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by Peter Darman

  ‘I’m sure no insult was intended, son,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘And yet I am insulted,’ seethed Spartacus.

  ‘We should all calm down,’ I pleaded.

  ‘That is a good idea,’ said Rasha, clearly upset at the animosity between father and son.

  Spartacus regarded me coolly. ‘Am I under arrest, uncle?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then we are leaving.’

  Rasha was distraught. ‘What?’

  ‘I will not stay in this palace where I have been reduced to a laughing stock,’ stated Spartacus, glaring at the Exiles barring his way. ‘Move aside.’

  Chrestus looked at me. I nodded and he ordered his men to part, my general placing himself between the King of Gordyene and Akmon and Lusin. Just in case. Spartacus smiled grimly.

  ‘Professional to the last, General Chrestus. I have often wondered who would triumph in a contest between your legionaries and my Immortals. We may yet find out.’

  ‘I pray such a contest will never take place, majesty,’ said Chrestus, ‘the empire would weep to see Parthian fight Parthian.’

  ‘Rasha,’ called Spartacus, marching from the hall.

  Gafarn was holding a weeping Diana and Jamal was speaking to Malik, no doubt telling him he had played no part in the rupture between the King of Gordyene and his eldest son. Whatever the truth the incident delivered a death blow to the banquet, a steady stream of guests making their way to me to convey their thanks, birthday felicitations and to bid me good night.

  ‘Spartacus is a fool and a brute,’ hissed Claudia.

  ‘He has no manners,’ agreed Isabella.

  ‘You should have let Chrestus give him a good beating,’ declared Eszter.

  I asked Akmon and Lusin to sit with us, fearing that if they ventured outside the Citadel Shamshir and his King’s Guard would abduct them. Normally the city gates were closed from midnight until dawn but I had ordered Chrestus to ride down to the Palmyrene Gate so the irate Spartacus could exit Dura and sleep with his soldiers on the other side of the river. The last thing I wanted was him and his commander causing a scene at the gates. Far better for him to fume on the other side of the Euphrates.

  I called Byrd over and requested he allow Akmon and Lusin to stay in his mansion until Spartacus had departed Dura. He gladly agreed, he and Noora sitting at our table when our daughters declared their intention to retire to their beds. Silaces made his excuses early, his young wife proving more irresistible than my company.

  ‘I don’t know where he gets his energy from,’ grinned Gafarn.

  He and Diana joined Byrd, Noora, Malik, Jamal, Nergal and Praxima at our table; the last of the guests huddled at a single table while servants cleared the remaining ones. Servants brought us more wine as we mulled over the end of the feast. I sent Akmon and an unhappy Lusin off to Byrd’s mansion with an escort of a score of legionaries with orders they were to remain guarding the premises until relieved by the duty centurion with another detail.

  Diana suddenly looked very old and concerned. ‘I don’t know where his anger comes from.’

  ‘He is his father’s son,’ smiled Gallia, gripping her friend’s hand reassuringly.

  Gafarn sighed. ‘When Orodes made him ruler of Gordyene, I believed Spartacus would direct his rage and great energy towards rebuilding that kingdom. But in retrospect I now realise making him king of that land was a mistake.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Nergal.

  ‘It just fed his rage,’ answered Gafarn. ‘Gordyene, a kingdom viewed as wild and barbaric by others in the empire, was gifted to a man who seethed with resentment at how he perceived the world viewed him. Those two factors melded to create an angry king with a fearsome army. That commander of his,'

  ‘Shamshir,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t like him,’ stated Diana, ‘he is cold, callous.’

  ‘Spartacus remembers what happened to Surena,’ said Malik. ‘He is determined he and his family will not suffer the same fate.’

  ‘I should never have stood by and let Orodes march against Surena,’ I lamented, ‘it is something I will regret until my dying day.’

  ‘Akmon cannot remain in Palmyra,’ said Byrd, changing the subject, ‘not now his father know where he is.’

  ‘He will go to Syria, then?’ asked Gallia.

  Byrd nodded. ‘I will try to keep him well hidden.’

  ‘Spartacus has scouts out looking for Akmon and Lusin,’ I cautioned, ‘two of them turned up here.’

  ‘They are cut from the same stone as Shamshir,’ said Gallia.

  ‘Akmon and Lusin are just two more logs to toss on the fire of Spartacus’ rage,’ muttered Nergal.

