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by Peter Darman

  ‘Ctesiphon welcomes you, majesties. King of Kings Phraates is eager to welcome you himself.’

  ‘Our men will camp outside the walls to be able to water the horses and camels more easily,’ I said, turning to call forward Azad and Sporaces.

  Gafarn and Nergal also summoned their commanders and ordered them to make camp.

  ‘Not too far away,’ warned Nergal, ‘just in case Tiridates makes an appearance. Where is he, by the way?’

  Silani appeared embarrassed. ‘No one seems to know, majesty.’

  The huge gatehouse was topped by the banners of Babylon, Susiana and Persis and the road that led from the entrance to the palace complex inside had been paved with white stone slabs, the crisp clatter of iron-shod horse hooves on stone filling the air as we trotted towards the centre of the complex. As well as the large palace itself, Ctesiphon contained sprawling mansions, ornate temples, living quarters for a small army of royal officials, barracks, stables, workshops, warehouses for food and supplies and squat mud-brick buildings housing the host of slaves that served in the palace, temples and kept Ctesiphon clean and well maintained. In addition, the houses of the rich had their own slaves. It was like a small city and even had its own watercourses to bring fresh water from the Tigris and to carry sewage and other waste back to the river.

  As we trotted towards the entrance to the palace, Gallia questioned Silani on the birth of Phraates’ son.

  ‘I did not realise Phraates was married, general.’

  Silani sat as stiff as stone in the saddle. ‘He is not, majesty.’

  ‘Then the boy is a bastard,’ said Praxima crudely.

  ‘It is not for me to say, majesty.’

  ‘Leave the general alone,’ implored Gafarn. ‘Alas, in our haste to get here we forgot to bring a present for the infant. What is his name, by the way?’

  ‘Phraates,’ replied Silani.

  ‘Naturally,’ smiled Diana.

  Phraates himself was not present to welcome us when we halted on the great square in front of the palace entrance, a phalanx of Scythian axe men standing to attention and more of Silani’s men on display behind them, every man carrying a lance flying a purple pennant sporting the horned bull of Babylon. Trumpeters blew a fanfare when slaves came forward to take our horses, Chief of Court Ashleen bowing deeply and smiling obsequiously at the foot of the steps.

  ‘Hail King Pacorus and Queen Gallia, King Gafarn and Queen Diana, and King Nergal and Queen Praxima. In the name of King of Kings Phraates, ruler of all the lands between the Euphrates and Himalayas…’

  ‘Take us to Phraates,’ I ordered, walking past him up the steps, followed by the others.

  Ashleen scurried up the steps behind us, his small feet working quickly to keep up with us as we left the dry heat to enter the cool marble interior of the palace, the air sweet with a trace of incense. Chaos and storms may have been gathering beyond the walls of Ctesiphon but inside all was calm, order and beauty; apart from our group of tired, dust-covered individuals violating the purity of the abode of the king of kings. The sweating Ashleen caught up with me.

  ‘You will wish to rest, majesty, I will show you to your quarters personally.’

  ‘Take us to Phraates immediately,’ I commanded, ‘we did not ride here to be bathed and pampered, Ashleen.’

  We reached the throne room where I assumed Phraates would be sitting on his golden throne, waiting to receive our homage, but I was wrong. When we entered the chamber usually filled with fawning courtiers, priests and palace officials, we found it empty.

  ‘Has Phraates fled?’ queried Diana.

  ‘No, majesty,’ said Ashleen, ‘he is in his private quarters.

  ‘Fetch him,’ I ordered.

  ‘He has given orders he is not to be disturbed,’ replied Ashleen apologetically. ‘He likes to spend time with his son in the afternoons.’

  Praxima and Gallia burst out laughing. His reign was in danger and yet Phraates preferred to play the doting father instead of trying to save his crown.

  ‘Inform the high king it is the height of bad manners to keep waiting those who are here to save his skin,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘We can always turn around and return from whence we came,’ threatened Nergal.

  His words prompted the chief of court to beg us to stay while he sought an audience with the high king. So he scurried off to Phraates’ private quarters, leaving us alone with a nervous steward who kept asking if we needed anything, until Praxima told him to be quiet.

  ‘Can you smell it?’ she asked.

