Parthian Shot (Marcus Corvinus Book 9)

by David Wishart

  ‘How did he feel about the situation?’

  Phraates set his cup down. ‘Corvinus, I’m sorry, but this is getting rather too personal for my comfort. What Damon feels or felt isn’t relevant. If I had married his mother after my wife’s death then yes, under Parthian law it would have made him legitimate retrospectively, but that would have been a technicality. He could never have been a serious candidate for the Great Kingship. Besides, the question of his legitimacy is academic. Even if Damon were of pure royal blood through the male and female line he would, now, still be ineligible. He knows this himself.’

  ‘Yeah? Why’s that?’

  ‘Another rule governing the choice of a Great King is that the candidate must be whole and unblemished. Two months ago Damon got himself involved in a silly knife-fight and lost most of a finger.’ Phraates’s lips tightened. ‘As I say, being maimed makes no real difference to his prospects, but it does put the seal on things. No; Damon is not eligible for the kingship; not even – now – in his own mind. He knows that as well as I do. Now I’d be grateful if you’d leave him, please. We have plenty of other things to discuss.’

  ‘In a moment. Just one more question?’

  I was working on the edge here, and I knew it. Phraates had stiffened. ‘If you must,’ he said. ‘But only one.’

  ‘He was at the dinner party. If he doesn’t have...let’s call it an official status then why was he there?’

  ‘Not by my doing. Nor by Zariadres’s, for reasons you’ll appreciate. Tiridates – and Mithradates – asked for him to be invited as a personal favour. The three of them are good friends.’

  ‘The Immortals?’

  His eyebrows lifted, and the stiffness with them. He almost smiled. ‘You’ve heard the name? Well, now, you have been busy! Yes. I don’t approve, and Damon knows that I don’t, but he has a right to lead his own life as he sees fit. It’s just youthful high spirits. They don’t cause any real trouble – lasting trouble, I mean – and giving the boy money to spend is the least I can do for him.’

  Right; I’d heard all that before, a million times. The usual father’s justification, with a large helping of guilt behind it and the blinkers firmly in place. It came strange from Phraates, but still –

  ‘He’s hardly a boy,’ I said.

  I’d gone too far this time: Phraates’s smile disappeared. ‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘I’ve spoken enough about Damon. You will drop the subject. Now, please.’

  Yeah, well; even a Great King’s human and has his weak points. And I’d got what I wanted in any case. I moved on. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk about Zariadres’s murder. You think it’s linked to the attack on your litter?’

  The hesitation was fractional, but it was there all the same. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘Almost certainly. But the “how” is another matter entirely.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what I want to ask you about. You have any theories?’

  ‘No. Zariadres was a representative, not a principal, as are the other ambassadors. His death makes no difference at all, politically. At most, it’s an embarrassment to Rome, but since the embassy is by its nature unofficial even that’s a minor issue.’

  Uh-huh; that was more or less what Vitellius had said. Still, the political angle was too obvious a one to be dismissed out of hand. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Even so, do you mind if we work it through?’

  ‘Not at all. Carry on.’

  ‘Okay. There are two possibilities I can see. The first and simplest, because it comes with its own motive, is that the guy was killed by an agent of Artabanus.’

  Phraates leaned back in his chair. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘One problem with that is that Isidorus says there are no Parthian agents in Rome. Me, I’m pretty sceptical on that point, but then he’s the expert and we’ll take it as fact until we know otherwise.’ I paused, but Phraates’s expression stayed bland. ‘The other problem’s more serious. Zariadres was either killed by someone already in the house or his murderer was let in to do the job. Whichever way you play it, someone on the inside was involved. Fine. So we put all that together, the positive and the negative. The logical conclusion is that the embassy brought Artabanus’s agent with them.’

  Silence. Total silence. I really had Phraates’s attention now.

  14.

  Phraates had gone very still. You could’ve heard an ant cough.

  ‘You think, Corvinus,’ he said slowly, finally, ‘that one of the embassy themselves is a traitor. A secret supporter of Artabanus.’

