by Andrew James
Darius’s voice was carefully neutral. ‘One hundred talents? That is a great sum.’
Phanes’s eyes were cold. ‘They say the King of Kings has treasure houses in Pathragada, Babylon, Sardis and Susa each running into thousands of talents of gold, and smaller stores at Ecbatana and Damascus; that the tribute from the subject nations runs to eight thousand talents of silver a year, and India alone sends him three hundred and sixty talents of gold dust. Will Cambyses baulk at one hundred talents of gold in return for the riches of Egypt?’
‘You seem remarkably well informed …’
Someone shouted outside as with rushing feet a group of men trying to leave ran into a group trying to enter. A scuffle broke out. Someone swore. Several drinkers called for quiet. The landlord rushed over to enforce peace carrying a wooden cudgel but was shoved in the chest by a tall blond man brandishing a dagger, who slashed his face open from ear to jaw and pushed him away screaming. The floor was slick with the landlord’s blood. Someone slipped, shouting as they fell.
In the corner behind Phanes, two remaining drinkers leapt up, drew long knives and threw themselves at his back. Phanes was between Darius and them. Raising his arm to point Darius shouted a warning. With a screech of wood on stone, Phanes spun round on his stool and leapt aside as the blades slashed in, one nicking the top of his shoulder, blood dripping onto his bare chest as he faced his attackers, jewelled dagger in hand. The attackers dropped into low fighting crouches, blades weaving. Shouting, they lunged together. Phanes stepped aside and caught one knifeman’s arm, pulling him off balance. His jewelled dagger flashed and the knifeman jerked back, inhaling sharply. The dagger flashed again. The breath turned to a scream and the scream to a choking gurgle as the attacker’s throat gaped open. Twisting his shoulders, Phanes directed the falling body at the second knifeman who staggered back under its weight. Vivana tripped him, backhanding across his mouth as he fell. Holding the man by the neck Vivana looked at Darius, who nodded. Drawing his dagger Vivana cut the man’s throat.
Running footsteps crashed behind them. Darius turned, to see the scuffle at the doorway was over. Eight armed men had pushed inside and were charging across the hall scattering terrified drinkers in their path, knocking over stools and tables, beer mugs skittering along the ground or bursting into shards. Next to Darius, Ardu looked around. The main door was cut off, the door behind the bar too far away. ‘Where do we go?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘We don’t.’ Darius drew his sword, moving to stand alongside Phanes as he confronted the charging swordsmen. Ardu and Vivana quickly followed.
Phanes stood legs slightly apart, dagger in hand, ice-blue eyes blazing. The attackers stopped short and lowered their gazes, unable to withstand his cold fury, and for a heartbeat no one moved. From the fear on their faces at their stratekos’s anger Darius thought they might throw down their weapons, but a single man with cropped hair and bull-like neck screamed a Greek battle cry and charged, followed by the rest.
Two came at Darius with long Greek swords. He lunged. They backed up then came forward together. Darius blocked one, swords clanging, but missed the second. The tip of the blade opened a stinging cut on Darius’s forearm as he pulled away. Lips pressed together in satisfaction, the Greek sucked in pock-marked cheeks and thrust again. Darius gave ground. They both thrust together. Again Darius gave ground, feeling his back hit the wall. The Greeks thrust together a third time, their heavy swords threatening to skewer him against the wall. In Darius’s right hand the curved Babylonian blade pivoted in the air and struck. Iron screeched against iron and a Greek sword turned aside. In a single, smooth motion Darius stooped down and scooped up a stool with his shield hand to block the second, bracing his arm as the blade thumped into wood. The first sword hissed again. Darius caught it on his, rolled his wrist and forced it out, then chopped inwards, opening a red gash along the side of the swordsman’s neck. As he fell Darius rammed the wooden stool into the second man’s face, smashing his teeth. The Greek staggered back with his hands to his mouth, blood gushing from between his fingers. Darius drove his sword up behind the man’s ribs and pulled it out, then straightened up and surveyed the scene. Vivana and Ardu had put down a swordsman each, and Phanes was standing over two bodies, chest heaving, blood dripping from his dagger. One of the Greeks moaned and started to rise. Vivana stamped viciously on his neck. The man lay still.