  Praxima looked at all of us around the table and laughed.

  ‘Here we are, many years after leaving Italy and yet the name on our lips is Spartacus, the same name that is the thread that binds us all together. When Diana carried his son out of the Silarus Valley she ensured the spirit of his father would live on and guide our lives. So it has proved.’

  Spartacus did not dally at Dura. He presented himself at the gates of the Citadel and requested the duty centurion fetch his parents and Prince Pacorus. The latter had come to my city alone because his wife was pregnant with their second child. And he had another child to deal with when he pleaded with his brother in vain to heal the rift with Akmon and accept his marriage to Lusin. That was Pacorus in a nutshell, a man cast in the same mould as Orodes. A man skilled in war but who viewed conflict as a last resort, preferring diplomacy and trading words to violence to resolve strife. But Spartacus was made of a different material. Like the stone that had been used to build Vanadzor he was hard and unyielding, seeing the world and everyone in it in terms of black and white. You were either for him or against him; there was no third way. He loved and respected his parents and brother and embraced them all fondly at the gates. I watched the scene from the palace porch and saw the weeping Diana pleading with her son. To no avail. And so the King of Gordyene mounted his horse and rode back to the Palmyrene Gate. He would never visit Dura again.

  Rasha visited the palace later, as the tents of soldiers of Gordyene were being dismantled across the Euphrates. Her Vipers escorted her and when they entered the courtyard Gallia was waiting for her with an honour guard of Amazons. They had always been close, Gallia viewing her as a fourth daughter, and she was distraught to see the Queen of Gordyene with tears in her eyes. She had taken a detour to see Akmon and his wife, begging them to return with her to Vanadzor. But Akmon had refused. It was a day when pleas fell on deaf ears.

  ‘Spartacus will cool down,’ I tried to reassure Rasha as we all sat together on the terrace. ‘Seeing Akmon last night was a shock, that is all.’

  ‘You are wrong,’ replied Rasha, ‘and now he resents you, Pacorus, for keeping the knowledge of Akmon’s whereabouts from him.’

  ‘Me?’ I was surprised. ‘I think I am an innocent party in all this.’

  ‘How little you know your nephew,’ said Claudia.

  Rasha looked at Claudia. ‘He has forbidden you from visiting Gordyene. I am sorry.’

  Claudia was unconcerned. ‘The lion of Gordyene is not a beast to be crossed. But it serves the empire well and now its claws have been clipped it will become a useful servant of the high king.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ demanded Gafarn.

  Claudia rose from her chair, embraced Rasha warmly and walked from the terrace.

  ‘All will be revealed.’

  ‘I worry about that girl,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘I worry about Spartacus,’ sighed Diana, smiling at Rasha, ‘only you can act as a restraint on him.’

  ‘At least there is peace in the empire,’ said Prince Pacorus by way of trying to cast some light on the gloomy situation.

  ‘What is happening in Armenia?’ I asked Rasha.

  ‘Artaxias sits on his throne rebuilding his kingdom, or at least trying to,’ Rasha informed us. ‘He writes endless letters to Phraates co
mplaining about the Sarmatian occupation of Van but the high king does nothing, which suits us fine. Artaxias is weak and weak kings deserve nothing.’

  I smiled. She was still an unforgiving Agraci, which is why she and Spartacus made such a good match.

  ‘And how is Prince Spadines?’ I enquired.

  ‘Raiding Armenia,’ she replied.

  Gafarn caught my eye and shook his head. He knew, as did I, that such activity would provoke an Armenian response, which was what Spartacus probably wanted. Then he could unleash his army against Artaxias.

  ‘Gordyene is safe as long as Spadines occupies Van and Media is laid low,’ said Rasha.

  She and Spartacus departed later that day. We watched the line of horses and camels heading north towards Hatra. The next day Malik and Jamal left for Palmyra, accompanied by Byrd, Noora, Akmon and Lusin. Byrd thought it prudent to get the couple out of Dura as quickly as possible as he had heard a rumour that Spartacus was going to send his King’s Guard to seize them and take them back to Gordyene. It was probably nothing more than a rumour but he wished to err on the side of caution and so the Agraci left Dura. We said our goodbyes in the Citadel’s courtyard, Akmon thanking me personally.

  ‘I apologise for ruining your birthday celebration, majesty.’