  ‘It’s one possibility, sure. And like I say, given the first premise, it’s the simplest solution.’

  ‘Why not one of the servants?’

  ‘Again it’s possible. Me, I’d assume all the servants had been carefully vetted at the start, but then I’m no Parthian. What do you think?’

  ‘Oh, I agree. Absolutely.’ The guy wasn’t smiling now, and the hardness – the concentration – was back in spades. I could see how he’d make a king. ‘In fact, I can guarantee it. The servants are all the personal property of the several ambassadors, and every one has proved his or her loyalty beyond question over many years. Loyalty to a master is important in Parthia, even more so than it is here. A good slave will literally die before he betrays his master. No, you can discount the servants. The masters are far more likely. So. Who is it to be?’

  ‘I’d be guessing. I don’t know them well enough, I don’t know their pasts and I don’t know what makes them tick. That’s where you come in.’

  ‘All right. Let’s take them one by one. Osroes.’

  Yeah, that bastard made a logical starting-point, and it was interesting that Phraates had plumped for him first as well. ‘He hated Zariadres. Or maybe that’s putting it too strongly.’

  ‘Perhaps a little strongly, but not by much. On the other hand, hatred isn’t too strong a term to describe his feelings for Artabanus. Osroes is a Magian, a zealot. When he hates, he hates. Artabanus, to him, is the arch-hypocrite. He pays lip-service to Zoroastrian beliefs but only for political reasons. He is given over completely to what Osroes would call the Lie. Osroes may dislike me as being too Romanised, but at least I’m no hypocrite, I don’t pretend to be a practising Zoroastrian myself. Artabanus does, and that is what damns him in Osroes’s eyes. Literally. Most important of all, Osroes lives up to his own principles. He would no more work for Artabanus, especially if it entailed prolonged deceit, than he would spit into an open fire.’

  Well, I’d asked. And if Phraates was that certain then there wasn’t much more to be said. ‘Okay. Callion.’

  ‘Callion is Greek. His family is one of the oldest in Seleucia, and to him his city, his family and his Greek roots are the most important things in life. Artabanus is currently engaged in the destruction of Greek influence and culture within his borders. If I were made Great King, I would reverse Artabanus’s policies, or at least aim for a working balance. Callion, therefore, supports me absolutely, because I’m the only person who can rescue Greek civilisation east of the Euphrates from extinction without bloodshed.’

  Shit; I was getting a bad feeling about this. ‘Peucestas,’ I said.

  ‘You know, I think, Peucestas’s story, in outline, at least. His family is Mihran, from Rhagae. They – and he – supported my brother’s attempt on the kingship twenty-five years ago. After his defeat Artabanus had Peucestas’s immediate family put to death. How do you think Peucestas views Artabanus? Generously enough to act as his agent in Rome?’

  The silence lengthened. ‘It has to be one of them,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. If the theory holds. So which?’

  Bugger. ‘You like to choose? Pick a name?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I would not. You said you had another theory. Perhaps we should hear that.’

  I took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to like this one, I knew that now. ‘Yeah. Okay. The problem with that one is that it doesn’t explain the open door; in fact, it doesn’t make much sense all round. Sure, we don’t know for a
bsolute certain if the door was open, but after what you said about Osroes I’m willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, so I’ll take it as fact.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Let’s say someone – call him X – doesn’t want you going to Parthia as Great King.’

  ‘I assume you don’t mean Artabanus? Or one of his agents?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should waive anonymity and call him Tiridates.’

  ‘Ah..right. Yeah, that was the general idea. With an option on his Iberian friend providing the brains.’

  Phraates laughed. ‘Use both of them if you like. Separately or together. I don’t see anything particularly fanciful in the theory so far. Although it may run into difficulties later.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fully aware of that, believe me.’ I took a swallow of wine. ‘Okay. So first Tiridates – or whoever – tries outright assassination, the attack on your litter. The problem there is once he’s made his move the guy’s stymied because you’re alert now and you’re not going to give him a second chance.’ Phraates put the tips of his fingers together against his lips. I waited, but he didn’t comment. ‘So. He has to find another way of screwing you. If he can’t kill you he might be able to do something from the other side. You said yourself, the only edge you have over him is that you’ve got the vote of the anti-Artabanus faction in Parthia and the Roman government. Fine. So the first step is to change the odds there. Putting Zariadres out of the way leaves Osroes as the embassy’s dominant voice, and Osroes isn’t too keen on you to start with. He hates Artabanus, sure, but he doesn’t actually favour you as such. True?’

