by Andrew James
Darius helped himself to flatbread and goat’s cheese from Parmys’s breakfast, but put it down after a couple of bites. His head ached and his stomach was sore from last night’s rough Edomite wine. He hadn’t had the heart to tell Parmys about the jewels yesterday. Now, when he did, she tilted her head and dropped her shoulders with a resigned little exclamation. ‘Grandfather Cyrus gave me those rubies when he conquered India. They were worth a small satrapy. But I am alive and free, and that is worth more.’
‘You will marry a rich man. He will buy you more jewels.’
‘But I want to marry you!’
Darius gave her an ironic look. Understanding, her laugh was like tinkling silver. ‘Oh, I see. And how will you become rich?’
‘Now that I’ve lost the estate your father gifted me, the only way is through war.’
She sat on a smelly goatskin rug in her shapeless tribal gown, feet tucked daintily beneath her. ‘I would rather have you poor but alive, than rich and dead. Even without jewels I am well provided for. I have plantations, orchards, croplands and forests. Four villages provide my shoes, twelve my gowns, five my scarves and tiaras. It’s enough. You need not risk your life fighting for more.’
‘You would marry a pauper?’
Parmys looked at him and sighed heavily. She paused, seemed to reach a decision, then said, ‘If I wanted a rich husband I’d have accepted Frada’s offer.’
Suddenly the blood was pounding wildly in Darius’s veins. ‘No!’
She came and put her arms around him. ‘I’m sorry, Darius. I kept quiet as long as I could. But there are dangerous times ahead. I needed to tell you. It would be wrong to trust him.’
Darius rested his forehead on his wrist and screwed his eyes tight. ‘Was it before we went to fight the Saka, or after?’
‘Both. His father made the offer to my father before you left and renewed it after you returned.’
Fired by sudden rage, Darius leapt up. He wanted to lash out but there was nowhere to vent the anger erupting inside him.
Parmys stepped back, never having seen him give in to dangerous emotions before. Though she surely knew he would never hurt her, there was shock in her eyes.
‘He did all this without encouragement?’ Darius demanded, hardly recognizing the jealousy that twisted his face and hardened his voice.
‘I swear it.’ She answered very calmly, as though afraid to provoke him further.
Unable to doubt the sincerity in her face, Darius’s breathing slowed. But as the jealousy ebbed it was replaced by pain. ‘For four days on the way back I carried him on my horse; I fought without armour so it could carry his weight. I went thirsty so he could drink. I starved so he could eat. Later, for the second time in our lives, we swore undying friendship. It was a bond I thought nothing could break.’ The pressure inside was so intense he could not bear it. He clenched his fists into balls and beat them against his thighs. ‘But all the while he was nursing the guilty little secret.’
He remembered Frada’s words in the tent when he had warned Darius against fixing his hopes on Parmys. ‘Bardiya was always going to marry her off to some rich noble … I just wouldn’t want you to be hurt if it happened …’ And before that, in the Saka cave: ‘I’ve not been a good friend to you, Darius .’ The signs were all there but Darius had missed them. ‘You cannot marry me, Parmys, for I am a fool. Only a fool could have missed something so obvious.’
Parmys pulled him to her. Responding to her touch, Darius let her cradle his head against her breast. ‘No, my love.’ She stroked the back of his neck. ‘You are not a fool. A little trusting perhaps, but that is a sign of a good heart. I would not want you any other way. Besides, I may know little of the bonds forged in war, but in the seraglio I have learned much about betrayal. When two men want the same woman a lifetime of friendship means nothing.’
Darius had been more certain of Frada’s friendship than anything in the world. If he was wrong about Frada, how could he be sure of Parmys? He had just risked everything to save her. Was that a mistake? Her eyes were honey flecked with gold. He looked into them, flitting back and forth, following his as he searched her face.
‘You cannot doubt me,’ she said, reading his thoughts. ‘We have loved each other as long as I can remember. That will never change.’
Darius recalled the innocent childhood friendship which, year by year, had deepened and matured into something different. The stolen hours together with her tablets of love poetry, the realization that the signs in the clay were not just words, that they described the feelings he shared with her. Remembering it all he wanted to believe Parmys. But the ground had just crumbled beneath him. All he felt was doubt.