  I sniffed the air, which was laced with the pleasant aroma of pine incense.

  ‘Smell what?’ I queried.

  ‘Fear, this place reeks of it.’

  A sweating Ashleen reappeared and requested we follow him, eventually arriving at the high king’s private library, which had undergone a radical transformation the last time I saw it. The couches and desk had been removed and in place of a luxurious red and gold carpet was a huge map of the Parthian Empire painted on the floor. We stood at the entrance gawping in wonder at the intricate floor map, which showed all the kingdoms of the empire, their capital cities and even the major rivers and mountain ranges contained within Parthia. I went to step inside but heard Phraates’ voice.

  ‘Oh, no, King Pacorus. No boots inside the library.’

  He appeared from the far end of the corridor, dressed in a beautiful purple robe with scarlet slippers on his feet. A gold cord was fastened around his belt and from his neck he wore a large golden amulet of a bull’s head. As one we bowed our heads as he glided into the library, two Scythian bodyguards behind him, also wearing scarlet slippers.

  ‘You will find pairs of slippers on the rack by the door,’ Phraates told us, ‘please take off your boots and put on a pair before you enter. Ashleen, have you ordered wine for our guests?’

  ‘Yes, highness.’

  We removed our boots and donned the silk slippers, which had small bells attached that jingled when we walked. We looked and sounded ludicrous and I assumed that was the whole point of the exercise. Inside the library Phraates stood with arms folded in the centre of the room, nodding as we entered. He suddenly spread his arms.

  ‘Welcome to Ctesiphon. We are glad to see our most faithful servants King Gafarn, Queen Diana, King Pacorus, Queen Gallia, King Nergal and Queen Praxima. Behold the empire that is currently threatened by the traitor Tiridates.’

  Slaves wearing soft white slippers entered the room with trays of silver chalices, into which was poured wine. They were then served to us.

  Phraates pointed at Susiana.

  ‘I have ordered the satrap of Susiana to intercept the army of Tiridates and destroy it. We,’ he looked at each of us in turn, ‘will use our forces to retake Babylon that has been seized by traitorous rebels.’

  ‘Traitor’ was obviously the word of the day. Silani appeared, complete with silk slippers, together with the hapless governor of Seleucia, who looked distinctly nervous. But Phraates’ eyes lit up when he saw him.

  ‘Dagan, have some wine. We were just discussing retaking Babylon.’

  ‘I wish to be the one who leads the assault against the traitors, highness.’

  Silani raised his eyes to the ceiling but Phraates was nodding approvingly.

  ‘Who is the leader of the insurrection in Babylon?’ I asked.

  ‘The House of Egibi,’ spat Phraates with venom.

  Gafarn stroked his chin. ‘I seem to remember the name. Are they not some sort of trading organisation?’

  ‘Among other things, yes, majesty,’ said Ashleen, ‘though they also own large tracts of land throughout Babylonia, Susiana and now Armenia.’

  ‘Which I have seized,’ declared Phraates with satisfaction. ‘I have also dissolved the House of Egibi and will put to death all its family members when I have them in my clutches, especially that fat oaf Nabu Egibi.’

  Ashleen explained that two brothers, Itti and Nabu, headed the House of Egibi and the latter
had apparently fomented the rebellion, though I was at a loss as to the reason. So I pressed Phraates on the matter.

  He tossed his empty chalice at a slave. ‘Because, King Pacorus, I refused to give back an amount of gold that was paid by Nabu Egibi to me for arranging his marriage to an Armenian girl, whose name escapes me.’

  ‘Lusin,’ said Ashleen.

  ‘That’s her,’ sneered Phraates. ‘She ran off with the son of King Spartacus, and in doing so provoked a rebellion. She will pay with her head when I get hold of her.’

  ‘If you kill Prince Akmon you will alienate King Spartacus, highness,’ warned Silani.

  Phraates, realising he was in the presence of Spartacus’ father and uncle, wagged a finger at his general.

  ‘I did not say I would kill Prince Akmon, only the girl.’

  He looked at Gafarn. ‘Where is your son, King Gafarn?’

  ‘In Gordyene,’ came the reply.