  Phraates lowered his hands. ‘Corvinus, I’m sorry to interrupt but we’ve been over this already. Zariadres’s death has had and will have no effect on the negotiations. The embassy aren’t empowered to choose between Tiridates and myself; their instructions were to ask for me specifically.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But only because you were Rome’s candidate, the guy with the army at your back. What if you weren’t? Or if they were given a genuine choice?’

  ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Who decides imperial policy these days?’

  ‘The emperor, naturally.’

  ‘All the time? One hundred percent off his own bat? You like to bet on that, maybe?’

  I could tell he saw where I was heading. His mouth hardened. ‘Tiberius would never allow Prince Gaius to formulate major state policy.’

  ‘Yeah, I realise that, but he’s placed close enough to give it a few nudges. After all, the situation isn’t clear-cut to begin with. You’re both eligible candidates for the kingship, so that part balances. On the other hand, and I’m sorry to have to say this, Rome has to think of her returns. Just getting to Parthia’ll be no pleasure trip for you, and then there’s the military campaign. You’re nearly seventy, and Tiridates isn’t half that. Plus, Gaius knows the guy well, they’ve been pals for years, and whether Tiberius likes it or not Gaius is Rome’s next emperor, probably not that long distant. Me, if I was Tiberius, I’d at least give the idea house-room. Especially if the Parthian embassy weighed in on Tiridates’s side.’

  I thought I’d gone too far. The room was so quiet you could’ve heard paint dry, and Phraates’s expression looked like it had been carved with a chisel.

  Finally, he relaxed. I could see, though, that it took an effort.

  ‘That, Corvinus,’ he said, ‘was definitely one of the spades I mentioned. You don’t mince words, do you?’ I kept my mouth shut. He laughed quietly. ‘Well, I shouldn’t complain, should I? Not when I complimented you on precisely that quality. You’re right again, of course, up to a point. All I can put against it is what I said earlier: whatever his personal aspirations in that direction may be, judged by both Parthian and Roman standards Tiridates would make an appallingly bad Great King. And neither the Romans nor the Parthians are stupid.’ He tried a smile that didn’t quite work this time. ‘I’m afraid as a working hypothesis, in its present form at least, your second theory has certain practical flaws which outweigh its attractions. Do you have a third?’

  Sure I did, or rather a strand that would tie in with what I’d been saying, but I was keeping that to myself at present: if he hadn’t liked the last offering he’d be even less chuffed if I trotted that little gem out into the open. He might be a smart cookie, one of the smartest I’d ever met, but he was only human after all. He had his own blindnesses. And his own areas of weakness.

  ‘Not at the moment,’ I said. ‘Not as such.’

  ‘Then we’ll rejoin your wife and see how dinner is progressing.’ Phraates stood up. ‘I’ve enjoyed our talk very much.’

  I didn’t move. No; I couldn’t leave it there, not and square it with my conscience, even if he didn’t like it. ‘One more thing, prince.’

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘Bodyguards are fine, but me, I’d take it further. I’d watch myself at home as well.’

  Pause; long pause. I thought for a moment he was going to bite my head off, and I would’ve deserved it, but in the end he only nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Oh, yes. I had thought of that possibility myself, thank you.’ A half-smile, this time with no humour to it at all. ‘Incidentally, you would, I think, make an excellent Parthian royal yourself. In some respects, at any rate.’

  I didn’t answer. I’d made my point, and both of us knew it. Maybe Phraates wasn’t totally blind to certain aspects of the situation after all.