Parmys understood his confusion. ‘Take me to Babylon. We shall worship together at Ishtar’s temple. There I shall demonstrate my love.’
‘You don’t owe me that.’
‘Owe it? Between lovers there are no debts. But it is time I gave myself to you. To prove you have my heart, I shall give you my body. Perhaps it will damn my immortal soul …’ She smiled, licked her lips and her eyes shone with that occasional wickedness Darius loved. ‘But for once in my life I shall be rash. Besides, what use is a soul, compared with a moment of pure pleasure?’
Babylon, twelve days later …
‘The streets are not really paved with gold!’ Parmys laughed, as they joined the throng pouring through Babylon’s blue-glazed Ishtar Gate.
‘You thought they were?’
‘I heard it from one of the seraglio eunuchs!’
‘Never believe a eunuch. If they had been paved with gold, your grandfather Cyrus would have stripped them bare long ago.’
Darius smiled at her as he spoke, and she smiled back warmly. With the threat of forced marriage lifted, everything Parmys did or said was filled with the careless grace of a light heart. Her happiness was beautiful to see. Ardu and Vivana had gone to explore Babylon’s famous bazaars – or perhaps its brothels, Darius didn’t like to ask in front of Parmys – tactfully leaving the two lovers alone in the largest, most cosmopolitan city in the world. Twice the capital of an empire, with a thousand years in between, Babylon’s incredible wealth was obvious to Darius from its astonishing buildings. Dominating a skyline of squat, square houses and palaces, a brick-built ziggurat rose with seven huge terraces stacked one above another, like a stairway to heaven. Parmys clutched Darius’s arm and pointed. ‘The Tower of Babel!’ she whispered. ‘And look, there, to the west, that green high up, the Hanging Gardens!’
Ignoring the trees his eyes went at once to the solid gold statue glittering on the highest terrace of the Tower. Staring out in perfect majesty over his city and its half-million inhabitants was the vast figure of Marduk, supreme god of Babylon.
Crossing the bridge to the west bank of the Euphrates they passed three bronze-gated temples, where priests with shaven heads, heavy clubs, kohl-blackened eyes and long grass skirts stood guard. In the north-west corner of the city was the sanctuary of Ishtar, goddess of love. Escaping the heat of the street they passed beneath a tall gateway into a shaded courtyard. Green with vines and scented with flowers, it cooled the sweat on Darius’s skin and made him mellow. Beside a fountain in the centre, two lithe priestesses wore smiles and short white dresses. The taller girl stepped forward, holding out her hands. ‘Welcome to the house of Ishtar, Mistress of Heaven, Lady of the Date Clusters. The goddess makes the world fertile. She is pleased that you have come.’
Parmys shyly lowered her eyes as Darius offered the priestess silver. Her bare feet were silent on the pavestones as she ushered them to an inner courtyard, where bunches of green unripe fruit hung down, and young couples moved softly among the vines. The outer ring of the courtyard was divided by curtains into small chambers alive with sounds of movement, laughter and pleasure. The priestess smiled gently at Parmys. ‘The goddess favours you.’ Taking Darius’s free hand she led them into a sweetly scented corridor, then a private side chapel. Darius’s eyes adjusted to the single
bronze lamp, revealing a large bed raised on carved wooden legs. In a niche above it was a statuette of Ishtar, flanked by an owl and a unicorn. Parmys sniffed delicately at a ribbon of white smoke that curled up from a bronze censer. The spiciness of cinnamon hung in the air.
When they were alone, Parmys stood facing Darius. He could smell the scent of her body rising through her linen gown, its heat bringing him a surge of warmth and tenderness. She looked up at him coyly. ‘When they heard about your visits the magi said I was a wanton, lustful girl.’
‘No, no, my love.’
Her eyes were wide. ‘But it is true, Darius! I have waited so long …’ With a slender finger she traced the line of Darius’s face; her soft lips brushed his. She reached behind her neck to untie a cord, narrowed her shoulders gently and her gown rustled to the floor. Beneath it she was naked. He ran his eyes over her body, light-headed with desire. Her lips parted and she took short rapid breaths. He reached out for her.