  Half of Phraates’ top lip curled up. ‘I thought he was at Dura celebrating King Pacorus’ birthday. Did you get my present, by the way?’

  ‘Most generous of you, highness.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Phraates, ‘with the soldiers of Susiana engaging Tiridates, Dura’s siege engines can batter down the walls of Babylon to put the city’s revolt to an end.’

  ‘I did not bring my siege engines,’ I announced.

  Phraates’ eyes bored into me. ‘No siege engines? Why? You still possess siege engines, I assume?’

  ‘We brought only horsemen,’ I told him, ‘so we could reach Ctesiphon more speedily.’

  ‘We came to fight the army of Tiridates,’ said Nergal.

  Phraates jabbed a finger at the floor map. ‘Tiridates will be stopped at Susa, King Nergal, for the army of the traitor will move west on the road through Esfahan and thence to Susa. Is it not so, General Silani.’

  ‘That seems most likely, highness,’ agreed the general. ‘We know it passed by Esfahan a week ago, which means it should be approaching Ctesiphon in a day or two.’

  It was three hundred miles from Esfahan to Ctesiphon as the raven flew, though the road curved south in a great arc to run through the city of Susa, where the satrap of that city was expected to halt and destroy Tiridates’ army.

  ‘Is there any information as to the strength of the enemy army?’ I asked Silani.

  ‘None, majesty,’ replied Silani.

  ‘Will any other kings be mustering at Ctesiphon?’ I queried.

  Phraates looked at Ashleen, who cleared his throat. ‘Thus far only those who stand in this room have declared their intention to fight Tiridates.’

  ‘Who is against us?’ asked Praxima, to looks of surprise from Dagan, Ashleen and Silani.

  They were unused to a woman speaking so bluntly in the company of men, much less when the high king himself was present, even if she was a queen. However, Phraates, having encountered the Queen of Mesene on numerous occasions and being familiar with her candour, nodded to Silani.

  ‘We know Tiridates has enlisted the support of Drangiana, Yueh-Chih and Anauon,’ stated the general.

  ‘If there is one thing I despise,’ declared Phraates suddenly, ‘it is ingratitude. I raised and paid for an army to support the eastern kingdoms and appointed Satrap Kewab to lead it. My exemplary judgement resulted in Kewab defeating Kujula and wounding, perhaps fatally, the Kushan emperor. And what thanks do I get? The eastern kings turn on me.’

  He clapped his hands. ‘But enough of war and politics. You must all be exhausted.’

  The flustered steward appeared in the doorway, bowing his head to Phraates.

  ‘Show our guests to their rooms and arrange for their bodies to be bathed and massaged. They all look very fatigued.’

  And with that Phraates was gone, walking from the room and back down the corridor from whence he had come.

  ‘I could certainly do with a bath,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘Me, too,’ agreed Nergal.

  Ashleen asked us all to follow him as he walked into the corridor. I was the last to leave as the others exchanged slippers for boots. I stared at the floor map and knew no one else would be coming. Hyrcania and Margiana were too busy fighting off steppe nomads to come to Phraates’ aid, not that Musa and Khosrou, now both in their seventies, would be inclined to do so anyway. To the west, Atropaiene was now a de facto enemy of the high king due to the latter’s accusation that Prince Ali had deserted him at the Battle of Irbil, when Phraates had come close to disaster before being rescued by the arrival of Spartacus. Regarding the latter, following the incident at Dura I doubted the King of Gordyene would rush to the aid of Phraates, though he might take the opportunity to assault Media, which was also hostile to the high king. And everyone knew of Silaces’ antipathy toward Phraates.

  ‘Are you coming, Pacorus?’ called Gallia.

  ‘You go on ahead,’ I answered, ‘I will be with you shortly.’

  In the quiet of the library the dire situation Phraates found himself in did not appear quite as bleak as it actually was. I stared at the map. Somewhere to the east was Tiridates’ army. But where? I became aware of another presence in the room and looked around to see the stern visage of Silani staring at me.

  ‘How many soldiers are at Ctesiphon and Seleucia?’ I asked him.

  ‘Less than two thousand,’ he answered.

  I was staggered. ‘That few?’

