‘I will understand no such thing; the only thing that I will understand is: “will you please follow me; I will take you to the Great King’s tent and inform his steward that you have requested an audience”.’
The officer gave a wan smile, completely defeated. ‘Noble sir, please follow me.’
‘What if he detains you and holds you hostage?’ I asked Lucius as we waited to be called into the Great King’s presence, sipping a frothy drink that made our tongues tingle but was remarkably refreshing.
‘And why would Phraates do that?’
‘To put more pressure on Gaius to travel to the island first.’
‘And thoroughly annoy Augustus at the same time? He’d be mad to, just as he’s finally got a settlement with him that should hold for a generation or so and may even have secured the execution of his four half-brothers. No, Phraates will just listen to what I have to say and then he’ll take my advice and soon we can all leave here very happy, with the exception of that pompous arsehole, my brother Gaius. You will tell me, won’t you, if I start acting like one of those fifty-year-old men who have never led an army and never made the consulship and then puff themselves up within their dignity to disguise their lack of achievement in life?’
‘You can’t blame Gaius; it’s not his fault that Augustus gave him the power and position that no eighteen year old has ever had before.’
‘But it is his fault that he’s trading off relative dignities with the Great King of Parthia.’ He indicated to the vastness of the tent in which we were waiting – it was twice as large as any used by the Romans and served only as a waiting area before admission to the main audience tent. ‘What Gaius doesn’t understand is that the Parthians do things very differently to us. Look at this unnecessary extravagance; does Phraates really need such a large tent for us to wait and take refreshments in? Of course not; but he probably doesn’t even know that he’s got it. It’s his courtiers who do such things because the greater they make their king the more important they feel themselves to be. It’s about pride and pride is not going to let them allow their Great King to look inferior to an eighteen-year-old Roman no matter that he is the adopted son of the Emperor. Phraates knows that and so, therefore, won’t countenance going to the island first because to do so would be to show weakness, and weakness in a Parthian king is punishable by death at the hands of a usurper. Gaius, however, doesn’t have those constraints and should just be pragmatic and get on with it. No one here is going to laugh at him for waiting for Phraates. Rome’s power won’t be diminished because little Gaius had to hang around on an island for an hour of two; Augustus isn’t going to admonish him just because he blinked first. No one in Rome gives a fuck.’
A chamberlain entered, softly clearing his throat as he pushed the curtains aside and glided in. ‘The King of Kings, the Light of the Sun, Lord of East and West and Terror of the North has deigned to admit you into his presence.’
‘How gracious of him,’ Lucius said without a hint of irony before adding, under his breath so that only I could hear: ‘And now I shall deign to show the proud bastard a way to save his bearded face.’
There was a general murmur of disapproval as neither Lucius nor myself even so much as bowed our heads let alone made the full prostration on our bellies before Phraates as protocol dictated. The chamberlain who, whilst escorting us into the royal presence, had insisted that we made the proskynesis looked up at us aghast as we stood before the king, next to his prone form, no doubt terrified that he would get the blame for such uncouth manners. Lucius might have complained about Gaius’ standing too much on his dignity but he was not about to grovel before an Easterner, whatever the cost, especially one who was only a couple of years older than him. Phraates, however, seemed unconcerned about the lack of protocol; in fact he seemed unconcerned about anything as he sat on his high throne staring with dull eyes and a vacant expression into the middle distance somewhere above our heads. His beard, its sparseness betraying his youth – he was eighteen at the time – had been dyed purple and his shoulder-length, ringletted hair was held in place by a golden kingly diadem encrusted with rubies and pearls. Nothing about his countenance gave any indication that he had noticed our arrival in a pavilion that more than did justice to the size of the antechamber. Its sides were raised to allow a cooling breeze to waft between the many carved wooden poles that supported the lofty roof; all over the floor carpets were strewn of such intricate weave and variance of colour that each one seemed to be a work of art in itself. And within its expanse, having all performed the full proskyneses, stood the nobility of Parthia.
