by Peter Darman
I have fought in many battles and seen death at close quarters, witnessed the horror and tasted fear close up. But at that moment an undiluted terror gripped every sinew in my body as the leper shuffled towards me. I could only see his brown eyes, the rest of his face mercifully hidden by his dirty shemagh. He bowed his head to me.
‘This is Adapa, father, a former soldier in the army of Babylon. He has kindly agreed to protect us during the journey. The others are also former soldiers. So you see, we are quite safe.’
I stared at his eyes, wondering what was beneath the face veil.
Claudia frowned. ‘You must forgive my father, Adapa, his close friends were killed yesterday in battle.’
‘The pain must be very raw, majesty,’ said Adapa, his voice muffled by the shemagh. ‘I too know what it is like to lose friends in war.’
‘We can’t hear you, Adapa,’ said Claudia, ‘show your face.’
I stepped back two paces as he did so, my eyes opening wide as I beheld the ravages of leprosy. His eyelashes and eyebrows had gone and there were lumps on his chin and discoloured patches of skin around his eyes. And yet, there was still a living, breathing person beneath the deformities. I remembered who I was.
‘I am in your debt, Adapa. I, I am sorry about your affliction.’
His disfigured mouth attempted to smile, which resembled a grotesque leer.
‘Your daughter has promised us sanctuary in a place where we can be free from persecution, majesty. It is much more than we could have hoped for.’
‘We are leaving,’ announced Claudia, turning and embracing me. She walked up the palace steps and embraced Gallia, Gafarn and Diana, returning to her camel to gain its saddle. Phraates did the same, the two beasts standing and walking from the palace courtyard, led by Adapa on a camel and a leper on foot ringing a bell to warn all those in their path that the diseased were among them.
Thus it was that King of Kings Phraates left Seleucia for an unknown destination in the company of a sorceress and escorted by a party of lepers.
Chapter 7
We left Seleucia that afternoon, riding hard to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the hordes of Tiridates. We need not have bothered. After two hours in the saddle under a blazing sun, both horses and their riders sweating as they cantered across the rock-hard, dusty landscape, it became apparent there was no pursuit. There was no dust cloud behind us and the horse archers of the rearguard reported only normal traffic on the road: caravans, farmers, villagers and the like. We diverted to rest for an hour by the side of the Tigris before pushing on to put another twenty miles between Ctesiphon and ourselves. That night, men and horses fit to drop, we camped near the river some forty miles north of the city.
We sat around a small table with Diana and Gafarn in the dim light of our tent illuminated by a single oil lamp.
‘Dagan will be feasting with Tiridates in Ctesiphon by now,’ said Gafarn, chewing on a date.
We had offered Dagan sanctuary in either Hatra or Dura but he had declined. The departure of Phraates from Seleucia effectively gave him a free hand to defect to Tiridates, which he would undoubtedly do.
‘A loyal, resolute governor could have been a thorn in Tiridates’ side,’ I said bitterly, ‘but Dagan is not such an individual.’
‘I think you will find few will remain loyal to Phraates now,’ opined Diana. ‘His capital has fallen, he has fled Seleucia to an unknown destination, and Hatra and Dura have been forced to retreat with their tails between their legs.’
‘And Mesene has lost its king and queen,’ added a brooding Gallia.
‘We need to decide our strategy,’ urged Gafarn, ‘for Tiridates will move quickly to consolidate his power.’
‘I will never pledge my loyalty to a usurper who is responsible for the deaths of my friends,’ I stated.
‘Our friends,’ said Diana.
‘Neither will I,’ confirmed Gafarn. ‘But we are but two kingdoms out of seventeen. In addition, apart from us no one will have the stomach to fight to put Phraates back on Ctesiphon’s throne.’
‘And we have to think about Salar and Isabella,’ said Gallia. ‘We cannot support Sakastan from a thousand miles away whereas Tiridates can bring the resources of his own and two other kingdoms to bear on Salar’s realm.’
