She curled her lip at me as the coffin containing Vardan’s body was carried from the holy of holies to be placed once more on its carriage. As the funeral cortege made its way back to the grounds of the royal palace the crowds who stood packed either side of the route stood in silent reverence as their king passed by. Many were weeping and their tears appeared genuine, for I knew that at funerals professional mourners were hired to impress guests. Vardan had been a good king in the tradition of Babylonian rulers. One of the reasons that Babylon was accorded great status in the empire was that its rulers stressed goodness and truth, law and order, justice and freedom, learning, courage and loyalty. Indeed, the city had always accorded special protection to widows, orphans, refugees, the poor and the oppressed. Just as well – the ravages of Narses had created many of each group.
As I walked with my wife to the royal tomb, – a vaulted chamber underneath the palace and approached from the outside by a ramp – I knew that Axsen would not be swearing vengeance against the killers of her father. Babylonians believed that immoral acts were crimes against the gods and would be punished by them. I could hear the laughter of Dobbai in my ears at such a notion.
Only Axsen, Nabu, half a dozen of his priests who carried the king’s coffin from the cart at the top of the ramp and the soldiers pulling the bulls entered the tomb itself, the latter departing once the throats of the bulls had been slit.
‘Poor bulls,’ said Gallia as the soldiers walked back up the ramp.
‘They used to kill slaves to attend the king in the next life,’ I said, ‘and I have heard that even aristocrats who were close to the king took their own lives in the tomb so they could be with him always.’
Gallia screwed up her face. ‘That is disgusting.’
‘We live in more enlightened times,’ I answered. ‘Now only the bulls and precious objects will accompany Vardan into the afterlife.’
She was still curious, though. ‘What objects?’
‘His clothes, games, weapons, treasure and vessels filled with food and drink. Everything he needs to maintain his status in the next life.’
She ridiculed the idea. ‘The dead do not need objects.’
As an ashen-faced Axsen came from the tomb and walked with faltering steps up the stone ramp, I whispered into Gallia’s ear.
‘Perhaps not, but we must respect the beliefs of others just as we expect them to respect our own.’
The tomb was sealed and the cortege dispersed. Gallia and Praxima accompanied a weeping Axsen back to her private chambers in the palace. The fine lords and ladies of the kingdom returned to their mansions in the city. Thus ended the reign of King Vardan of Babylon, murdered by the traitor Narses.
Seven days later the coronation of Axsen took place. In the intervening time Narses had pulled all his forces back across the Tigris. Of Mithridates we heard nothing save a strange tale that Ctesiphon itself had been attacked and his frantic mother had demanded that he return forthwith to save her.
I laughed at such an idea as I sat with my father, Gafarn, Nergal, Vistaspa, Orodes and Mardonius in one of the many guest annexes in the palace. This one had been given to my father and had its own small courtyard complete with an ornamental pool with fountains in the middle. We reclined on plush couches as slaves served us pastries, sweet meats, yoghurt, bread, honey, wine and fruit. The atmosphere was very relaxed. Even my father appeared to be in a good mood.
‘Where are the women?’ he asked, looking at Nergal and me.
‘My wife is with Axsen and Gallia,’ said Nergal, ‘that is the Princess of Babylon and the Queen of Dura, lord.’
He may have been a king himself but Nergal could never forget that he had once been but an officer in Hatra’s army many years ago. He still regarded my father with awe, and perhaps a little fear.
‘Ever since the funeral they have been in each other’s company,’ reported Mardonius. ‘The Princess Axsen takes comfort in her female friends.’
‘The sisterhood is a powerful force,’ I remarked.
‘Well,’ said my father, taking a wafer from a silver plate held by a slave and dipping it in a jar of honey held by another, ‘she will be a queen tomorrow. It is our job to ensure that her reign is long and prosperous. I owe that to her father, at least.’
Mardonius placed his hands together under his chin. ‘Babylon has to seek an accommodation with Mithridates, majesty. We are not strong enough to withstand another invasion.’
‘With the losses they have suffered,’ I said. ‘Mithridates and Narses will think twice before crossing the Tigris once more in a hurry.’
