Blood of Kings
Page 37
The old woman gave another of her indulgent smiles. ‘What foolish things men are,’ she said gently. ‘Show them a beautiful woman or a shining crown and they are fired by sudden irrational desire, quite forgetting that it is impossible to have everything one sees.’
Looking chastened, Vinda smoothed the folds of his gown. ‘Yes, well, all I meant was that there are many men who might aspire to the throne.’
‘But few who would have the right, or the support, to take it,’ she chided him softly. Her eyes narrowed with sudden cruelty. ‘Especially if they have already shown themselves inept as leaders of men in battle.’
Vinda winced at her rebuke. Darius wondered how on earth she knew about the mutiny before the attack on the Two Lakes.
‘Whereas a man who could unite the house of Cyrus with the house of Arsama and the ancient kings by marrying the daughter of Bardiya would have wide support.’ Again she looked at Darius. ‘Through such a man, the royal houses of Parsa and Persia may yet become one.’
The camels arrived, led by a very uneasy contingent of the Great Chief’s warrior guard. Drawn by the sight of the strange animals, and the fact that the hated Persians were leaving, a hostile crowd gathered at the foot of the Temple Mount. The Persians stood at the top, anxiously looking down. Among the crowd Darius saw the Great Chief and several of his counsellors. He sensed their hatred.
But when the Prophetess appeared, the crowd fell to its knees. In full view she raised her hands over the Persians and blessed their journey, her voice carrying strongly. Then she was gone.
‘Remember your promise, Darius. Your life for the safety of my temple,’ had been her final words.
The small caravan trekked south, through the triple walls that defended the Temple Mount, past the date market and busy bazaar, then turned east towards Dakrur. To his right, Darius saw the date gardens that marked the boundary of Turquoise’s farm. He was relieved there was no sign of Turquoise. Another crowd had gathered at the foot of Dakrur Mountain, but shielded by the Prophetess’s blessing, no one dared harm the travellers.
Shortly after dark they passed the salt lake beyond Dakrur, shimmering beneath the moon as it rose over the desert. The scene was touched with great beauty, white crystals on the surface of the water glinting like silver and ice. At that moment Darius had an unshakable feeling that Parmys was in mortal danger. A shiver ran down his spine. The silver became white bloodless skin, the ice chilling fear. Later they came upon the bleached bones of a caravan, skulls smiling ghoulishly in the night air.
By morning, rocky desert had given way to a flat sand sheet, and the guide assured them there would be few dunes to climb on this ancient caravan trail. Leading them to secret watering holes, unencumbered by the baggage of a large army, their camels crossed the desert at speed. At the Two Lakes there were emotional scenes. Dadarshi broke down and wept for his lost brother, tears soaking into the sand where Zariadris’s camp had once been. Standing on the corpse-strewn sand below the stockade, where the Ammonian assault and the massacre had taken place, Darius and Vinda stared with blank incomprehension at so many dead. Among the corpses were men he had shared wine with, laughed and joked with. Men it hurt him to think were dead.
The remains lay in horrible decay, desiccated and shrunken after the summer dryness and heat. A few had been disturbed by birds or wild dogs, some had been partially buried by sandstorms, but most lay as they had fallen, arms flung out or clutching arrow wounds, brown mummified lips drawn back to reveal snarling agony, exposed bones whitening in the sun. Darius was staggered that he, Vinda and Dadarshi were the only survivors from fifty thousand men. ‘Why us?’ he murmured as he took in the carnage. It was hard not to feel chosen.
The thought brought Parmys back to mind. She must have heard of the army’s disappearance by now. She was a strong woman, she could be imperious and haughty but beneath it she had a tenderness that made Darius’s heart ache. When she got an idea into her head, nothing could get it out again. Like the time she had said he must take the risk of visiting her not just in the palace gardens but in her private apartments. ‘I want you to see where I live, and touch the things that are special to me,’ she insisted. ‘Then, whenever I touch them, I shall think of you.’ It was a romantic idea, but very dangerous. When Darius pointed this out she’d been genuinely surprised, telling him of her unshakable belief that he could never come to any harm. ‘I have to believe that,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I’d go mad with worry. But I know in my heart the gods are preserving you for some special purpose.’