  ‘The high king saw no reason to have large garrisons here or in Babylon and Seleucia, majesty, as he believed he would always be able to raise an army relatively quickly from Babylonia, Susiana and Persis.’

  ‘The insurgents in Babylon would not have risen without being certain of support,’ I opined, ‘for they are currently but an island in a hostile sea.’

  ‘Susa will send word when Tiridates appears, majesty,’ Silani assured me.

  The meal that night was a subdued affair. The tables were full of expensively attired nobles and their wives, the food was eaten out of golden bowls and the wine sipped from gold rhytons, but conversations were few and people ate sparingly. Praxima was right: Ctesiphon was riddled with fear. The atmosphere lifted momentarily when the royal wet nurse entered the feasting hall cradling the infant Phraates, who opened his eyes and proceeding to cry with fury.

  ‘He has a good pair of lungs,’ said a delighted Phraates, who left his place at the table to hold his son and proceeded to show him off to all and sundry.

  I had to admit I was impressed by his demeanour. He was obviously delighted to have fathered a healthy son to secure his lineage, even if the child was a bastard.

  ‘Where’s the mother?’ whispered Gallia as Phraates approached us with the bawling infant cradled in his arms.

  ‘Dead, most likely,’ suggested Praxima.

  Diana was horrified. ‘Surely not.’

  And then Phraates and his son were before us, Phraates stroking the child’s cheek, oblivious to the racket he was making.

  ‘My son and heir,’ he declared.

  We stood to admire the child, and in truth he appeared hale and hearty enough and was certainly blessed with powerful lungs.

  ‘My congratulations,’ I said, ‘your father would have been proud.’

  The happy expression on Phraates’ face disappeared to be replaced by a scowl. His humour did not improve when Praxima opened her mouth.

  ‘Where is his mother, highness?’

  ‘Died in childbirth,’ hissed Phraates before turning and beckoning over the wet nurse.

  Praxima smiled and looked at a horrified Diana. Many women died in childbirth and it was conceivable the mother of the child had met a similar fate. But knowing Phraates’ malicious nature it was impossible to dismiss the idea that he had had the woman, who was a slave, murdered. It certainly saved him answering any awkward questions as to whether he would marry the mother of his child or enquiries as to her lineage. The truth would probably never be known unless Phraates had an attack of conscience and confessed all his sins, which was about as likely as the su
n falling from the sky.

  The next morning we were summoned to the high king’s private office to be informed that a courier had arrived from the satrap of Susa notifying Ctesiphon that as yet there was no sign of the army of Tiridates. Only the kings had been requested to attend Phraates, the high king finding the company of women with minds of their own somewhat disconcerting. He was very relaxed when we entered, and he asked us to sit on plush couches with golden feet in the shape of bulls’ bodies. Silani stood beside Phraates’ huge mahogany desk and two Scythian axe men stood behind him against the wall. On another wall was a large map of the Parthian Empire painted on wooden boards. Phraates was looking very smug as Silani revealed the contents of the despatch from Susa.

  ‘Tiridates has obviously fled back east,’ declared Phraates, ‘for it does not take a genius to know that an army cannot subsist in a landscape of desert and mountains.’

  He jumped up and walked over to the map, jabbing a finger at the area between Susa and Esfahan.

  ‘Desert and mountains. The idiot.’

  ‘Tiridates and his army must be somewhere,’ I said, ‘thousands of men, horses and camels do not simply disappear.’

  Phraates returned to his seat. ‘But they do perish in the desert, King Pacorus, if they have no water or food. We need to start thinking of a punitive campaign against the eastern kingdoms. Rebellion cannot be tolerated.’

  ‘We should confirm the army of Tiridates has perished before we consider marching into the east,’ advised Nergal.

  Phraates groaned. ‘Is this the attitude that won Carrhae, King Nergal, or crushed the Armenians before the walls of Hatra, King Gafarn?’

  ‘We were younger and not as wise then, majesty,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘Caution is an affliction that affects the aged. I have seen it many times,’ lamented Phraates. ‘Though that should not affect King Spartacus who is in his prime. It saddens me that your son has failed to rally to his high king, King Gafarn.’

  ‘I am sure he is marching south as we speak,’ smiled Gafarn. ‘He left Dura before your summons arrived, majesty.’