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by Peter Darman

  Amazon

  Peter Darman

  Copyright © 2018 Pete Darman

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Formatted by Jo Harrison

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  List of characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Historical notes

  List of characters

  Those marked with an asterisk * are Companions – individuals who fought with Spartacus in Italy and who travelled back to Parthia with Pacorus.

  Those marked with a dagger † are known to history.

  The Kingdom of Dura

  Aaron: Jew, royal treasurer at Dura Europos

  *Alcaeus: Greek, chief physician in Dura’s army

  Azad: commander of Dura’s cataphracts

  *Byrd: Cappadocian businessman resident at Palmyra, formerly chief scout in Dura’s army

  Chrestus: commander of Dura’s army

  Claudia: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura, Scythian Sister

  Eszter: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura

  *Gallia: Gaul, Queen of Dura Europos

  Kalet: chief lord of Dura Europos

  Marcus Sutonius: Roman, quartermaster general of Dura’s Army

  *Pacorus: Parthian, King of Dura Europos

  Rsan: Parthian, governor of Dura Europos

  Scelias: Greek, head of the Sons of the Citadel

  Sporaces: commander of Dura’s horse archers

  Talib: Agraci, chief scout in Dura’s army

  The Kingdom of Hatra

  *Diana: former Roman slave, now the wife of Gafarn and Queen of Hatra

  *Gafarn: former Bedouin slave of Pacorus, now King of Hatra

  Pacorus: Prince of Hatra, son of Gafarn and Diana

  Other Parthians

  *Nergal: former commander of Dura’s horse archers, now the King of Mesene

  †Phraates: King of Kings of the Parthian Empire

  *Praxima: Spaniard, former Roman slave and now the wife of Nergal and Queen of Mesene

  Silaces: King of Elymais

  Silani: Babylonian commander of Phraates’ bodyguard

  †Tiridates: King of Aria

  Non-Parthians

  Malik: King of the Agraci

  †Quintus Dellius: Roman, legate

  Rasha: Agraci, Queen of Gordyene

  Spartacus: adopted son of Gafarn and Diana, King of Gordyene

  Chapter 1

  I have always regarded myself as a fair man, or at the very least one prepared to hear both sides of an argument before coming to a decision. Which is why I had not ordered the immediate execution of the two men standing before me. They had been arrested by the city authorities following their interrogation of an elderly owner of a camel train transporting silk from Susa to Palmyra. Each caravan had its own guards to protect not only its precious cargo but also its beasts and the men who rode them. But the two before me were not only thugs and torturers; they were skilled in infiltrating guarded places unseen and stealing away individuals. They would have succeeded in their mission had it not have been for the loyal dog of the man they had taken hostage, which followed his master to the inn where the two hostage-takers were staying. As they tortured him the dog sat outside their room and howled, bringing unwanted attention leading to their arrest. They had tortured the unfortunate man to within an inch of his life, and indeed it was uncertain whether he would survive.

  The pair were brought before the city magistrates for sentencing and would have already been dangling at the end of a rope were it not for them pleading to see me, a plea that was refused. Their declaration they were both working on the direct orders of King Spartacus brought them a temporary reprieve, only because the magistrates thought I should be made aware of their presence in Dura. Their further attestation they were searching for Prince Akmon brought them to the palace.

  They stood manacled in the middle of the throne room, their hardened faces registering a look somewhere in the middle of defiance and indifference, which was quite amazing considering their deaths could be moments away. Their clothing was unremarkable – light brown leggings and tunics – though they both wore sturdy leather boots and the clerk of the magistrates informed me their confiscated weapons had included expensive swords and knives, in addition to the pliers they had used to extract several of their victim’s fingernails.

  Chrestus, commander of Dura’s army, stood by the side of the dais. Along the walls were guards, with more flanking the entrance doors to the chamber, so there was no possibility of escape. A fact the two would-be assassins had noted. They were both tall and thin, their long faces accentuating their height. One had thin lips, the other cold eyes.

  ‘You have both been sentenced to death for your assault on the caravan owner,’ I began, ‘give me one reason why the sentence should not be carried out immediately.’

  ‘We are in the employment of King Spartacus of Gordyene,’ thin lips informed me.

  ‘We are searching for Prince Akmon, his son, who disappeared some months ago.’

  ‘I am aware of the disappearance of Prince Akmon,’ I said, ‘and his father’s attempts to find him. What has that to do with you torturing an innocent man?’

  ‘Not innocent, majesty,’ said cold eyes. ‘He had knowledge about the whereabouts of the prince, the first news anyone has heard of the king’s son in months.’

  ‘You could have asked him instead of pulling out his fingernails,’ I said.

  ‘He wanted gold before he would divulge any information,’ thin lips told me.

  ‘And what did he tell you, after you had tortured him?’ I asked.

  ‘That the prince had been in Susa before travelling to Dura,’ said cold eyes.

