by Peter Darman
‘Queen Aliyeh declined my invitation,’ I told him. ‘She felt her presence might sour the atmosphere, but I see you intend to fulfil that role.’
He smarted at my rebuke. ‘We are here to celebrate your birthday, uncle, not engage in politics.’
He passed me to embrace Gallia, smiling fondly at her. Rasha’s welcome was much warmer, throwing her arms around me and instructing her two children to hurry up the steps. Castus and Haytham were fine boys and were the height of good manners, Haytham clutching Claudia tightly as he remembered the woman who had saved his life. Spartacus also remembered and gave my daughter a cordial kiss on the cheek. He was introduced to the new Queen of Elymais who certainly took his mind off events at Irbil, though he frowned when Silaces asked him if any of his ukku swords had rusted on account of Gordyene being a cold, wet kingdom. Malik, Byrd and I had agreed we would say nothing regarding the close proximity of Akmon and Lusin, and Claudia had also been sworn to secrecy.
‘We have a surprise for you, Pacorus,’ smiled Gafarn.
‘It’s not lions, is it?’ I asked.
Diana was perplexed. ‘Lions?’
Gafarn waved to a figure wrapped in flowing white robes and a shemagh, who bounded up the steps and removed the headgear. To reveal Adeleh.
‘Hello, brother.’
I confess there were tears of joy in my eyes as I hugged her. Adeleh had never been to Dura and I had given up all hope she would ever visit the kingdom I ruled over. But here she was, a little hot and flustered after the journey but still my little sister.
‘I thought the Sisters of Shamash were forbidden to leave Hatra.’
‘We are,’ she smiled, ‘but the high priest gave me special dispensation to attend the birthday celebration of the man he says is beloved of the Sun God. So here I am.’
‘And most welcome you are,’ said Gallia, wrapping her arms around her.
The next two days were spent showing my sister around Dura, the Citadel, the city and the legionary camp. I arranged for Chrestus to array the whole army, minus those soldiers manning the forts along the Euphrates, for the benefit of Adeleh. The other guests accompanied us, Silaces pointing out to Spartacus that all my cataphracts – a thousand men – had ukku swords whereas his army possessed only five hundred. He was like a man poking a bear with a stick and I feared it was only a matter of time before the bear bit him. Adeleh smiled politely, but I think she was bored by the sight of soldiers standing in their ranks, and perhaps a little sad. At the end of the display she thanked Chrestus, Azad and Sporaces for parading their men before whispering to me.
‘I pray for a day when men will no longer kill each other, Pacorus.’
‘So do I.’
‘You do? And yet you are known throughout Parthia as a great warlord, a man who has written his history in blood. So much blood.’
‘I learned long ago that if you want peace, you must prepare for war.’
She sighed. ‘Do you think it will always be so?’
I put my arm around her. ‘I fear so.’
I took the opportunity to assemble the kings and queens to discuss the very subject of war, or lack of it, for aside from the Kushan threat, peace seemed to have broken out in the majority of the Parthian Empire and the Roman world. We gathered in the Headquarters Building where the weekly council meetings were held. We convened in the early morning before the heat became too stifling, Isabella staring at the hide map of the empire hanging on one wall.
‘Is it inaccurate?’ I asked, pouring myself a cup of water.
‘No, father. This is the first time I have been in this room. When I was growing up the Headquarters Building was out of bounds and my imagination dreamt up images of luxurious couches and walls painted with images of Dura’s mighty victories, and you sitting on Remus slaying your enemies.’
‘I never realised you had such a vivid imagination. As you can see, the walls are mostly bare, and we have chairs instead of couches and a simople wooden table to sit round.’
The others filed into the room and took their places, Spartacus noting the map and staring at Gordyene. When everyone was seated proceedings began. Out of consideration for Cia, who only had a limited knowledge of Parthian, we spoke in Greek. She may have been a former slave, but she had not worked in the fields or the kitchens that much was certain. Her flawless skin, well-manicured hands and keen mind pointed to an education in the house of her former master, though out of politeness no one asked her questions about her past. Her large brown eyes scanned the other attendees and settled on me.
‘First of all,’ I began, ‘I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate Silaces on his recent marriage.’
