them, ‘but you are foolish not to heed the warning signs that the gods are sending you.’
Chapter 2
Gods! How they tormented us mortals! I worshipped and feared Shamash, God of the Sun, and respected the other deities that dwelt in heaven, but I sometimes despaired of their intrigues. It was well known throughout the empire that Dobbai was sent visions by the gods, but they were often so vague and shrouded in mystery as to be almost impossible to decipher. The movement of smoke over a fire did not bother me but the appearance of an owl perched on the Citadel’s walls was not to be dismissed lightly. We had already increased the number of guards in and around the palace and there had been no new arrivals among the palace servants, most of whom had been with us for years, so I did not fear danger from that quarter. But then, any one of my soldiers could stick an arrow or blade into me at any time should they so wish. It all came down to trust. Did I trust them? Dura was different from many kingdoms in the empire in that it had a standing army. The Silk Road that passed through it paid for their weapons, equipment and wages. Each man was paid monthly for his services. The levels of pay were dictated by rank and length of service, with records diligently maintained and held in the headquarters building in the Citadel. Each man, and every woman in the Amazons, irrespective of rank or race received equality of treatment when it came to rewards and punishments. In return I demanded loyalty. In all the time I had been King of Dura I had experienced no mutinies or disloyalties. My soldiers had always obeyed orders unquestioningly. In the end that is all any commander can hope for.
A welcome diversion came with an invitation from Godarz for Gallia and me to dine with him and Nadira at the governor’s mansion. It had probably been a mistake that the latter’s first meeting with us had been at the Companions’ feast, but what was done was done. At least this time there would be no raucous Germans present to humiliate me.
‘Try to keep your eyes in their sockets this time, Pacorus.’
Gallia looked stunning on the evening we made the short journey from the Citadel to Godarz’s residence, a score of legionaries acting as our escort.
My queen wore a blue, sleeveless dress with a gold belt around her waist, gold armlets and gold bracelets. Her long, thick blonde hair hung freely around her shoulders and over her breasts. Even among her curls were thin slivers of gold. She looked every bit the queen she was. I wore a simple white silk shirt, baggy brown leggings and red leather boots. As usual my Roman spatha, the gift from Spartacus, was worn at my hip. On the opposite hip was my dagger, a weapon taken from a dead Roman centurion.
The night was still and warm, the only noise the crunching sound made by the legionaries’ hobnailed sandals as they marched beside us on the stone slabs. The road that led from the Citadel to the Palmyrene Gate was paved, though most of the streets in the city were dirt. I had instructed Rsan to embark on a programme to pave all the main roads inside the city to save us from the permanent cloud of dust that hung over Dura in the hottest months, especially over the tallest part – the Citadel – and the work was continuing apace. The Greeks had originally built the city and its roads and buildings were arranged like a giant grid with streets perpendicular to each other, the whole surrounded by a thick, strong circuit wall.
I held Gallia’s hand as we walked to the governor’s mansion. The odd citizen still abroad bowed to us as we passed. Dura had no curfew except in an emergency, though the city gates were shut two hours before midnight every evening and were not opened again until dawn the next morning. There was no danger of an Agraci attack against us, but Dura had always been a frontier city and its inhabitants slept sounder knowing that they were in a secure stronghold.
We arrived at the mansion within minutes, the guards either side of the gates snapping to attention as we walked past them into the courtyard. More guards flanked the stone path that ran from the gates to the foot of the steps leading to the mansion’s entrance. We walked across the courtyard as Godarz and Nadira descended the steps to greet us. Nadira was wearing a yellow, figure-hugging dress with a diadem in her hair.
‘Remember,’ said Gallia in a whisper, smiling at our hosts, ‘when you speak to Nadira, her eyes are in her head and not her chest!’
Godarz may have been the city governor but he always dressed modestly. It was the same tonight. The years spent as a slave in Italy had left th
eir mark on him. In truth though, he had never been badly treated yet he had still been a slave. Tonight he was dressed in a simple long-sleeved beige shirt, white leggings and sandals. Though Parthian men wore their hair long, Godarz had had his hair shorn in Italy and had never let it grow back. As he and his new love bowed their heads to us he appeared truly happy, wearing the look of a man who had finally found contentment after years of loneliness.
‘Welcome,’ said Godarz, ‘you are both most welcome.’
‘We are glad to be here,’ I replied.