My father finished his honey-daubed wafer. ‘Perhaps, but they can call on the resources of all the lands between the Tigris and Indus. I agree with Mardonius.’ He looked at Nergal.
‘And your borders may also be at risk.’
‘There have been no reports of any incursions into my kingdom, lord king,’ replied Nergal.
‘Not yet, perhaps, but I would suggest strengthening your border defences.’
‘Your friendship with Pacorus makes you an enemy of my stepbrother, Nergal,’ said Orodes grimly. ‘He neither forgets nor forgives.’
‘Just be careful of any large-breasted women who suddenly appear at your court,’ I said to Nergal. ‘Mithridates prefers to send women to do his work instead of soldiers.’
‘I will deploy additional troops on my southern border to assist Babylon should Axsen require it,’ said my father, changing the subject.
Mardonius bowed his head. ‘That would be most welcome majesty.’
‘Dura will always stand by Babylon,’ I added.
‘That is what Lord Mardonius is afraid of,’ joked Gafarn.
‘This is no time for levity, Gafarn,’ my father rebuked him. ‘Nevertheless, my son has touched upon the one thing that may deter Mithridates and Narses and that is our unity. If Mesene, Babylon, Hatra and Dura are as one then our combined strength will be a deterrent to aggression.’
I stood up. ‘I pledge Dura’s allegiance.’
Nergal also stood. ‘As do I.’
‘I would if I had a kingdom to pledge,’ offered Gafarn, earning him a frown from my father.
‘For what it is worth,’ said Orodes, ‘I too offer my sword to Babylon.’
‘It is worth a thousand warriors, lord prince,’ answered Mardonius diplomatically.
My father clapped his hands. ‘Excellent. This has been a good meeting.’
Afterwards, as we were dispersing, my father cornered me.
‘Remember, Pacorus, we hold the line of the Tigris. There must be no further aggression against Mithridates.’
I held up my hands. ‘Of course, father. But Dura will pay no annual tribute to the tyrant that sits in Ctesiphon.’
‘That is between him and you. I doubt he would accept it anyway. Another thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘No more bringing Agraci into the empire.’
I smiled. ‘Haytham is a true friend to Dura, father.’
My father looked very serious. ‘That may be, but the presence of ten thousand Agraci warriors east of the Euphrates will have alarmed every court in the empire. I can see Assur’s face now.’
Assur was the high priest of the Great Temple at Hatra and believed the Agraci to be black-robed devils that had to be kept at bay, annihilated ideally.
‘Haytham is also a friend to Mesene,’ I said in low voice, ‘and will aid Nergal if his kingdom is attacked. As will I.’
He said nothing more but I knew that he was unhappy. He was pleased that Dura prospered and that I had made peace with the Agraci, but like most Parthians he could not see beyond his prejudice against Haytham’s people. But I, who had once been a slave and had mixed with and fought beside a host of different races in Italy, had no time for such blind bias. Any man who offered me his hand was my friend, regardless of what god he worshipped or what race he belonged to.
Gafarn walked with me back to my quarters after the meeting.
‘T
he Armenian raids against our northern borders are increasing,’ he said. ‘Father thinks there will be war against them soon, that is why he does not want any conflict in the south.’
‘I did not realise the situation had become so bad.’
He frowned. ‘It is the Romans, Pacorus, they are the ones behind it all. They covet nothing less than the whole of Parthia. Ever since Armenia became a client state of Rome there has been nothing but trouble in the north.’
‘But Vata is containing it?’
He smiled. ‘Vata is like a lion, but is a lone lion. Soon, I fear, our father will be marching against Armenia and then there will be war with Rome.’
These were ill tidings indeed. But if Hatra went to war then Dura would be marching alongside her. I put my arm round Gafarn’s shoulders.
‘Enough of war, tell me how your son is getting along. How old is he now?’