‘So there you are,’ I said morosely, ‘we have been truly outflanked. The only glimmer of hope is Claudia keeping Phraates alive. While he still lives Tiridates will not be able to sleep easily.’
It was little comfort as we continued our ride north, linking up with Chrestus and the legions and General Herneus leading Hatra’s cataphracts and horse archers on the third day after leaving Seleucia. There was nothing for them to do except turn around and retrace their steps. We said farewell to Gafarn and Diana on the fourth day, the Hatrans continuing north back to their city and the Durans diverting west to head for the Euphrates. It was an inglorious return to the city and I ordered Talib to ride ahead to order there be no cheering crowds or welcoming committee in the Citadel. All I wanted was to wash the dust and dirt from my body in the hope I could erase the memory of the disaster outside Ctesiphon.
Outwardly life at Dura and within the empire returned to normal remarkably quickly after Tiridates’ seizure of the high crown. He sent heralds to every kingdom proclaiming his reign and the dawn of a new age for Parthia, which was expected if a little hackneyed. But he was astute enough not to demand oaths of allegiance from the separate kingdoms, knowing that to do so might provoke strife or passive opposition. But then he had no need to. The lack of any real opposition to his sitting on Ctesiphon’s throne was testament to the tacit support of most of the kingdoms in the empire, or most likely their lack of appetite for any bloodshed to eject him. But as the weeks passed, far from heralding the dawn of a new age, events indicated that it was the end of an epoch.
News reached Dura of the death of King Aschek of Atropaiene, followed almost immediately by that of his wife Ona. Thus did Dura lose a valuable ally and two friends. I had fought beside Aschek many times and though his army could never be described as formidable, it was always comforting to have his shabaz standard fluttering beside my own on the battlefield. Aschek’s surviving son Ali became King of Atropaiene and because of his poor treatment at the hands of Phraates in the aftermath of the Battle of Irbil against Mark Antony, he would probably throw in his lot with Tiridates.
The cloud of gloom hanging over Dura got darker when a courier arrived at the Citadel with news that King Musa of Hyrcania had also passed away. I held the letter in my hand as I stood on the palace balcony staring at the blue waters of the Euphrates below. Gallia sat under the awning staring into space.
‘I suddenly feel very old,’ she said.
I walked over and sat in the chair beside her. ‘I remember Musa in his prime. A big round face encased in a helmet with a large black horsehair crest. Then again, everything about Musa was large: his head, his frame and his hands that resembled a bear’s paws.’
She chuckled. ‘He was certainly larger than life.’
‘And loyal,’ I added. ‘He supported my father’s scheme to remove Mithridates and replace him with Orodes all those years ago. We owe him a great debt.’
‘It seems everyone and everything we have known is slipping away,’ she lamented.
‘Then I think we should do something we have been putting off for years before it is too late.’
‘Merv, majesty?’
Poor old Rsan was in an agitated state. At the weekly council meeting I had announced that Gallia and I would be visiting Merv to pay our respects to the aged King Khosrou, a valued friend and ally we had promised years before to visit his capital. We never had but the deaths of Aschek and Musa had made the decision for us. Khosrou was in his seventies and though as stout as an old date tree, was not immortal.
‘Years ago, Rsan,’ I said, ‘when the queen and I made our first trip to the Council of Kings at Esfahan, Khosrou extended an invitation to us to
visit his capital. We accepted but it was alas one of those things said but never acted upon. Well, now we are going.’
‘But in view of the present precarious situation, majesty,’ pleaded Rsan, ‘do you think it is wise to leave Dura undefended?’
‘Undefended?’ Chrestus was far from amused. ‘The whole army is based in and around the city. Though if we are hard pressed I have no doubt we can find you a sword so you can defend yourself, Rsan.’
Rsan gave the general a withering look and then clicked his fingers. A clerk sitting behind him handed him a papyrus parchment, which my governor proceeded to read from.