The men rapped their knuckles on the table and the women nodded in agreement.
‘About time,’ said Nergal, ‘though how you snared such a beauty is beyond me.’
‘And me,’ smiled Gafarn.
‘Don’t you worry about me, there’s life in the old dog yet,’ replied Silaces.
‘When will you be producing an heir?’ asked Malik bluntly. ‘A king should have a son.’
Cia blushed and Rasha frowned at her brother.
‘What?’ protested Malik. ‘It is an honest question.’
Cia was embarrassed. Gallia rolled her eyes.
‘One thing is certain,’ said Spartacus, ‘with the war over there will be ample opportunity to produce heirs.’
‘Which brings me neatly on to why I have asked you all here,’ I interrupted. ‘Word reached me recently of the deaths of Mark Antony and Cleopatra following the defeat of what was left of their army before Alexandria.’
‘Alas for Cleopatra,’ said Cia quietly.
I brought my hands together. ‘I know he was my enemy, but I was saddened to hear Mark Antony had taken his own life. It is not how a great warrior should meet his end.’
‘I was delighted to hear of his death and that of his bitch wife,’ stated Spartacus crudely. ‘He invaded Parthia twice and his soldiers plundered the east of my kingdom. My only regret is I was not the one to end his life.’
I looked at Gafarn who shook his head in despair.
‘The end of the great Roman civil war,’ I continued, ‘means the future regarding Roman-Parthian relations is uncertain. Byrd, what do your sources tell of Roman intentions?’
‘Octavian has left Egypt to return to Italy,’ he told us. ‘Word is he uninterested in Parthia.’
‘For the moment,’ growled Spartacus, ‘but he’ll be back to retrieve the eagles they carelessly lost at Carrhae and Urmia.’
‘Eagles?’ Cia wore a confused look.
‘The most precious thing to a Roman soldier is the eagle of the legion he fights in,’ Silaces told her. ‘They are like religious icons. Many years ago, when Pacorus was a boy, he captured one when his father defeated a Roman legion. It is in the Great Temple at Hatra. Years later he and Surena defeated a Roman army at a place called Carrhae where the Romans lost another seven. They are at the little bastard’s palace at Ctesiphon.’
He nodded at Rasha. ‘The Queen of Gordyene took another two at Lake Urmia five years ago. Phraates has them too, which was a mistake if anyone asks me.’
Rasha grinned at him. ‘You are wrong, my lord, because one eagle is at Palmyra. It was the one Spartacus captured and took to Palmyra in exchange for my hand in marriage.’
‘How romantic,’ said Cia, ‘and how brave of you, lord.’
‘They will never rest until they have them all back,’ growled Spartacus.
‘He’s right,’ agreed Nergal.
‘No Roman army gathering in Egypt, Syria or Cappadocia,’ Byrd told us, ‘only garrison troops.’
‘Which leads me to believe there is no imminent risk of a Roman invasion of Parthia,’ I said.
‘Which in turn means those provinces are ripe for the taking,’ said Spartacus.
He looked around the table. ‘How many men can we put in the field combined. A hundred thousand? More?’
‘Here we go,’
muttered Gafarn.
‘Your point?’ I demanded, knowing the answer.
Spartacus took a long sip of water. ‘A punitive raid into Syria and Cappadocia to remind the Romans Parthia is not their plaything.’
‘You mean to remind them that Gordyene is now a power to be reckoned with in the world,’ I said. ‘Dura will have no part in such a reckless adventure.’
‘Neither will Hatra,’ stated Gafarn.
‘Or Mesene,’ added Nergal.
‘Elymais will not shed blood on a fool’s mission,’ declared Silaces.
Spartacus shook his head. ‘So we wait until the Romans attack us?’
‘You are fixated on the Romans, Spartacus,’ I said, ‘but your desire to give your army more victories might yet be satisfied, but not against the Romans. Salar, please bring us up to date concerning events in the east.’
I probably knew as much as he did, but I wanted him to contribute to the conversation. Kewab sent regular despatches when he was not battling the Kushans. Salar told us of separate Kushan armies, not large but highly mobile, raiding Drangiana, Aria, Carmania and Yueh-Chih. Curiously, Sakastan had remained largely untouched, probably because Kujula had failed to take Sigal when we had attended Isabella’s wedding. He also spoke of the raids by the steppe nomads against Margiana and Hyrcania, which deprived those bordering the Kushan Empire the support of those two kingdoms.