Standing next to the throne was a man of very advanced years; he was leaning on a staff, his back bent by time that had also thinned his beard and hair and reddened his eyes. ‘What brings you across the river, Lucius Julius Caesar? Why do you disturb the Light of the Sun’s peace?’
Lucius stood erect and looked directly at the king as he responded to the king’s mouthpiece. ‘We hope that we do not inconvenience the Light of the Sun; on the contrary, we have crossed the river to offer a solution to a problem and help ease his mind.’
There was a flicker of interest in the otherwise immobile face of the Great King.
‘Then speak,’ the mouthpiece ordered, ‘so that the Light of the Sun may judge your words.’
Lucius paused for a few moments, looking down at his hands clasped before him, as if considering how best to frame his words to the Great King. ‘There are times when for the sake of appearances, appearances need to be changed. The Light of the Sun will not travel to the island before my brother Gaius who, in turn, will not travel to the island before the Light of the Sun. Now, whatever the rights and wrongs of this situation may be, it leaves us with an impasse that will result in the treaty negotiated between our two great powers not being signed whilst we sit here in the sweltering heat achieving nothing. I therefore have a proposal: Gaius will travel to the island if the Light of the Sun appears to have already arrived on it. All that has to happen is that the Great King’s entourage and banners cross the river; when Gaius sees that he will think he has won the standoff and will sail over, at which point the Light of the Sun can embark and arrive after him.’ Lucius spread his hands and raised his eyebrows to emphasise the simplicity of the plan and all eyes turned to Phraates for his reaction.
It was slow in coming and was surprising when it did finally arrive: Phraates looked at his mouthpiece and asked his opinion.
The mouthpiece stepped forward. ‘I cannot countenance this; it would mean that I and all of your obedient servants would have to be parted from your presence and wait for the arrival of a puppy of a Roman—’
‘Your dignity is not the issue here, old man!’ Lucius pointed a finger at the mouthpiece. ‘The Light of the Sun asked you what you thought of my suggestion, not whether you found it personally convenient.’
The mouthpiece recoiled at the harshness of the rebuke from one so young and looked imploringly at his master; Phraates remained staring blankly ahead, focusing on nothing.
Lucius pressed him. ‘Answer, old man: would you have your master take my advice at the expense of some personal inconvenience to yourself or would you have him keep your dignity intact and walk away from this place to be known as the Great King who was bested by an eighteen-year-old Roman?’ The sudden, communal intake of breath at the implication that the Great King was anything other than infallible almost whistled in my ears and all eyes went to Phraates to gauge his reaction.
Phraates gave an almost imperceptible nod as the corners of his mouth twitched into what could be deemed to be a smile. ‘Go, son of Augustus, and have your men watch the river soon after dawn tomorrow.’
Again, against all protocol, we turned our backs on the Great King to go.
‘But your friend stays here as surety. If I arrive on the island to find Gaius not there I will depart immediately leaving him behind, alone and impaled.’
I felt Lucius tense beside me and cast me a sidelong
glance before he turned back to face Phraates. ‘If you wish someone to stay then let it be me, Light of the Sun.’
‘If I was to force you, a son of Augustus, upon a sharpened stake then we would return to war. However, who would mourn a relative nobody from the dark northern forests – except you, perhaps, Lucius Julius Caesar, seeing as you have been companions now for five years or so. Now go!’
Stunned by the accuracy of the Great King’s information, Lucius opened his mouth to speak and then, thinking the better of it, turned and left the pavilion, leaving me astounded by Phraates knowing who I was.
‘You will dine with my mother and me at my table this evening, Erminatz,’ he said as he rose from his throne, compounding my astonishment by using my Germanic name. Everyone within the pavilion abased themselves before the erect Great King; in my confusion I found myself upon my belly.