Remembering this, Darius couldn’t help worrying about her. What would she do when she heard he was dead? That her unshakable faith had been wrong? Even if it didn’t drive her mad, she would suffer terribly. He longed to let her know the truth.
In a moment of shared grief Vinda and Darius were drawn together in comradeship. ‘We’ve come a long road since that dawn attack,’ Vinda murmured. To Darius’s surprise he had insisted on revisiting the outcrop of rock where they had first spied out the oasis.
‘We have. And we’re both older and wiser for it,’ Darius said, tactfully.
‘Yes, I’ve learned what I am, and what I am not. When we get back I think I shall marry and devote myself to farming my land. There are qanats to be dug and livestock to be improved. No more scheming at court.’ He sighed mournfully. ‘I truly believed Cambyses a friend until he refused our ransoms. After all I’ve done for him! The ungrateful bastard. I shall never forgive him.’
Darius arched his back and rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck as he watched Vinda kick angrily at a crumbling rock, scattering shards and dust into the air. He had a difficult choice to make, and he couldn’t put it off any longer. He fingered his akinakes reluctantly, hoping it would not have to be drawn. ‘So there will be no need to raise suspicions in Cambyses’ mind about Parmys and my friends, Ardu and Vivana …?’
Vinda’s eyes were blank with incomprehension. Then realization dawned, his mouth opened and his expression softened into a smile. ‘No. None at all.’
His face was open. Darius believed him. Relieved, he let his hand drop.
Vinda picked up a stone and hurled it towards the oasis. It fell far short, splashing in the sand. ‘Yes … the archers would have been hopelessly out of range,’ Vinda murmured to himself, as though settling a private debate. Suddenly he turned to Darius, shaking with suppressed anger. ‘I’m ashamed when I think of all the trickery I practised on Cambyses’ behalf! I played a greater part in putting him on the throne than you know. If I understand the Prophetess rightly, she wants you to oust him. Good on you. He’s a despicable, perverted drunkard. Make him pay!’
Darius nodded solemnly, showing nothing of the triumph he felt inside. If Vinda, a member of the Aryan old guard, could accept him as king, the idea of taking the throne was no hopeless dream.
Their guide turned back at the Two Lakes, leaving them to ride east, and that night they camped in the open desert beneath the stars. The night was cold, the moon due to rise late. When they had eaten and their camel-dung fire had burned low they sat in almost total darkness. It was so silent Darius could hear Vinda and Dadarshi shiver as they watched the smouldering ashes. ‘God it is lonely out here,’ Vinda said. ‘It feels like the emptiness goes on for ever, and we’re the only people in the world.’
‘A frightening thought.’ Dadarshi whispered the words, as though afraid to break the vast silence of the desert.
‘Put it out of your heads! Those thoughts just lead to panic. Ten days over there,’ Darius pointed towards Tistar, glittering just above the eastern horizon, ‘lies an oasis with over a thousand people. All we have to do is find it.’ Even so, the size, emptiness and deadly power of the desert were oppressive, like a weight pressing down on their shoulders. He shivered as he understood how Phanes’s army must have felt, trapped in the storm, blinded by the sand blowing around their faces, deafened by the roar and whistle of the wind, lonely and desolate as they died.
The palms
of the Northern Oasis swayed in welcome beneath a flawless blue sky. Soon after, Darius and Vinda were outside the walls of Memphis, hugging Dadarshi in a farewell embrace before he turned his camels north for Armenia, bearing the news of his brother’s loss. Darius remembered the first time they met, when he walked wearily into Phanes’s tent after scouting the desert for the missing supply cache. Dadarshi was leaner now, and older, but still retained that disconsolate look. They had fought together, suffered captivity together, and Darius had come to trust him as a friend. He was certain that one day they would meet again.
‘If ever you find yourself in Armenia, come and visit. You will always be welcome,’ Dadarshi had said, without making any effort to leave. Neither man wanted to break the spell cast by a year of shared danger. At last they clasped wrists. Darius gave the ritual farewell: ‘May Ahura Mazda be your friend, may your family be numerous, and may you live long.’