‘Aria has borne the brunt of the Kushan incursions and its king, Tiridates, has sent many pleas to Ctesiphon for Phraates to lead a campaign against Kujula,’ concluded Salar, ‘which so far have all been ignored.’
Spartacus pointed at the map. ‘Surely the combined forces of Carmania, Sakastan, Aria, Drangiana, Anauon and Yueh-Chih are more than sufficient to defeat the Kushans.’
Salar looked at Isabella, my daughter nodding at her husband.
‘Alas,’ said Salar, ‘Carmania refuses to cooperate with Aria and Drangiana, Phanes believing those two kingdoms betrayed him when he tried to seize my kingdom. The armies of Yueh-Chih and Anauon are no match for the Kushans, and those of Aria and Drangiana have suffered numerous reverses at the hands of Kujula.’
‘Only the presence of Kewab has averted a disaster,’ said Isabella.
‘It is that bad?’ Gafarn was stunned.
‘Yes, uncle,’ she replied, ‘which is why Phraates must act, and quickly.’
‘We were hoping you would lobby him on our behalf,’ Salar said to me.
‘I’m afraid Dura, Hatra and Elymais are not high in Phraates’ favour at the moment,’ I told him.
‘That’s putting it mildly,’ said Silaces.
I extended an arm towards Spartacus. ‘But Gordyene is held in high esteem at Ctesiphon.’
‘Perhaps Phraates might give you another thousand talents of gold to take your army east, Spartacus,’ suggested Silaces mischievously.
‘He did not give me a thousand talents,’ replied Spartacus icily, ‘it was the sum I demanded for the services of Gordyene’s army.’
‘How much is a thousand talents?’ asked Cia.
‘A lot,’ smiled Silaces.
Salar was astounded. ‘Phraates paid you a thousand talents of gold.’
Spartacus looked coy. ‘It cost a lot to raise, train and equip my army.’
‘Especially its swords,’ smiled Silaces.
Spartacus slammed his fist on the table. ‘If you have something to say, Silaces, then say it.’
‘Can we not argue,’ pleaded Gafarn, ‘we are here to celebrate Pacorus’ birthday. Will you speak to Phraates about the situation in the east, Spartacus?’
Spartacus was fuming. ‘It is none of my business. Let the eastern kings look to themselves. Besides, if I march halfway across the empire Gordyene will be left defenceless against her enemies.’
We all knew it was Gordyene that was the major power in the north, especially with Armenia being in a weakened state and Spartacus’ Sarmatian allies raiding at will from the captured city of Van. But there was no point in goading Spartacus further.
‘After the celebrations I will ride to Ctesiphon to speak with Phraates,’ I offered.
‘You will be wasting your time,’ said Silaces.
Praxima turned to me. ‘While you are there, Pacorus, ask the high king why he is hostile to King Aschek and Prince Ali.’
‘That’s easy,’ replied Spartacus, ‘it is punishment for Ali deserting him at the Battle of Irbil.’
King Aschek of Atropaiene, now old and infirm and unable to ride a horse, had sent his son to the high king’s side during the recent war against Media and its Roman allies. Phraates’ army had been on the verge of defeat and Prince Ali had taken the decision to save his horsemen and ride back to Atropaiene. Fortunately for Phraates the army of Gordyene arrived in the nick of time to avert a crushing defeat, earning Spartacus the gratitude of the high king. But Ali and his father were banished from Ctesiphon and Phraates said he would have the prince executed if he ever left Atropaiene.
‘Has Phraates got any allies left,’ asked Malik, ‘aside from Spartacus?’
We looked at each other and realised the high king had indeed alienated most of the kings of the empire. Only Spartacus alone had his favour, though my nephew’s first loyalty was to his own kingdom. It was a sorry state of affairs but not irretrievable.
‘Perhaps a Council of Kings might be useful,’ I suggested.