We had eaten in near silence for the best part of an hour, entertained by discordant – to my ears, at least – music, created by a variety of pipes, odd-shaped harps and softly struck drums that could change in pitch. I remember feeling a little uncomfortable as, having brought no other clothes, I was still in uniform. The one thing that I had found strange was that his mother was not present as he had claimed she would be; indeed, the company – a dozen, including the mouthpiece – was solely male, but then I reasoned that was only natural as the Parthians are even more assiduous at keeping their women hidden from view than the Greeks. However, the food was sumptuous as one would expect at the table of the King of all the Kings of the Parthian empire. Small white grains that I had never seen before, light in texture, mixed with dried apricots and raisins and nuts, green in hue, served with roasted lamb so tender that the first taste caused me to salivate liberally; there were also stews of chickpeas with …
‘I think we can skip all this, Tiburtius,’ Thumelicatz said, interrupting the old slave; none of his four Roman guests seemed to object. ‘I think you’ll agree, gentlemen, that listing the menu and then giving descriptions of Parthian table manners and dinner dress is irrelevant to our purposes.’ He took the scroll and scanned down it. ‘The one thing of interest is that my father describes how Augustus had given a Greek concubine of outstanding beauty to Phraates’ father, another Phraates, the fourth of that name, as part of the negotiations over the return of the Eagles lost by Crassus at Carrhae. This woman, Musa, soon became Phraates’ favoured wife and he made her son his heir. Musa then persuaded Phraates to send his other sons to Rome as hostages required by a further treaty, seventeen years later. Once all the possible rivals to her son were in Roman hands she poisoned the Great King and put her son on the throne to become the fifth king named Phraates. That in itself is not very interesting or remarkable; what is of interest is what had happened after.’ He handed the scroll back to Tiburtius, pointing to a line. ‘Start from here.’
Phraates wiped his fingers and then put his hand to his chest and gave a huge belch, which in Parthia signals contentment and repletion; all the other diners followed his lead, almost drowning out the music as slaves moved solemnly around removing the remnants of the meal.
Once due appreciation of the meal had been shown, Phraates noticed me for the first time that evening. ‘I know, Erminatz, a surprising amount about the various hostages currently in Rome; my half-brothers, you see, are part of that community and I have agents constantly watching them and they report back to me not only on their doings but also on the others. I’m aware that you and Lucius cause mayhem in Rome and Augustus does nothing to stop you; nor indeed does he even believe the reports of your behaviour. I know that you are the son of Siegimeri, the king of the Cherusci, and that if you manage to return to your homeland you will be king after him. I know, also, that you and your younger brother, Chlodochar, are no longer on speaking terms because you consider him to be too Romanised and therefore conclude that you do not consider yourself to be so. I therefore think it safe to assume that you are, despite your friendship with Lucius Julius Caesar, no friend of Rome’s. Am I right?’
Astounded by the perception of this youthful monarch, I hesitated a good few moments before giving my answer, judging that my position would be more secure if I told him the truth; he would be less likely to have me perching atop an impaling stake should Gaius not get to the island first if I was Rome’s enemy. However, I answered cautiously. ‘If I come into my rightful inheritance, Light of the Sun, then my duty will be to my people.’
Phraates smiled and lifted his bejewelled goblet in a toast to me. ‘That is the answer of a man who suspects that Augustus has ears everywhere; even in this tent. But, although I can assure you that nothing said here will go any further, I won’t press you on the matter. Suffice it to say that I feel that we could be friends.’ With a fractional twitch of his right hand he dismissed the other guests who, bowing low, backed away from the royal presence; only the mouthpiece stayed.
Once the guests had left the tent, a curtain behind Phraates was pulled aside; a woman entered and I almost exclaimed aloud at the sight of her beauty. It was quite literally breath-taking. Her long, silken robes disguised any movement in the lower half of her body, making her seem to glide. Her head was lowered and she did not raise her cosmetically outlined eyes but I could see enough of her face to desire her fervently even though she was more than twice my age. Her skin was pale as the dawn on the first day of the coming of the Ice Gods in May. Her mouth, petite but with full lips, contrasted with her cheeks as an early blooming rose with the Ice Gods’ frost; it had a petulant set to it as if defying you to deny her slightest whim. But it was her hair, piled high and bound by a band of silk with the fringes woven intricately back through that band to make a coiffured diadem around her head, that, despite the beauty of her face, drew the eye: golden-red as the rising sun over a frozen lake; gold but mixed with copper and burnished to a brilliance that I felt that to touch it would be to touch the most precious thing in this Middle-Earth.