‘Four kings marched from the east to depose High King Phraates. They were Tiridates of Aria, now proclaiming himself king of kings, Cinius of Anauon, Monaeses the Second of Yueh-Chih, and Antiochus of Drangiana. Each king rode at the head of twenty thousand men, giving a total of eighty thousand soldiers. To these can be added the forces of King Darius of Media, which I am reliably informed total twenty thousand men. This gives a grand total of one hundred thousand men. In addition, I have learned that Satrap Osrow has also submitted to Tiridates, adding the soldiers of Persis to the new high king’s forces.’
I was impressed. ‘Perhaps I should make you my chief scout instead of Talib. That is a very detailed list.’
‘And accurate, majesty,’ replied Rsan. ‘Now I am no military man.’
‘You can say that again,’ smirked Chrestus.
‘But even I realise,’ continued Rsan, ‘that such a figure outnumbers the army of Dura by over six-to-one. What if Tiridates decides to march against us, encouraged to do so by the absence of your majesties?’
‘Rsan has a point, majesty,’ nodded Aaron. ‘Can we also take it that the armies of Babylon and Susiana are now at the disposal of Tiridates?’
‘You can,’ I confirmed.
Rsan shuddered but Chrestus was unimpressed.
‘The Romans tried to take this city once,’ he tilted his head at Gallia,’ but were defeated by a spirited defence organised by the queen. Now Tiridates may be many things but he has no siege engines, which means he will not be able to batter down Dura’s strong walls.’
‘He can still surround the city and starve it into submission,’ retorted Rsan.
Chrestus nodded. ‘He can, but he would have to fight off relief attempts launched by the army against his siege lines, together with Agraci raids and the forces of Hatra which will come to support us. To say nothing of Kalet and his lords.’
I tried to calm Rsan’s nerves. ‘Tiridates will not march on Dura, he has no need to. He has Ctesiphon, he has a large army and he knows I will not move against him.’
‘Why is that, majesty?’ asked Aaron.
‘Because we will not risk Sakastan being attacked in the east,’ Gallia told him.
‘Tiridates will stay at Ctesiphon to consolidate his rule and we will travel to Merv,’ I said firmly.
I was wrong on both counts.
The news of horsemen approaching Dura on the other side of the Euphrates put paid to our plans to depart the city in the immediate future. Talib and his scouts, recently returned with the legions but yet to travel back to Palmyra, were sent across the river to ascertain the identity of the soldiers. My chief scout had just turned thirty but still resembled a remote figure of the desert, a man of few words but possessing a keen, enquiring mind. At a council of war in the Headquarters Building he reported his findings, his dark brown eyes darting around the occupants of the room as he did so.
‘Around twenty thousand soldiers, a mixture of cataphracts, mounted spearmen and horse archers, plus dozens of camels. Many banners, all showing a deer.’
‘The symbol of Aria,’ said Marcus, putting a cloth to his mouth when he coughed, which he did a lot.
‘I wonder if Tiridates himself is with them?’ I pondered.
There was an evil glint in Gallia’s eye.
‘If he is, we could strike quickly and kill him.’
Azad, Sporaces and Chrestus were nodding in agreement but I dismissed the notion.
‘He comes with a large enough force to beat off an attack and retreat back to Babylonia, but too small to lay siege to Dura. How far is he away?’
‘Thirty miles, lord,’ answered Talib.
‘He has already invaded Hatran territory, majesty,’ said Chrestus, ‘that alone is enough to invite an attack.’
‘His army moves slowly?’ I queried Talib.
‘Very slowly, lord.’
‘We should let him get close to the city, then strike,’ said Gallia, ‘like a desert viper.’
‘I like the analogy,’ I smiled, ‘but as yet we do not know if Tiridates is actually with his men.’
‘What does that matter?’ she sneered.
‘Get your men back across the river,’ I told Talib, ‘to ensure the other eastern kings are not loitering in the area. For the moment, we will do nothing.’