If a pall of sadness and misery had hung over Babylon on the day of Vardan’s funeral, the coronation of his daughter transformed the city into a festival of gaiety, music and laughter. Every Babylonian lord and his family were in the city to see their princess made a queen. Their ladies dressed in brightly coloured robes, wearing enough gold and silver on their bodies to cover the entire surface of the great ziggurat that towered over the rest of city. Purple flags and ribbons hung from all the gates into the city and every building was decorated with flowers to produce a crescendo of colours. The royal guard stood on the walls of the palace and lined the route to the Temple of Marduk, while other Babylonian spearmen lined the Processional Way. Each man was armed with a long spear and knife and was dressed in purple leggings and a purple tunic that covered his arms and extended down to his knees. A turban headdress and a large wicker shield faced with leather and painted purple completed their appearance.
The city gates had been opened before dawn and by first light the streets were already thronged with a multitude of well wishers and sightseers. Jugglers, clowns, musicians and fortune-tellers plied their trade among the masses. Pickpockets too, no doubt, for the lure of rich pickings was worth the risk of losing a hand if caught.
Axsen had asked that the soldiers of her friends and allies take part in her coronation parade, and so for days smiths, farriers and squires had been labouring to get our horsemen ready for the great day. Squires worked long hours repairing and polishing leg and arm armour and smiths riveted iron plates back on to scale armour. Tunics, leggings and cloaks had been ferried to the Euphrates where they had been washed and dried by the women of the local villages. Remus and Epona had been attended to by the grooms of the royal stables and looked a handsome pair on the day of the coronation.
I wore my Roman armour cuirass and helmet, which sported a fresh comb of white goose feathers, white shirt, brown leggings and red leather boots. Gallia dressed in white silk leggings and a long-sleeved blue tunic edged with silver. Axsen had given her a gold diadem for her head inlaid with red gemstones called rubies, which had reportedly come from a distant land to the east.
Praxima was similarly attired in a rich golden headdress, her husband wearing a red shirt and leather cuirass on which had been attached overlapping bronze scales. Orodes outdid us all with his long-sleeved purple silk shirt, his cuirass of shining silver scales, white leggings and boots edged with silver. My father and Gafarn wore short-sleeved scale armour tunics, the metal also being silver.
We paraded on our horses in front of the place as Axsen descended the steps dressed in a simple white gown that covered her body and legs, her hair loose but immaculately groomed, her cheeks coloured with rouge and her eyelids darkened. On her fingers she wore gold rings and gold hung from her ears.
Mardonius waited at the foot of the steps by the four-wheeled carriage covered in gold leaf that would transport her to the temple. He assisted her into the transport and then sat beside her as the four horses pulling the carriage walked forward, the queen’s bodyguard in their dragon-skin armour mounted all around her. We followed the royal party out of the palace and along the Processional Way to the Temple of Marduk.
I looked up at the sky. The gods were favouring Axsen today for there was not a cloud to be seen, and a pleasant westerly breeze brought fresh air from the Euphrates to blow away the stench of the city. The crowds cheered their princess as she made her way to her new life as a queen, and at the entrance to the temple she was carried shoulder high on a simple wicker chair by four of Nabu’s priests through the temple and into the inner sanctum. The temple was filled with the kingdom’s nobles and their wives plus the representatives of the five populations of the city. In order of hierarchy these were the original Babylonian citizens who were represented this day by the president of the city council, a small, piggy eyed man with thinning hair who had a very tall and haughty wife. The next group was the priests of the Temple of Marduk; then the Greek citizens whose descendants had arrived when Alexander of Macedon had take the city; followed by the slaves who worked in the temples and palaces. At the bottom were the so-called ‘people of the land’: the farmers who worked in the fields.
Axsen was escorted into the holy of holies, Nabu going before her banging a drum and proclaiming ‘Axsen is queen, Axsen is queen’. This was not for our benefit but rather to alert Marduk that a new ruler of Babylon approached him. Afrand, again wearing a low-cut red robe that showed her ample breasts to full effect, stood at the entrance to the holy shrine and handed Axsen her gifts for Marduk – a richly embroidered robe, a gold bowl filled with oil and a mina of silver.