It was met by a chorus of groans. The Council of Kings, held at Esfahan, was traditionally a forum where grievances could be aired and settled to avoid the outbreak of conflict. Under Orodes’ rule council meetings were a common occurrence, though they bored attendees to distraction. But they had achieved their purpose: war within the empire had been avoided. Since ascending to the high throne, however, Phraates had shown no interest in convening a council meeting and the practice was in danger of slipping into obscurity.
‘At least Phraates and the eastern kings would be able to meet face-to-face,’ I said.
‘Why don’t they go to Ctesiphon?’ asked Silaces.
‘They will not leave their homelands while the Kushans are threatening them,’ answered Salar.
‘You did,’ Spartacus shot back.
‘That is because Kujula agreed not to attack Sakastan in our absence,’ Isabella told him.
Spartacus was surprised. ‘You have an alliance with the Kushans?’
‘Of course not,’ insisted Salar angrily.
‘Others might see it differently,’ warned Silaces.
His words were to be prophetic, but no one gave them a second thought at the time. It was agreed I would ride to Ctesiphon after the great feast, though everyone was adamant they did not want to attend any Council of Kings. But they were all eager to attend the feast for my sixtieth birthday.
The planning was left in the hands of Rsan, who had spent much time in the company of Ashk arranging the menu and seating arrangements.
As the day of the feast approached Kalet and his lords arrived, pitching their tents outside the city walls, though Eszter did at least return to the palace to sleep in her bedroom. All the other rooms were now occupied to produce a hive of activity not seen in years. There was not enough room in the Citadel to accommodate the entourages of the different kings and queens and so the soldiers from Gordyene, Hatra, Mesene, Elymais and Palmyra pitched their tents across the river in Hatran territory. Prince Pacorus had escorted his parents with the five hundred soldiers of Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard, with their attendant thousand squires. Not to be outdone, Spartacus and Rasha had brought with them five hundred King’s Guard and a hundred Vipers. Nergal and Praxima had ridden to Dura with four hundred horse archers and Silaces had brought his new queen and six hundred horse archers to my city. Finally, Malik rode from Palmyra in the company of his wife and three hundred Agraci warriors. Two and a half thousand soldiers and a thousand squires and their horses that all required feeding, which meant food and fodder had to be sent across the river daily, much to the irritation of Treasurer Aaron who
pestered me on a daily basis about the cost.
‘How long will the kings and queens be staying, majesty?’
‘As long as they wish.’
He shook his head. His long hair and beard, formally black as night, were now heavily streaked with grey and he was now a grandfather. We were walking from the Headquarters Building, Aaron having just completed his weekly inspection of the kingdom’s wealth, which was located beneath the building in a vault cut into the rock the Citadel sat on. I failed to see the purpose of such inspections as he and his clerks had detailed and up-to-date lists of the coins and gold that resided in the vault. But he liked to see and savour the money in the Citadel that only he and I had access to, or rather keys to. When it came to disbursements to the army or paying the annual tribute, Aaron’s face resembled a man who had just lost a close friend. I think in his heart he believed the horde of gold to be his own and guarded it jealously. His attitude drove Chrestus, the commander of the army, to distraction.
‘Perhaps we might ask the monarchs to make a contribution to the costs of accommodating their soldiers, majesty.’
‘No, Aaron, they are all Dura’s guests.’
A mounted party arriving at the gates to the Citadel interrupted our conversation, riders dressed in purple leggings and tunics and wearing shimmering dragon-skin armour cuirasses. Their banner showed the horned bull of Babylon and I identified them as members of Phraates’ Babylonian Guard. Initially I wondered if the high king himself was approaching but then dismissed the idea. For one thing he had not been invited and for another he would not choose to visit a place where so many of those who were critical of him were gathered. The duty centurion walked from the gates in the company of the commander of the Babylonians, a very tall man carrying his purple-plumed helmet in the crook of his arm. They stopped a few paces from me.
The centurion bowed his head. ‘Beg pardon, majesty, a gift for you has arrived from Ctesiphon.’
The Babylonian gave me a sweeping bow. ‘I bring a present from King of Kings Phraates for you, majesty, to commemorate your sixtieth birthday.’
I looked past him to the gates where the other Babylonians sat immobile on their horses. The centurion wore a deep frown, for what reason I did not know.