Gallia smiled politely at Nadira and then embraced Godarz. She linked her arm in Nadira’s and they walked up the steps together into the mansion. I embraced Godarz and slapped him on the back.
‘Nadira is a beautiful woman. I am pleased for you, my old friend.’
His eyes were moist as he stepped back to face me.
‘I never thought that I could be this happy, Pacorus. The gods have truly blessed me.’
We followed our women up the steps, Polemo bowing his head to us as we passed him at the top.
‘You deserve to be happy, Godarz. We are truly happy for you.’
Godarz looked at Gallia and Nadira disappearing into the reception hall. ‘Even Gallia?’
‘Of course. Her nose has been put out of joint that is all. You know how it is with women, they get jealous.’
The meal was a most excellent feast. Though the mansion had a banqueting hall we ate in a smaller room just off the reception hall so as not to be dwarfed by our surroundings. I sat next to Gallia across from Godarz and Nadira. Servants brought us yoghurt, Parthian beans, fennel cooked with pine nuts and spices, roasted lamb, goat and chicken, steamed rice, crusty rice with cinnamon and pistachios, and meat balls. Other servants served us wine and water. As the wine flowed Gallia’s suspicion of Nadira lessened somewhat. The latter was charm itself, engaging my wife in conversation and appearing interested in everything she said, especially the Amazons. Gallia was delighted to talk about her female warriors, which made Godarz overjoyed. I had been dreading any friction between my wife and Nadira, but Godarz’s woman was adept at conversation and charm. She hardly spoke to me, knowing that the attitude of Gallia was the key to the success of the evening, and truth be told it was turning into a highly enjoyable occasion. I relaxed in my high-backed wooden chair and smiled at Godarz. He nodded and then stared lovingly at his gorgeous woman. He was truly blessed.
I drained my silver drinking vessel, a rhyton, and held it up to be refilled. Fashioned into the shape of a ram’s head it was a beautiful piece, highly polished and delicately crafted. I turned the drinking vessel in my hand as a servant walked towards me with a jug of wine. I saw the reflection of a figure behind me in the polished surface of the rhyton and instinctively moved to my right. As I turned to see who it was, a sword blade directed at my head suddenly splintered the back of my chair. I instinctively rolled out of it and kicked it away as Polemo wrenched his blade free. I jumped to my feet and drew my own sword, then advanced to meet my would-be assassin.
‘Godarz,’ I shouted, ‘get the women out of here. Sound the alarm.’
Polemo smiled. ‘I have a message for you, slave king.’
He attacked me with powerful slashing blows directed against my head. I parried them with some difficulty and then tried to thrust my spatha into his chest. But he sprang back and avoided my sword point with ease.
Polemo grinned once more. ‘King Mithridates sends his greetings.’
Then he came at me once more and again tried to behead me with his blade. His strength and speed forced me back. I caught his last slashing blow with my own blade, grabbed his sword hand with my left hand and head-butted his nose. He grimaced and staggered back, his nose broken.
I glanced behind me and saw with horror Gallia grappling with Nadira, who had a dagger in her hand and was trying to stab my wife.
Godarz was standing, transfixed by what was happening in front of him.
‘Godarz!’ I screamed. ‘Kill her, kill her now!’
I turned and saw the figure of Polemo charge at me once more. A servant ran at him but Polemo saw him, swung his blade to his left and sliced open the man’s belly. A piercing scream came from the servant as he collapsed to the ground. Polemo raced over to the door that lead to the kitchen corridor and slammed it shut.
‘Godarz,’ I shouted again. ‘In the name of Shamash do something!’
Godarz looked at me and then at Nadira and Gallia grappling with each other. He came to his senses and raced over to grab Nadira, who slapped Gallia round the face, pushed her to the ground and then swung round. Godarz was not stabbed by her dagger but rather ran on to its blade. Nadira grabbed his shoulder with her left hand and then stabbed him twice more before turning back to face Gallia. Another servant ran into the room from the hall.
‘Sound the alarm,’ I screamed, but Polemo was too quick and split the back of the man’s head with his sword as he tried to run from the room. I ran at Polemo, my spatha grasped with both hands, and hacked at his head. He parried my blows but blood was now pouring from his shattered nose and he had difficulty in maintaining his defence. He tried to bar the door with a small table that had been positioned against the wall beside it, but another servant burst into the room and interrupted him. The servant looked at me and then died as Polemo nearly severed his head with a great swing of his sword. I screamed and ran at Polemo again, slashing at his neck and then whipping my blade back to thrust the point into his left shoulder. He groaned and winced in pain but still advanced and directed more blows against me. His strength was failing, though, and the sword strikes were becoming slower and easier to parry.