Half a day east of Babylon stood a caravanserai where merchants and travellers rested if they wouldn’t make the city by nightfall. Surrounded by a dusty plain, its tall curtain walls provided a secure place to stable a caravan and a bed for the night with good, simple food. Darius had stayed there many times. Every morning it emptied, as the overnight travellers left. Every afternoon it filled again with new arrivals. He chose the slack hour mid morning to leave. The staff were resting and there was no one else around.
Parmys came into the courtyard dressed as a youth, her hair clubbed at the nape of her neck and a heavy riding cape slung over her arm. Her eyes were rimmed red from tears of parting. A gust of wind ruffled her gown against the curves of her body, reminding Darius of their night together. Wondering how long it would be before he held her again, he draped the cape over her shoulders to disguise her shape. ‘This will do for now, but as soon as you can, find an armour corselet.’ There was a roughness in his throat at the thought of her journeying for months across the Empire. Every instinct told him to go with her, to defend her with his own sword, never let her out of his sight. But he knew his presence would bring her more danger. If he didn’t report back soon, Cambyses would send men to hunt him down, and finding Darius would lead them to Parmys.
If that happened her presence would be impossible to explain. Officially she was dead; raped and murdered by Arab raiders.
‘You are clenching your jaw and there is hatred in your eyes. You are thinking of my uncle Cambyses?’ Parmys asked softly.
Darius pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.
She touched his arm. ‘I will be safe, Darius. Ardu and Vivana are good men, both devoted to you. They will not let you down. And when I reach my father’s castle in Nashirmeh, his guards will protect me.’
‘Do they know what has befallen your father?’
‘Only the ones who found the body and the hazarapatish. Everyone else thinks he’s in hiding.’
Darius nodded. ‘Cambyses needs the Eastern levies to take to Egypt, so it suits him for men to believe Bardiya is alive. But as soon as the war’s over he’ll send an army to seize your father’s satrapies. Even Nashirmeh won’t be safe.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘Then what future do we have together? If I must leave the Empire or be killed?’
Darius knew she was right. As long as Cambyses ruled, she could never live openly under her true identity and they could never marry.
He had parted from Parmys to ride off to war many times, but never with the helpless fluttering that was in his chest now. Their bodies were touching, but Time and Fate were driving them apart, sending her to the heart of Asia and him to the depths of Africa. She loosened her grip and they linked fingers, knowing that nothing could keep them together.
‘I’ll come for you as soon as the war is over. It won’t be more than two years,’ Darius promised, hoping it was true.
Parmys nodded, but her eyes showed she realized he might never even reach the battlefield. The moment he set foot in Cambyses’ court he could be arrested for allowing her to be captured. She tilted her face up to his, her voice husky. ‘I love you, Darius,’ she whispered, and hugged him fiercely. ‘No matter what it takes, come back to me alive.’ Then she turned quickly and mounted the stallion Vivana was holding.
Darius followed with a heavy heart as they walked their horses out the courtyard. The Babylonian sun was warm on his back as he watched her draw a veil across her face against the dust of the road.
‘Darius!’ Her cry was muffled as she leapt from her horse. Tearing off the veil, she let it hang loose as she ran to him. In the silence of the dusty plain Parmys stood before Darius, agitated and breathless, cheeks flushed and lips parted. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it and shook her head.
Waiting for her to catch her breath he stood very still.
Parmys gripped his sword arm, sank her fingers into the hard muscle. Lifting her head she narrowed her eyes and chanted in a harsh, guttural language.
‘Let terror thunder above him
Let fear of your battle force shake him
Make the devastating whirlwind rise up against him
Set your arrow to your bow …’
Darius recognized the lines from the Babylonian saga of Ninurta and understood at once. ‘You want me to make war on the King of Kings?’
‘Kill him, Darius!’ Her voice had a hardness he had never heard. Her eyes blazed with her grandfather Cyrus’s fire. ‘Remove the curse blighting us and the Empire. Avenge my father’s death!’