  ‘You did not, your father did.’

  I glanced at the sword at his hip, the steel cross-guard, grip wrapped in black leather strips and a silver pommel in the shape of a horse’s head.

  ‘You should get rid of that sword, it is what betrayed your presence in Palmyra.’

  ‘Princess Claudia told me the same, majesty, she has been very kind.’

  Claudia had been described as many things but kind had not been one of them.

  He rested his hand on the pommel. ‘It was given to me by my father and it would be the height of bad manners to discard it.’

  I looked at Lusin. She was attractive enough, but whether she was worth giving up a kingdom for I knew not, but I had a feeling the pair would never see Gordyene again. I watched them both leave in the company of black-clad Agraci warriors, Gallia beside me.

  ‘Spartacus casts a long shadow,’ she remarked. ‘Let us hope Akmon and Lusin can find a place in the world beyond his reach.’

  I expected the others to leave the palace in the wake of the incident with Akmon but the rulers of Hatra, Mesene and Elymais stayed on. It was good to be again in the company of some of the original Companions, even if we were now all a little long in the tooth and required longer to recover following a day’s hunting or shooting our bows on the training fields. Silaces disappeared for a day or two, being ensconced in his bedroom with Cia, only to emerge exhausted and listless.

  ‘She’ll be the death of me, Pacorus,’ he complained to me while lounging on the terrace with his feet up one morning.

  ‘Where is your queen?’

  ‘Gone riding with your wife and those female assassins she likes to surround herself with.’

  ‘You mean the Amazons?’

  He was devouring a bowl of yogurt with wafers that he dipped in honey first.

  ‘So, how long do you think it will take Spartacus to track down his son and drag him back to Gordyene?’

  ‘Hopefully he will calm down when he gets home.’

  Silaces shoved a wafer doused with honey and yogurt into his mouth.

  ‘Spartacus is just like Surena. He forgets and forgives nothing. I think it will be a while before you get an invitation to Vanadzor.’

  ‘Something in the air in Gordyene makes its kings bull-headed.’

  He topped another wafer with yoghurt and honey and consumed it. Cia had obviously drained him of all his energy.

  ‘What about the little bastard’s little bastard?’ he said.

  I knew he was referring to Phraates’ son and was tempted to advise him he might like to accord the king of kings some respect, but his animosity towards Phraates was long and permanent.

  ‘What about him?’

  He finished eating his third wafer. ‘Now he has an heir he will be even more unbearable. Does the brat have a name yet?’

  ‘Not that I am aware of. No doubt we will be summoned to Ctesiphon so he can reveal it to us in person.’

  ‘Not me,’ he stated.

  Our conversation was interrupted by an excited Salar clutching a note. He waved it at us as he rushed over.

  ‘This has just arrived from Shapur.’

  ‘Who?’ queried Silaces.

  ‘The commander of Sakastan’s army,’ I told him.

  ‘Kewab has won a great victory east of the Indus,’ said Salar, ‘Kujula has been gravely injured. He might even be dead.’

  I jumped form my seat and asked to see the letter. It supplied few details aside from informing Salar that Kewab and his soldiers were in Sigal. Shapur wrote that the satrap had seen Kujula fall from his horse after his horsemen were defeated by a cataphract assault. I felt pride and relief surge through me. Pride that Dura had produced such a capable commander as Kewab and relief that Kujula might be dead or at least gravely wounded.

  ‘This might bring the war in the east to an end,’ I smiled.

  ‘It will have taken at least a week for the letter to get here,’ said Salar.

  ‘In which time Kujula might have expired,’ I uttered in hope. ‘No Kujula, no expansion of the Kushan Empire, at least not immediately.

  ‘If Phraates had any balls,’ spat Silaces, ‘he would gather an army and launch an invasion of the Kushan lands to profit from Kujula’s misfortune. He won’t, of course.’

  Silaces’ words were prophetic for as the days passed and more letters arrived from Sigal, courtesy of the efficient postal system that operated throughout the empire, we were informed of the withdrawal of Kushan columns from Yueh-Chih, Aria, Drangiana and Anauon. No word came from Carmania but it was assumed the Kushans were also no longer raiding that kingdom. But it was a month before an official letter arrived from Ctesiphon, signed by the high king but I had no doubt drafted by the sycophantic Chief of Court Ashleen. It was delivered by a party of the high king’s Babylonian Guard – no ordinary despatch riders for Phraates – though similar letters to the more far-flung kingdoms of the empire were probably delivered by ordinary means.