The door slammed as the last two attackers fled. Darius wiped his sword, sheathed it and stood over the bodies. From their brown hair, strong builds and Greek weapons it was clear they were Phanes’s mercenaries. Furious that the stratekos had allowed himself to be followed – endangering them all – Darius said contemptuously, ‘Your men fight like girls, Stratekos.’
Phanes’s eyes burned with hatred. ‘They wanted us alive,’ he snarled. Bringing his anger under control he put his sword arm around Darius’s shoulders. ‘You’re right, Darius. I was careless. I got word of your coming at short notice and didn’t have time to take proper precautions. But you impressed me. If all Persians fight like you, I’ll know which side to back.’ He kicked over several corpses and stared at the faces. ‘The fuckers have done me a favour. Half the troublemakers I mentioned are dead.’
Darius told Phanes that if a hundred talents was his price for bringing his men over, Cambyses would pay it. As a token of faith he handed him a purse of gold staters minted in Cyzicus. Popular with Greek traders, the coins wouldn’t stand out. ‘You can contact us through the admiral.’
Phanes palmed the gold, then strode casually from the beerhouse still covered in blood. Darius raised his eyebrows. Plainly the residents of Pelusium would not be surprised at the sight of the bloodstained Greek.
The setting sun was painting the coastal mudflats sparkling red as the three Persians washed at the beerhouse’s well. Vivana carefully wiped his sword dry and sheathed it. ‘Will he come?’
‘He’d sell his own virgin daughters into slavery for a hundred talents of gold. But whether his men will join him …’ Darius gestured at the bodies on the floor. ‘I’d say no.’
‘I agree,’ Ardu said forcefully. ‘The man’s a snake.’
‘So you didn’t like him, then?’ Vivana asked, with a rare smile.
Ardu made a face. ‘He’s Greek.’
As dusk fell they headed east, Pelusium’s walls bright with torches behind them. Above the walls, sentries walked the battlements. The spring night was cool on Darius’s skin, the last of the day’s heat already lost from the sand. They lit a fire and settled around it, sharing a skin of wine. As the drink warmed Darius’s throat he lay back and sighed, relieved to be out of that brash land with its noisy, half-dressed men, sweet barley beer and garish temples. He thought about the task ahead. It was time to find Parmys.
But should he go alone? His two friends had fought well today. Ardu had quickly overcome his initial fear, and Vivana had been a natural, the sword strokes crisp and precise, his kill clean. Was it fair to take them? They were young, Ardu barely eighteen and Vivana little more than a year older. They would rush into danger without thinking of the consequences. If they came, they might well regret it.
For the first time since that morning, Darius allowed his thoughts to focus on Parmys. There was a danger she was dead. Or that she was alive, but so hurt it would be better …
He forced those images aside. There was no point being morbid. Soon he would know.
12
The Sinai Desert was a rock-strewn inferno, where thorn bushes dotted the ground and tamarisk trees raised dusty branches against a burning sun. From Sinai, Darius led his friends back into Edom, land of purple rock. Harsh light transformed the dry river valleys and weathered mountains into a savage, broken landscape. A bird of prey mewed above them on sharp wings, its cinnamon-barred plumage crisp against the blue of the sky. Joined by its mate they circled the hills, calling a high-pitched kek-kek-kek that sounded like a warning.
Thirty black goat-hair tents stood in the valley below, p
itched around a stone-built well. Horses grazed spring grass, pushing up through sand and stones. Apart from tails swishing against flies, nothing moved. ‘They’re sleeping,’ Darius said as he scanned the camp. ‘Though the fools should have posted a sentry.’ He shook his head in despair at the laxness of the tribesmen. ‘Come on.’
Ardu grabbed his arm, panic in his voice. ‘Wait, Darius! We can’t just attack! Those tents could be packed with warriors. And how do you even know she’s there?’
His hands light on the reins, Darius walked his horse down the slope as it flattened into the valley floor. Ardu and Vivana hung back, talking urgently. At last, realizing he wasn’t going to stop, Darius heard them kick their horses into a trot behind him. Ardu was spluttering, torn between calling out and fear of waking the tribesmen.