Darius knew he should have been shocked, but all he felt was her unshakable faith in him, her belief that he could do anything he set his heart on, her certainty that he would never fail her. And he loved her for it all the more. He wasn’t yet a king, but she made him feel as powerful as one. Besides, he had known it would come to this ever since he decided to kidnap her, standing amidst the ruins and ghosts of Parsa. He had realized then that, in a world where men are greedy and a king has unlimited power, no man is free, no man is safe, unless he sits on the throne.
Parmys had calmed, and was watching him with trusting eyes. She had given herself to him, but if he wanted to keep her alive there was only one answer.
‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘I will kill him.’
Book Two
WAR
13
The Summer Palace, Ecbatana
Cambyses squinted at the treaty in front of him. Standing at the foot of the dais, Darius pressed his lips together, trying to relax the tight muscles in his shoulders. He had the feeling that Cambyses was surprised he had dared come back.
Cambyses shifted uncomfortably on his throne. Despite the ostrich feathers being wafted over his head, the sweat was pouring off him. Set high in the green misty mountains, the Summer Palace was normally cool, but this year something had gone wrong. The eunuchs in a semi-circle around the throne were drooping like wilting flowers. At their head the Chief Eunuch, Bagapata, was pressing a damp linen towel stinking of rosewater to his sweaty neck. Darius could smell the cloying scent ten paces away.
Cambyses lowered the clay tablet and addressed his court. ‘Two hundred talents, eh? Fools. I would have paid far more. These primitive tribes have no idea of the value of gold.’
Darius heaved a sigh of relief. The courtiers murmured empty phrases of congratulation. With a flick of an upraised hand, Cambyses ordered a eunuch scribe forward from behind the throne. The scribe walked in a half circle, never showing his back to the king, then prostrated himself on the floor. Cambyses held out the tablet, the scribe rose and took it to deposit in the Imperial archive, to join rows of similar tablets on wooden shelves going back to the start of Cyrus’s reign. As he backed away the king smiled at the tall blond Greek standing in the position of honour to his right. ‘When I sent you to contact the admiral,’ he told Darius, ‘I had no idea that this most famous of generals was also dissatisfied with Pharaoh. You have done well, son of Hystaspes. So well I may even let you live, despite your appalling loss of a royal pr
incess.’
With his life hanging in the balance, Darius knew better than to respond.
‘It is your good fortune that I never did like that niece of mine!’ The king threw back his head and laughed. ‘Too much beauty makes a woman proud, and once they’ve got the disease it’s a daeva of a job beating it out of them.’
There was another murmuring of sycophantic approval.
‘The question is, what do we do?’ Cambyses tapped his fingers against his ivory sceptre, looking at each of his counsellors in turn, savouring their suspense. ‘Most of you have met Stratekos Phanes here, and heard about his escape from Egypt. Now we know from him that Pharaoh Amasis is dead, should we send his son another princess … or bring forward the invasion? Phanes has been urging me to attack quickly, before the new Pharaoh gets to grips with his throne.’ Cambyses stared at his sceptre. ‘And I agree.’
A gasp went round the court. As the king drank in the shock and confusion, Darius recalled that only a few months ago he had said he needed two years to prepare for war. Now he wanted to attack straight away.
Cambyses’ generals covered their mouths with their hands to hide their dismay. Arms crossed angrily at his chest, Spadapati Otaneh’s red-gold eyebrows shot up. He began to sway irritably back and forth on the balls of his feet, the soft leather of his court slippers squeaking against the marble floor. Field marshall of the Spada – the Imperial army – Otaneh should have been consulted before that army was committed to war, but from the tightness of his expression Darius could see that he had not. Tall, lean, middle-aged, dressed in a pearl-flecked gown, Otaneh’s neatly curled red beard was shot through with grey and a mop of shocking red hair showed beneath his yellow felt cap. One of Cyrus’s old guard, he looked with stern disapproval at the new king, then gave Phanes a freezing glance. It was clear he blamed the Yauna Stratekos for this sudden, foolhardy decision. And when their eyes crossed the Greek’s mocking expression showed the dislike was mutual.