Darius and Vinda passed wearily through the gates of Memphis then stopped dead, appalled by what they saw. If anything the Prophetess’s warning had been an understatement. Darius took in the destruction. Corpses and wreckage strewed the streets, dark patches of blood stained the roads. A city takes years to recover from being sacked, but these scars were fresh, with newly burned houses charred and blackened, some still smouldering. A menacing stillness spoke of simmering violence waiting to boil over. Small squads of nervous Persian soldiers manned checkpoints while, just out of bowshot, Egyptian youths gathered with cloths tied across their faces and rocks in their hands. Drifting from the distance were snatches of shouting and chanting crowds.
Vinda looked around in horror. ‘God, what has Cambyses done? This place was peaceful and cowed when we left. Now it looks set to erupt.’
Following the route Phanes had taken when the city was captured, they walked their camels to the palace. Fifty or sixty paces in front of the palace gates was a tideline of dead Egyptians. Arrows and javelins thickly littered the ground, sticking upright like rows of corn in a field. Vinda reached over and grabbed Darius’s reins. ‘Stop, Darius!’
‘What is it?’
‘You report for duty if you must. I have no wish to see him.’
‘He’ll expect you.’
‘Tell him …’
A trumpet blared. The palace gates swung open. To the sound of rumbling chariot wheels, a team of white horses with purple plumes clattered into view, flanked by the King’s Spearbearers and mounted nobles. Darius and Vinda trotted their camels aside as hundreds of Pomegranate Bearers poured through the gate and formed up in ranks along the wide avenue. The chariot rolled forward, drew level with the two men and stopped. On the footplate stood Cambyses, dressed in shimmering cloth of gold.
Over the last year Cambyses had aged. Darius saw new lines on his face and noticed that the old ones were deeper. He was thin and drawn, the diadem on his brow slightly skewed. The king’s eyes settled on Darius with a start. Moving on to Vinda, he flung out his arm. ‘God, man! Where have you been?’
Vinda began to shake. ‘You … refused my ransom,’ he said softly.
Cambyses looked weary. ‘There has been constant war … it has depleted the treasury … If I paid twelve talents for any courtier who got himself captured I would have nothing left.’
‘I did not think I was just “any courtier”, Great King.’ Vinda spoke with dignity.
The king extended a bejewelled hand. ‘Come, join me on my chariot. We have a god to punish. You may take your choice of the gold from his temple, then we shall share some wine.’
Dangerously, Vinda declined the hand. ‘Your Majesty, I have spent a year among savage tribes in godawful heat. I am tired. I think … I need some time. Excuse me from court for a while. I would go back to my estates.’
‘Back to Persia? Not you as well, my oldest, most loyal friend! All my friends desert me. They are “sick”, or “tired”, or have “pressing affairs”.’
‘Look at me, Great King! My gown is falling from my shoulders. I am thin and worn through.’
Cambyses seemed not to hear. ‘Listen!’ He cocked his ear. ‘Can you not hear the singing? The drums and flutes in their barbaric tunes? Will you let them mock me, old friend?’
Vinda stared blankly.
Cambyses shouted at his soldiers, sweeping his arm wide. ‘Why do you let them get away with it? They strut in front of their idols! They bow before beasts!’ His voice rose to a shriek. ‘I have decreed against it! Do the decrees of the King of Kings mean nothing any more?’
Otaneh was mounted beside the king on a chestnut stallion with trappings of gold. He flinched at the outburst, turning his face away. Even the Pomegranate Bearers lowered their eyes.
Cambyses surveyed the stony faces around him. ‘Well, I’ll show you all! And I’ll show them! I will not be mocked!’ He cracked his whip savagely over the team. The chariot surged ahead. A thousand pairs of tramping feet reluctantly followed.
Vinda watched the king with a bitter face. Darius didn’t move.
Otaneh broke ranks and rode back to take Darius’s arm. ‘Come, Darius. And you, Vinda. It would not be wise to refuse him. He is vengeful these days, as many have learned to their cost.’
Pulling on the reins, Darius fell in beside Otaneh. With his eyes still fixed firmly on the king’s chariot, Vinda silently joined them.
‘Where are we riding?’ Darius asked.
‘To the Great Temple of Ptah. To visit a bull.’
‘A bull?’
‘This past month the Egyptians have been celebrating in the streets. They say a god has come among them in the shape of a bull. Cambyses thinks they are mocking him, celebrating the loss of his armies.’