Axsen then disappeared behind the curtain with Nabu and there paid homage to the god. When she reappeared she was escorted to a gold throne on a dais covered with purple cloth that had been erected in the temple for the ceremony. Nabu stood on her right side and Afrand on her left as two priests carrying felt cushions approached her, a gold sceptre laid on one, the crown of Babylon on the other. The temple was filled with the smell of burning frankincense as Nabu took the gold crown and placed it on Axsen’s head.
His words echoed round the room. ‘Before Marduk, thy god, may thy priesthood and the priesthood of thy sons be favoured.’
Afrand took the gold sceptre and handed it to Axsen.
Nabu’s voice boomed once more. ‘With thy straight sceptre make thy land wide. May Marduk grant thee quick satisfaction, justice and peace.’
Thus did Axsen become queen of the Kingdom of Babylon. As the assembled dignitaries paid homage to her, including Gallia and I, the priests burned more frankincense. I smiled to myself. This precious incense was extracted from the bark of trees that grew on the coast of Arabia. It was collected by Haytham’s people who sold it to the Egyptians and Romans and even the Parthians, the merchants in Dura doing a brisk trade with the supposed enemies of the empire to acquire the precious incense.
When Axsen had received oaths of loyalty from all her nobles she was escorted outside by Mardonius to witness the grand military parade. First came her own royal bodyguard in their dragon-skin armour, followed by a thousand mounted spearmen with shields and five times that number of horse archers. Then came my father’s royal bodyguard led by Vistaspa with Hatra’s banner flying behind him, followed by my own heavy cavalry looking resplendent in their scale armour, steel arm and leg protection and full-face helmets. Vagharsh carried my banner and griffin pennants flew from every kontus. Five hundred of Nergal’s horse archers brought up the rear of the column.
As the horsemen who had ridden into the city via the Ishtar Gate and down the Processional Way left Babylon through the Marduk Gate, slaves brought our horses and we journeyed back to the palace to attend the feast that was attended by four thousand people.
Two days later representatives from other kingdoms in the empire appeared at the palace to pay their respects to Axsen, nobles from Media, Atropaiene, Hyrcania and Margiana. No one came from Persis or the other eastern kingdoms in the empire, though an invitation for Axsen to attend Mithridates at Ctesiphon did arrive. The queen wrote back accepting the invitation whe
n her present onerous difficulties had been attended to.
‘You should have asked him to return to us all the Babylonians he took back to Ctesiphon as slaves after his recent visit,’ remarked Mardonius dryly.
With the evacuation of Babylonian territory by Narses’ army the task of rebuilding those areas laid waste by his army began. This involved Axsen receiving a seemingly never-ending stream of nobles and village headmen begging for aid from the royal treasury. I attended one such meeting a week after the queen’s coronation, the throne room crammed full of petitioners, guards and city officials. The intimidating figure of Nabu stood on the left side of the queen on the dais and Mardonius on the right.
The day was hot, airless and the crowded room was stuffy and began to reek of human sweat. Gallia and Praxima had taken themselves off to see a woman who lived in the south of the city who could apparently levitate off the ground from a cross-legged position. My father had already taken his leave of Axsen and was taking his men back to Hatra, a letter from Vata increasing the frown lines on his face with news of yet more Armenian incursions.
Orodes, ever the diplomat, had taken a keen interest in the affairs of Babylon and a delighted Axsen had invited him to act as an adviser with her high priest and Mardonius, and now he stood to the side of the old general listening earnestly as a headman implored the queen to send engineers to assist in the rebuilding of his village’s irrigation system.
So there I was standing like a fisherman in a boat without a net, as Axsen took the burden of kingship on her shoulders. I was daydreaming when I heard someone cough behind me. Turning, I saw a young woman in a low-cut white dress standing before me. Tall and shapely, she wore delicate white slippers on her feet and her shoulders were bare. Her skin was dark brown like her eyes and her complexion was flawless. She was certainly a beauty, the wife of a prominent noble no doubt, judging by the expensive perfume she was wearing.
‘Forgive me, highness, I have a message for you.’
‘A message?’
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 27