And I was not the only man in the room to be entranced. As she approached, Phraates, for all his aloofness, staring into space, could not keep his eyes from her. He rose from his couch and held out his hands for her to take as she drew near. He looked down at her and sighed as if amazed by a beauty that he beheld for the first time; her eyes rose to meet his and they were filled with love and desire that made them warm despite their ice blue paleness. He stroked her cheek and bent to kiss her, their lips touched and parted and I had to tear my gaze away for fear of the jealousy rising in me for this king’s possession of such a woman. I looked, instead, at the mouthpiece, old and wrinkled and smiling at me as if he knew what I was feeling and was revelling in it because those urges came no longer to his withered loins.
‘Mother, have you spent the day well?’
My head whipped round to see who had spoken those words; but there were only the four of us present.
‘Yes, my son,’ the woman said. ‘But I have been counting the hours until this moment.’
I hoped the horror could not show on my face as the truth of the matter hit me.
‘Erminatz,’ Phraates said while still gazing into her eyes, ‘this is my mother, Musa. When she heard that you were accompanying Lucius she requested that she meet you if you seemed to be suitable for our purposes.’
‘I am honoured,’ I replied, my voice hoarse.
Musa left her son’s arms and reclined on a couch; she indicated that I should do likewise as Phraates made himself comfortable next to her. The mouthpiece’s smile had disappeared and he was once more a picture of courtly solemnity.
Musa studied me for a few moments, as if weighing my character; I felt uncomfortable under her gaze as I tried not to imagine the acts that she and her son indulged themselves in. ‘You know what it’s like to be taken from your home and forced to live elsewhere, do you not, Erminatz?’
‘I do, er … my lady.’ I was unsure how to address an incestuous queen.
Musa did not seem overly concerned about the exactness of her title. ‘I was ta
ken from my home in Corinth twenty years ago by Augustus. I was freeborn and, despite my youth, the most successful hetaira in my city, charging a small fortune for an evening of my company. My mother had been a celebrated hetaira and had brought me up well in the art of pleasing men. But beauty is Janus-faced and when rumour of mine reached the Emperor’s ears he took possession of me, despite my freeborn status, and gave me away to a foreign king to secure a deal as if I were no more than a vulgarly painted ornament or a performing monkey.’ She paused and stroked her son’s beard, whilst smiling at me. ‘I suppose you’re wondering what complaints I could possibly have: I’m the mother of the Great King and we rule jointly; I have more power and wealth than I could ever have hoped to gain back in Corinth.’
In more ways than one, I thought.
Musa’s eyes hardened. ‘My pride was stolen. Control over my body was taken from me. Rather than live in a world full of men whom I could pick and choose at will, a different one every night, sometimes returning to a few favourites whether for their sexual performance or their conversation – a hetaira is not just a prostitute, you know?’
I did not but nodded anyway.
‘The skills of our profession are in the whole span of the evening’s entertainment: refined conversation, music-making, dancing as well as the sensual acts that make men part with their money in a way that I’ve always found amusing. But what use are these skills if one is suddenly thrust into a world of women, into the realm of the harem? A world that revolves around only one man, where all the women compete jealously for his attention, his favour and just one night to be given the chance to become pregnant and bring a boy-child into the world; a child who will be your tool to rise above the other women. And I took my chance and became pregnant and over the years wormed my way up the hierarchy using my son as my weapon until I disposed of all my rivals, all other possible heirs and then even of the Great King himself. But there is still one thing that I haven’t disposed of and that is the cause of my loss of pride: Rome. Rome that traded me for her own self-interest in order to get back the Eagles lost at Carrhae. And now she has had them returned I want to take them back again.’
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