One tent was larger than the others, the coarse cloth along one side turned up and folded over the roof. Darius turned towards it and saw a shadowy figure inside. As he jumped down from his horse, his heart began to pound.
Something rustled inside, a hand appeared through the opening of the tent, then a sleeve, followed by a slender body ducking out and straightening up. Parmys was sipping frothy goat’s milk from a red and black clay bowl, dressed in a loose black tribal gown. Seeing him, she dropped the bowl and flew into his arms. ‘Darius!’ she cried. ‘When Hadar said you had gone to Egypt …’ He caught her and held her, emotion filling his chest. Their mouths met, his eyelids blinking closed to hold back the tears. He squeezed her tight, pulled back to look at her. There was more flesh on her bones, and even without face paint her skin was clear, her eyes bright. He gazed into them, then put his forehead to hers, feeling the tremble of her body and not caring that he too was shaking.
‘Thank you, Darius.’ She touched his cheek. ‘I know how much you are risking.’
Darius felt a wave of remorse. ‘I betrayed my men and some of them died. It’s the worst crime an officer can commit. Even if Cambyses never finds out, the guilt will stay with me for the rest of my life.’
‘Why did you do it?’ she asked softly.
Darius took her hand. ‘You know why.’
‘Yes, I know. And thank you.’ She squeezed his hand and gave him a lingering kiss.
Lifting Parmys’s feet off the ground with sheer exuberance, he swung her round and saw that Ardu and Vivana had dismounted and were watching with their jaws hanging open.
‘You … you … arranged the kidnap?’ Ardu stammered.
‘Yes,’ Darius admitted.
Ardu’s heavy brows creased. ‘You should have told us! We might have been killed.’
Darius saw the young man’s anger, and knew he didn’t understand. ‘I had to put Parmys first.’
Ardu pointed at him with an outstretched hand. ‘You’ve turned us into rebels against the Great King, and we didn’t even know!’
‘If I had told you, would you have refused?’
‘That isn’t the point.’ Ardu’s voice filled with resentment. ‘You should have given us the choice.’
Darius remembered the endless agonizing he had endured as he searched for ways to rescue Parmys. The sleepless nights as he tormented himself with thoughts of those he would hurt. Did Ardu believe he hadn’t bothered to think it through? Or hadn’t cared? But one glimpse of the misery Parmys was in and Darius had known he had no choice. For her, no price was too high, even if it meant a lifetime of remorse. Irritated at Ardu’s presumption, he pulled away from Parmys and confronted his friend. ‘One day you’ll know love for a woman. Why it’s worth any sacrifice, any risk.’
Ardu remained stony-faced. ‘Until then, I’ll think my friend and cousin has used me.’
‘Damn it, Ardu! How could Vinda believe the kidnap was genuine unless everyone else did? Now he’ll report that Parmys was taken by force, no one will expect to find her and she’ll be free from Pharaoh.’
‘How do you know we won’t tell Cambyses?’
Darius tried to check his quickening anger. He stepped towards Ardu. ‘Because I trust you.’
Ardu laughed harshly and flung up his hands. ‘Not enough it seems!’
‘I’ve told you, no one knew!’
‘You didn’t warn Parmys?’
‘Absolutely not! Ask her yourself.’
‘It is true, Ardu,’ she said. ‘I was horrified when Darius just stood there. I knew he wasn’t a coward, I could not understand why he was giving in so easily. I thought …’ She looked at Darius archly. ‘I thought that all these years I had been wrong, and you did not really love me.’
Darius touched her shoulder reassuringly.
‘It was only when we were far from the camp and an Arab called Hadar untied me, apologized and claimed to be Darius’s friend that I realized what had happened.’ She gave Darius a smouldering look. ‘I was cursing you! I had never been more terrified. I thought they …’
Darius hugged her. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to all of you! I just did what had to be done, and hoped you would all understand.’
Ardu stood hands on hips, chin thrust forward aggressively. Sweat ran through the dust on his forehead and his face was flushed. ‘I understand that you deliberately risked our lives! And thought an apology was all it would take to make things right. But it’s not that simple.’ He jabbed a finger. ‘Sometimes you’re a hard bastard, Darius. You know that if Cambyses finds out we knew – and said nothing – he won’t only bury us alive, he’ll bury our parents, brothers and sisters too.’