‘And are they?’
‘I don’t know.’ Otaneh shrugged. ‘He’s tortured half the city elders to death but they insist their god is genuine. We’ll soon see.’
The temple precinct lay at the heart of the city, its perimeter wall curving into the distance around a vast, sacred lake. When they arrived there was a great commotion outside the main gate. A mass of about ten thousand Egyptians had gathered, singing, dancing and drinking. Discordant music filled the air.
Cambyses stared at the scene with furious intensity and gave Otaneh an order. ‘They flout my edict. Disperse them.’
‘It will mean bloodshed, Great King.’
‘Then shed blood!’
Otaneh hesitated before turning to an aide. The clear note of a trumpet sounded over the din. Archers loosed volleys into the crowd and five hundred Pomegranate Bearers lowered their spears and shields and charged. Trapped against the perimeter wall the crowd moaned as the arrows tore into them then stampeded before the spearmen, trying to escape into narrow side streets. Leaving the screaming behind, Darius, Otaneh and Vinda followed Cambyses past a giant stone-carved sphinx into the temple, where huge pylons flanked a series of gateways. Beyond them, columned courtyards receded to the Sanctuary. The courtyards echoed with the ring of iron and tramp of feet as the soldiers drew swords and advanced. There was a lighter clatter as white-kilted priests in palm-fibre sandals scuttled for safety, then the royal party was standing beneath a carved and painted portico, staring into a chamber bright with lamps and sweet with incense. Darius wrinkled his nose. Even incense couldn’t hide the rank farmyard smell that filled the air. Its horns overlaid with gold, golden amulets glittering on its neck and chest, a jet-black bull calf lay among fresh hay strewn on the marble floor. Beside it stood a manger of gold.
Cambyses stared in amazement. He walked up to the animal and poked it with his finger. ‘You call that a god?’
The high priest was a frail but haughty man with the usual shaven head and white linen kilt, and a golden pectoral on his chest studded with gems. He pointed at a white blazon on the bull’s forehead, in the shape of a diamond. Then at another on its back with the shape of an eagle. ‘See? It is Apis, Great King! Son of Ptah, god of the primaeval mound, who created the world by thinking it in his heart and naming it in his speech. Conceived by a
flash of lightning, Apis comes to bring us plenty!’
Cambyses watched him in incredulity, then looked at the other priests, his eyes searching feverishly for signs of mockery. Barely controlling his anger, he spoke through spittle-flecked lips. ‘Either you are deluded or you think I am a fool? That is no god, it is a bull, a thing of flesh and blood that will feel the prick of iron! Here, I’ll show you.’
He drew his sword. Knowing what would happen if he killed the bull, Darius dashed forward to try to stop him. ‘Great King, no!’
Cambyses ignored the warning, striking at its chest. Astonished at the sudden attack, the bull half rose and lurched forward. Missing its heart, the sword opened a red gash on its thigh and the beast gave a bellow of pain. Capering in front of it, Cambyses screamed in triumph. ‘See! See!’
Darius watched in horror as the wounded bull sank to its knees with pitiful moans, and tearful priests ran screaming from the temple to spread news of the sacrilege. Outside the discordant music had died, and in its place he could hear a full battle raging. Looking at the standards, he saw that more troops had been brought from the palace, and more Egyptians had joined the crowd. The shaven-headed priests went among them, wailing. Inflamed by the terrible insult to their god the crowd beat their chests and threw themselves singing on the Persians’ spears and swords.
For a while Cambyses watched his soldiers fighting, then nodding with satisfaction he turned away and gave orders to the eunuch at his side. ‘Strip the temple of gold and flog the priests.’ Forgetting his promise to Vinda he took the choicest pieces, mounted his chariot and rode back to the palace.
Before leaving the temple, Darius stopped in the deserted courtyard and listened. The sound of battle was still raging, but more menacing still was the sound of curses and bitter lamentations from the priests in the temple as the lash fell. Cambyses was right. They had to be deluded to think a bull was a god. But the priests would probably have said the Persians were deluded to worship Ahura Mazda, a god they could not see, hear or touch. Darius wondered; perhaps all men who worship gods are deluded? That didn’t make their religious fervour any less dangerous.