  I shook my head. ‘I can assure you Prince Akmon is not in Dura, either the city or the kingdom. I too have excellent scouts and they would have informed me if the son of the King of Gordyene was here.’

  ‘With respect, majesty,’ said thin lips, ‘you would be unaware of the prince’s presence even in your own city.’

  Chrestus had had enough. ‘This is a farce, majesty. Kill them and be done with it. They mock you.’

  He was right, but I was intrigued. It had been a very dull day filled with listening to petitioners, city officials regaling me with tales of broken sewers, petty boundary disputes, feral dogs in the city and sellers failing to obey rules pertaining to the size of stalls in the fish market. It had been mind-numbingly boring. At least the assassins of Spartacus were interesting. I decided to indulge them.

  ‘Explain,’ I demanded.

  They looked furtively at each other before cold eyes spoke, avoiding my own eyes as he did so.

  ‘King Spartacus informed us before we left Vanadzor that Princess Claudia had cast a spell of concealment to mask the presence of Prince Akmon.’

  Chrestus burst out laughing. ‘Spell of concealment? This is gibberish, majesty. Next they will be informing us t
hey flew to Dura on the back of a dragon.’

  ‘Dragons no longer inhabit the world, general.’

  Claudia swept into the throne room from the rear of the chamber, smiling at me as she sat in the throne next to mine, earning a glare from Chrestus because he knew only the queen was allowed to sit in it. I was looking at the two captives, who for the first time looked alarmed. Clearly Claudia’s reputation preceded her, and they obviously recognised the woman dressed wholly in black who now confronted them.

  ‘I will ask the princess herself,’ I told them. ‘Claudia, is Prince Akmon in the city of Dura or the Kingdom of Dura?’

  ‘No,’ she hissed.

  ‘There you are,’ I said. ‘The prince is not here, and you have tortured a man for nothing. Unless you can offer any other defence for your actions, you will both be hanged.’

  ‘We are under the protection of the King of Gordyene,’ pleaded thin lips.

  ‘This is not Gordyene,’ growled Chrestus.

  Claudia leaned over to whisper in my ear.

  ‘Before they die, father, I think they may be of use. Indulge me.’

  Before I could reply she spoke to the captives.

  ‘I know where Prince Akmon and the Lady Lusin are. King Spartacus has promised you much gold if you find and return his son?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘And what about Lusin?’ she asked.

  ‘The king does not want her,’ said cold eyes.

  Claudia whispered to me once more.

  ‘Will you release them, father, so they may throw Spartacus off the scent?’

  ‘What scent, where is Akmon?’

  She tapped her nose. ‘All will be revealed.’

  ‘I cannot release men who nearly murdered a man,’ I told her.

  ‘They will die, that I promise, but first let them aid Akmon.’

  I was totally confused but sensed Claudia knew what she was talking about. Or perhaps my wits were dulled after a long day. I nodded to her.

  She smiled and turned her gaze to the captives.

  ‘Prince Akmon is in the Alborz Mountains, in a village on the lower slopes of Mount Damavand, living under the assumed name Rabisu.’

  ‘You are free to leave,’ I told them. ‘But you will depart Dura immediately.’

  Chrestus was most unhappy, turning to face me. But before he could object I stood and pointed to their guards.

  ‘Take them away.’

  They were roughly bundled from the chamber, Chrestus glaring at Claudia for her unwelcome intercession. She may have been a member of the Scythian Sisters with a formidable reputation, but to him she was merely a woman who had too much to say for herself.

  ‘That was a mistake,’ he hissed, most uncomfortable because she had seated herself on Gallia’s throne.

  ‘On the contrary, general,’ she replied, ‘it was most appropriate. Before they gallop off north to claim their prize, they will write to their king informing him Prince Akmon is in the Alborz Mountains.’

  Chrestus was unimpressed. ‘So?’

  ‘So, when they get there they will discover before they die that the prince is not there.’

  I was confused. ‘Why would they die?’

  Claudia gave me a malicious grin. ‘Did you notice the name I said the prince was living under?’

  ‘No.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Rabisu is a demon who preys on humans. His name means “the one that lies in wait”. Such is the fear and loathing in which he is held that it is forbidden on pain of death to even mention his name in the Alborz Mountains. So you see they will be killed outright when they arrive.’

  ‘But why inform them Akmon is in the Alborz?’ I asked. ‘For they will as you say inform their king he is there.’

  ‘To remind King Spartacus that he offended the gods, that and to increase his suffering,’ she answered.

  That was Claudia, cold and vindictive. She was not naturally cruel but, like a snake rudely disturbed, could lash out with venom when provoked. She was also capable of great kindness, such as riding to Gordyene to save the life of Prince Haytham. But like the scorpions that infested the desert there was always a sting in the tail. For Spartacus it had been the relinquishing of the conquests he had achieved at the expense of Media and Armenia, which must have been a bitter decision for him to make. At least he still had two sons at Vanadzor, though the absence and unknown whereabouts of his eldest son Akmon must have tortured both him and Rasha.