I looked behind me and saw Godarz lying on the floor. Gallia had sprung to her feet, grabbed a knife from the table and was facing Nadira.
‘Come on, bitch!’ she screamed.
Nadira glanced at me and then at Polemo, who was now bleeding from both the nose and shoulder. She spat at Gallia and ran over to Polemo.
‘Come, we must go.’
Polemo raised his sword at me and then they fled from the room. Gallia ran to Godarz and cradled his head in her arms. Another servant rushed into the room and stared in horror at the scene that greeted his eyes.
‘Sound the alarm,’ I shouted. ‘Go quickly!’
His mouth was open in terror and he shook his head like a demented man as he fled. I knelt beside Godarz. Tears were running down Gallia’s cheeks as she held him. I looked at the blood oozing from the wound in his belly and knew he was dying. I heard the alarm bell ringing in the courtyard and shortly after a dozen guards raced into the room.
‘Get a doctor,’ I ordered.
Godarz was staring at the ceiling, a far-away look in his eyes. ‘She said she loved me. I do not understand.’
‘Don’t speak,’ said Gallia softly, ‘Alcaeus will be here soon.’
Godarz looked at her. ‘I loved her, you know.’
Her tears fell on his face. ‘I know.’
Godarz’s shirt was soaked with blood by the time Alcaeus our Greek physician appeared with his canvas bag over his shoulder. He ignored Gallia and me as he knelt down beside Godarz, reached into his bag and extracted a small knife. He cut away Godarz’s shirt to examine the wound. I could see that it was deep, blood now oozing onto the floor. Alcaeus worked with skill and speed, cleaning the wound with vinegar and then applying a large honey-impregnated dressing on it. He then wound a large bandage around Godarz’s belly in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, but Godarz had already lost so much. He did not speak now, only stared unblinking at Gallia with a bewildered look in his eyes.
Domitus ran into the room followed by four of his officers and other servants. He stared at Godarz and I thought I detected a look of distress in his eyes, then his stern countenance returned.
‘What happened?’
I stood up to face him, a wave of grief sweeping over me.
‘That whore Nadira and Godarz’s new headman were assassins sent by
Mithridates. They fled but must still be in the city. They might try to escape using the harbour.’
The tiny harbour was reached via a small gate in the city’s southern wall. Domitus turned to his officers.
‘Turn out the garrison, seal the city and organise sweeps of all the buildings. Find them,’ he ordered.
The men saluted and ran from the room.
‘He’s gone, I’m sorry.’
I turned to see Alcaeus had a finger at Godarz’s neck to feel for a pulse. He shook his head at Gallia and then closed my governor’s eyes. Gallia pulled up Godarz’s head to her face and began sobbing. Domitus ordered everyone out of the room.
‘I’m sorry.’
He placed a hand on my shoulder and also took his leave, as did Alcaeus. I knelt beside Gallia and we both wept for our dead friend.
The sweep of the city was carried out at once, soldiers hammering on every door to gain entrance. Soon word spread that the governor had been murdered and dazed and confused citizens, most in their night attire, flooded onto the streets. Many headed for the city’s central square, perhaps thinking that a herald would inform them of what had happened and what measures I was taking. But the only thing I did was to assist Alcaeus carry the body of Godarz to his bedroom where it was washed and dressed. Most of his servants were in tears as they attempted to carry out their duties. Godarz had been a fair and gentle master, though like Gallia and I he had no slaves in his household, only paid servants. Those of us who had been slaves had no wish to be surrounded by others who lived in such misery. Afterwards I was numb as I held my wife and we made our way back to the palace. I found an ashen-faced Rsan on the palace steps. I merely nodded at him as we passed. There were no words I could speak that would ease his anguish.
We shuffled into the throne room where Domitus was pacing up and down. I looked at Gallia, her eyes puffy and red.
‘Do you want to sleep?’
She shook her head. ‘I cannot sleep tonight.’
She walked over to her high-backed chair on the dais and slumped into it. I sat down beside her. Domitus stopped pacing and stood before us. His face betrayed no emotion though I knew he must be grieving for his dead friend.
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 5