‘Is that a threat, Ardu?’ Darius stood square to his cousin, barely resisting the urge to touch his sword. Parmys’s eyes were on him, afraid things were getting out of control.
Darius’s sense of triumph was turning to ashes. Everything was in danger of unravelling. Silently he cursed his own ineptitude. It had been a mistake to bring his friends and now he had to face up to it. He’d do whatever was necessary to protect Parmys, but he fervently hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The guilt of the dead guards was bad enough. If he had to kill his own cousin it would haunt him for ever.
Ardu’s voice cracked with pain. ‘My parents, Darius! What do I do if Cambyses finds out …?’
‘Cambyses cannot find out … unless someone here tells him. No one except us knows.’
‘Not even Frada?’
Ardu spoke the name with such dark emphasis that Darius paused, frowning. Why had Ardu asked about Frada? He dismissed the thought. ‘Not even Frada.’
Looking relieved, Ardu let his arms fall to his side. ‘Kinship and friendship both dictate I keep your secret, Darius. But next time don’t treat me like a child.’
Darius turned to Vivana. He liked and respected the young soldier and hoped Vivana liked and respected him in return. But Vivana’s face rarely gave much away, and this was a huge, dangerous secret, far beyond the bounds of duty. ‘I know I should have told you as well, Vivana. You’re entitled to be angry.’
Vivana’s eyes sparkled. ‘Well, sir, if it were Cyrus it might be different. He were a proper soldier …’ The corners of his mouth crinkled into what might have been a smile. ‘But you’ve been good to me, and Cambyses is a piece of shit, so your secret is safe. Begging your pardon, Dukshish.’
When both men came and clasped his wrist Darius felt good. There were four people in the world he thought he could trust.
The day was still young when the ground rumbled and armed men rode into the valley, tasselled scarves drawn across faces, just their eyes showing. Continuing at a hard pace into the middle of the camp, one rider waved a spear as he urged his grey Arabian stallion at Darius, its hooves striking loudly as it galloped. Darius moved away from Parmys, putting her out of danger, and stood his ground, his fingers tensing on his sword as he calculated distances and angles to bring the rider down. The hooves grew louder, the horse closer, sweat glistening on its flanks, its animal smell filling Darius’s nostrils. At the last moment it swung away. The rider whooped wildly, pulled off his veil, jumped down and thrust his spear butt into the ground.
/> ‘My brother! Three times welcome!’ Hadar spread his arms wide in greeting and hugged Darius then kissed his cheeks. ‘Come,’ he shouted to his men as they circled the Persians, waving a brown hand at the five white oryx carcasses slung over spare mounts. ‘Why are you waiting? Butcher them! Tonight we feast.’
On a blood-soaked patch of ground near the tents, Hadar ran a finger along savagely pointed horns. Cleavers rose and fell amidst the sound of splintering bone. ‘Oryx are rare in these parts and their flesh is sweet. Speaking of sweet flesh, now I have seen your woman I understand why you had to save her. My men also wanted her, but I swore to cut out their hearts if they even thought of it.’ He touched his right hand to his own heart.
Darius looked at the long, strangely delicate fingers, remembered the Arab’s hand stroking Parmys’s thigh and felt a surge of anger. ‘And I would have cut yours out if you had let them,’ he said harshly.
Hadar stiffened, then smiled a smile of such warmth it could only be genuine. He clapped Darius on the back. ‘It is good that we are friends, so we need not fight.’ When the smile passed, shame crossed his face. ‘Alas, her jewels I could not save.’
Darius’s jaw clenched tight at the Arab’s duplicity. ‘That isn’t what we agreed. We said you take the gold from her tent, she keeps the jewels.’
Hadar shrugged, palms raised to the sky. ‘My men were hungry for plunder. Having denied them a princess I could hardly deny them the jewels too. After all, they risked their lives.’
‘It riles me when a man goes back on his word.’
The Arab’s smile hardened. ‘Come, friend. Feast, drink, sleep safely tonight. No, it is not what we agreed but there are fifty of us and three of you … Is it wise to fight? If it was your pretty woman I was taking, you would fight to the death. I know this. But for a handful of stones? I think not, however pretty.’