  ‘That was marvellous.’ Perilla snuggled down among the carriage’s plump silk cushions. ‘We should get out more often.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I was feeling comfortably full. The old guy hadn’t been kidding about the quality of the dinner: only the three of us or not, his chef couldn’t’ve pulled out more stops for a twenty-plate banquet. You didn’t get to taste wine like that every day, either.

  ‘And the spices he gave me will be the perfect peace offering for Meton. It’s almost as if he knew we’d need something or other.’ The lady giggled to herself. She’d broken her usual rule and had a cup of Phraates’s eighty-year-old Falernian. Now she could let her metaphorical hair down the effects were beginning to show. ‘He really is a very charming man.’

  I grinned. ‘You’re smitten, aren’t you?’

  ‘Slightly.’ She poked me with the toe of her sandal. ‘I’m also, as you’ve probably noticed, slightly drunk, and that doesn’t happen very often. But then, he does set out to charm. I’m not surprised he’s going to be Great King. How was your little chat?’

  ‘Okay.’ I glanced out of the carriage window. We hadn’t got Phraates’s full complement of bodyguard, just the usual four torchbearers, but then we didn’t need them. We weren’t Parthian royals. ‘I think his son Damon might be out to kill him. Or at least involved somewhere along the line.’

  Perilla’s eyes widened and she sat up. ‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘Oh, Marcus!’

  ‘It’s only a theory, but it makes sense. Where his father’s concerned he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of a log. He’s a prince but not a prince, and it’s all Phraates’s doing. The old guy didn’t say so in as many words, but I’d guess that when he swans off to be Great King of Parthia his only son’ll be left kicking his heels in Rome, and that will’ve gone down like a lead balloon. On the other hand, Damon’s in thick with Tiridates and Mithradates, and one gets you ten those bastards have something on the boil. As an insider he’d be the perfect accomplice.’

  ‘But he’s the man’s son!’

  ‘That’s no bar. In fact for a Parthian royal – which is what I’d bet Damon sees himself as – it’s practically an invitation. The guy can’t expect to have a crack at the kingship himself, sure, but if he throws in with Tiridates and the bugger makes Great King then he’s sitting pretty for a major provincial governor’s job, at least. And in Parthia that practically amounts to a kingship anyway. Not bad in exchange for helping to kill a father you hate.’

  ‘Marcus, you have no proof.’

  ‘No. B
ut like I say, it fits. Damon would’ve known where his father was going the night of the attack, maybe even the route the litter-bearers would take on the way home. And it explains his invite to the embassy dinner. That was pure ego-feeding. Tiridates had got the guy his rights for once. If it’d been left to Phraates he’d still be waiting in the wings when hell froze over.’

  ‘All right,’ Perilla said. ‘How do you think it works?’

  ‘It’s a two-pronged plot. Separately, each prong could do the job, just, in theory at least. Together they support each other and make the thing certain. On the one side, they kill off Phraates. That’s where Damon comes in, and it clears the field. On the other, they work on the mood of the embassy - that’s why Zariadres had to die - and engineer a Roman policy change so we support Tiridates. That’s –’

  ‘Marcus.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I may be slightly drunk but there’s nothing wrong with my cognitive processes.’

  ‘Right. Right.’

  ‘Listen to yourself, dear. Policy is policy. It’s decided at imperial level.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I shifted uncomfortably. ‘Sure it is. Only for this to work – have a chance of working – there has to be a fourth member of the team.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘Prince Gaius.’ Her mouth opened. I went on quickly. ‘Look, lady, it’s just an idea, okay? But Gaius is definitely a crony of the three of them and –’

  ‘Marcus, I’ve said this before! That incident with Mithradates was bad enough. If there is any - any - possibility of Gaius being mixed up personally in this then orders from Tiberius or not I think you should drop the case forthwith. I am serious.’

  Bugger. Still, it was my own fault. I should’ve kept my theories to myself. ‘Yeah, well...’

  ‘I’m not prepared to discuss the matter. We’ll talk about it further in the morning.’

  She threw herself back against the cushions tight-lipped with fury and closed her eyes. Hell. Women. Nice going, Corvinus; straight in again with both feet, and only myself to blame this time. I sighed.