  I waited until the evening meal before revealing it to the kings and queens still resident at Dura. Gallia, Diana and Praxima had spent the whole day with the Amazons, all of them saddle sore and exhausted. I refrained from chiding them they should act their age and reminding them they were no longer in Italy. Nergal and Gafarn had arranged an archery competition in which the King of Hatra had once again demonstrated his almost superhuman abilities with a bow. Silaces had actually managed to venture out the palace, taking Cia on a tour of the city and the fertile lands to the south of Dura. Salar spent the whole day trying to convince Chrestus to establish a camel corps at Dura, fortunately in vain. We sat on one table in the feasting hall, our voices echoing around the chamber.

  I pulled the letter from my tunic. ‘This arrived earlier from Ctesiphon.’

  Silaces and Nergal groaned and Gallia rolled her eyes.

  ‘A promotion, Pacorus?’ quipped Gafarn.

  I ignored him. ‘I assume a similar letter has been sent to Hatra, Elymais and Uruk, and every other capital in the empire.’

  Gafarn held up a finger. ‘Not Babylon or Susa, I think, which are ruled directly from Ctesiphon. And don’t forget Persis.’

  I sighed; he was obviously in an impious mood.

  ‘To most of the capitals in the empire,’ I corrected myself.

  I began reading. ‘To my dear friend, King Pacorus.’

  Silaces guffawed. ‘Little arse licker.’

  ‘In view of the great victory of our army in the east under the command of Satrap Kewab,’ I continued to read, ‘and the subsequent eradication of the Kushan threat, we have decided to withdraw said army now that the danger it was created to face has disappeared. From now on it will be the responsibility of the kingdoms in the
east to furnish troops to combat the Kushans rather than rely on the goodwill of Ctesiphon and its treasury.’

  ‘How arrogant,’ were Isabella’s first words.

  Salar was shaking his head. ‘If Tiridates receives a letter along similar lines he will be greatly offended. We have all provided soldiers in the fight against Kujula.’

  ‘Perhaps the language will be different in the letters addressed to him and others in the east,’ I said in hope.

  ‘I doubt it,’ uttered Silaces, ‘he will want to steal all the glory for himself.’

  ‘We don’t know if Kujula is actually dead,’ said Salar, ‘if he is not then the war is not ended, merely interrupted.’

  ‘Looks like you will be getting your commander back, Pacorus,’ said Nergal.

  ‘I give thanks for that, at least,’ I replied.

  But over the following days I received more letters from Ctesiphon and Salar received additional missives from Shapur that allowed us to build up a semi-accurate picture of what was happening a thousand miles to the east. The shock news that Kewab had lost half his men in his bold strike across the Indus that felled Kujula was offset by the confirmation of a general Kushan withdrawal from the empire. The letters from Ctesiphon were of a trivial nature and involved plans for a victory memorial to commemorate Phraates’ ‘triumph’ over the Kushans and enquiring as to Kewab’s lineage, because the court archivists were compiling a biography of the victorious satrap, with an introduction by Phraates himself, no less.

  ‘Who taught him to write?’ was Silaces’ caustic comment.

  Despite the welcome news from the east, Salar and Isabella were eager to return to their kingdom. We said our goodbyes on an overcast morning in the Citadel, their yellow-uniformed escort waiting in the courtyard for their king and queen. The occasions when Isabella visited Dura were becoming fewer and fewer as the years passed, not least because Sakastan was at the other end of the empire. The farewell between her and Gallia was thus a tearful one, but tempered to some extent by the defeat of Kujula, that and the presence of Kewab at Sigal. Eszter hugged her sister and Claudia and Isabella exchanged a cordial goodbye, though as the latter was descending the palace steps Claudia called her back. She took something from her robe and pressed it into her sister’s hand. I recognised it as the copper amulet that had been thrust into my own hand in Sigal months ago. She drew Isabella close and whispered into her ear, the Queen of Sakastan looking at first surprised, and then delighted. I shuddered when I recalled the amulet – a creature with a beard, horns, grotesque bulging eyes and a snarling canine mouth. It was a representation of Pazuzu, king of the wind demons. Why in the name of the gods was Claudia giving her sister such a thing and why was Isabella so seemingly delighted?