  Chrestus, hard, unyielding, bowed crisply and took his leave.

  ‘Why are you here, by the way?’ I enquired of my daughter.

  ‘The answer to your question is in the courtyard.’

  Before I had chance to grill her further the palace steward entered the throne room and hobbled to the dais, bowing his head.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I asked Ashk.

  ‘No, majesty, it is just my leg. Some days are better than others.’

  My own leg began to ache in sympathy. I knew how he felt.

  ‘Are you taking anything for it?’

  He smiled at Claudia. ‘The princess has kindly prescribed myrrh resin to alleviate the pain, for which I am eternally grateful.’

  ‘You have been a loyal servant of Dura,’ she told him. ‘Alas, there is no cure for old age.’

  ‘I would not want to live forever, highness,’ he said, ‘one life is enough.’

  I reflected on his words. He was right; one life was enough, as long as it was lived to the full. I looked at him and at the guards standing at the doors and along the walls and wondered if they regarded their own lives as worthwhile. More likely such views were the preserve of the rich and privileged who had the luxury to indulge such musings.

  ‘You have news?’ Claudia asked him.

  ‘The Lord Byrd is outside, highness.’

  I stood. ‘Bring him to the terrace, and order refreshments from the kitchens.’

  He bowed and hobbled away, his left leg obviously giving him some discomfort. Claudia walked with me.

  ‘Myrrh resin?’

  ‘It is resin from the mukul myrrh tree, which is indigenous to India. It is a common cure for the aching limbs of the aged.’

  ‘Perhaps I should use some on my leg.’

  We left the throne room to enter the private apartments to the rear of the chamber.

  ‘It will not help, father. Your leg aches as a result of an old wound. What does Alcaeus prescribe?’

  ‘A lotion of aloe oil rubbed on to the leg daily.’

  ‘That will do. Make sure the terrace is empty when Byrd arrives.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All will be revealed.’

  I embraced my old scout and friend when he was shown on to the terrace, a large white awning protecting us from the sun roasting the city, the air hot and windless. Even in the shade it was warm, and Byrd was glad to flop down into a large wicker chair and drink some cool water. The former Cappadocian pot seller had come a long way since his arrival in Parthia some thirty-eight years before. He had been my scout and then chief scout before his ankle had been damaged in a riding accident. As a result, he retired from scouting and took up business, establishing a successful transport guild operating throughout Syria, Judea, western Parthia, Cilicia and Cappadocia. He now had offices in Palmyra, Antioch, Damascus and Emessa, employing dozens of drivers and owning hundreds of camels to transport the goods of his clients over thousands of square miles. And yet he still looked like a vagrant who had not a coin to his name.

  ‘Noora is well?’ I enquired about his Agraci wife.

  ‘Well, lord.’

  I smiled. For years I had been telling him he should call me Pacorus, a privilege enjoyed by all the Companions, but in vain. He was as stubborn as a mule and set in his ways. He still lived in a tent even though stone buildings were now springing up in Palmyra as its wealth grew. I had given him and Noora a mansion in the city where they stayed when they visited. I had hoped it might entice them to live in Dura permanently, but it was a forlo
rn hope, and as a result it stood empty for much of the year.

  ‘What brings you to Dura?’

  He glanced at the reclining Claudia, like him dressed in flowing robes, though his were a dirty brown whereas my daughter always wore black. She smiled at one of the richest men in Palmyra.

  ‘You can tell him, Byrd.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  Byrd put down his cup of water and Claudia dismissed the servants from the balcony, holding up a finger to stifle any talk until they had gone.

  ‘You know what notorious gossips they are.’

  ‘King Spartacus’ sword, lord,’ Byrd began.

  After a long day sitting in an airless throne room I was not in the mood for riddles.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I remember seeing it many years ago, when Spartacus was just a boy and when he was sent to Dura in disgrace. It has silver pommel in shape of horse’s head.’

  I relaxed in the chair and closed my heavy eyelids.

  ‘It is as you say, my friend. And you rode on a camel all the way to Dura in this heat to tell me that?’

  ‘I have seen it in Palmyra, lord.’

  The words did not sink in at first and I continued to keep my eyes closed.

  ‘A young man was wearing it, lord,’ said Byrd, ‘Prince Akmon.’

  The name hit me like a bolt of thunder. I jumped up, knocking over my water.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is true, father,’ said Claudia casually, ‘Akmon is in Palmyra. I told him to get rid of the sword but men are such sentimental creatures so he kept it. Thus has all my good work been undone.’

  I spun to face her.

  ‘You knew Akmon was in Palmyra?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’

  She gave one of her nonchalant shrugs that could be so infuriating.

  ‘Why should I? He and Lusin wished to remain anonymous, which they were. Well, until what I warned would happen happened. Have you informed Malik his nephew is in his city, Byrd?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘He must know,’ I insisted. ‘Rasha is Malik’s sister and she must have been tortured these past few months by thoughts of what fate might have befallen Akmon.’