Gallia growled her disapproval but Marcus, after coughing into his cloth, voiced what I was thinking.
‘It seems to me that Tiridates is not here to fight but to talk, majesty. He would have surmised you would refuse his offer of a meeting at Ctesiphon, therefore Ctesiphon has come to you.’
I decided to place the army on alert and to wait for the updated intelligence Talib and his men would provide regarding any additional forces on the other side of the Euphrates. After the meeting, I walked with Marcus into the courtyard.
‘Are you ill, old friend?’
He coughed again. ‘No, majesty, just a cough I cannot seem to shake. It seems to have settled on my chest.’
‘Get Alcaeus to give you something for it. I keeping hearing good things about Lucius Varsas, Marcus.’
Lucius Varsas was a Roman, a distance relative of Marcus who had come to Dura to serve in its army. When he first came to the city, a fresh-faced young man with dreams of commanding Dura’s siege engines, he had been given a room in my quartermaster general’s home. But now, after graduating from the Sons of the Citadel course, he had a home of his home and was deputy commander under Marcus, despite Gallia’s objection to having another Roman in a senior position in the army. It had taken her around twenty years to fully accept Marcus but I hoped she would warm to young Varsas in a shorter time period.
‘He is very diligent, majesty, if a little frightened of the queen.’
‘We all share that sentiment, my friend.’
I said farewell to him at the gates and walked to the palace, Talib raising his hand to me as he rode from the courtyard. The day-to-day routine of the Citadel continued as normal, the workshops mending weapons and armour, the bakery producing bread and the stables alive with activity. I stopped when I noticed out of the corner of my eye a stonemason and his apprentice on wooden scaffolding next to the granite plaque dedicated to the Companions. I walked over to see the mason about to begin carving on the plaque, but his apprentice whispered in his ear, causing him to turn away from the granite.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
The mason put down his chisel and hammer and descended the ladder to stand before me, his apprentice following. He bowed to me.
‘The queen commanded that the names of King Nergal and Queen Praxima be added to the plaque, majesty.’
‘To be added straight away, majesty,’ added his apprentice.
The mason was a hearty fellow, chubby with thick, stubby arms and fingers. He had worked in the Citadel for years and was the only one trusted to carve the commemorative plaque. I estimated him to be around fifty and wondered if he or his apprentice would be the one to carve my name in the stone.
‘You are doing a splendid job,’ I told him, ‘just make sure their names are together.’
‘Of course, majesty. Crying shame they died as they did.’
‘Crying shame,’ echoed the apprentice, a gangly lad who had yet to grow into his frame. The mason clipped him around the ear.
‘Please continue with your work,’ I said.
Shame was
an apt word because that was what I felt in the aftermath of my friends’ deaths. Gallia wanted vengeance but in her rage she had forgotten that I was the driving force behind the failed attempt to keep Phraates on his throne, and by implication responsible for the deaths of Nergal and Praxima. Now Phraates was gone, to where the gods alone knew, and I was left to reflect on my poor decision. I did not dwell for long, though, because two days later Talib returned with news there were no additional enemy forces on the other side of the Euphrates and that Tiridates had halted his advance ten miles south of Dura.
We saw his campfires illuminating the night when we stood on the palace terrace after the sun had gone down, the air cool after daylight had left the earth.
‘He’s goading us,’ seethed Gallia, glaring at the red glow on the horizon.
‘He has marched into your brother’s kingdom uninvited,’ added Eszter, newly returned from Kalet’s desert stronghold, ‘he should be killed.’
‘Your father wants to talk rather than fight,’ said Gallia.
‘That is a mistake,’ replied Eszter.
I walked away from the balustrade to sit in my wicker chair, pulling the cloak around me. It always amazed me the way the temperature dropped so quickly in the desert after the searing heat of daylight hours.
‘Tomorrow I will ride out to deal with the invaders of Gafarn’s kingdom,’ I promised, ‘but if Tiridates has something to say I will hear him out first.’
‘Even though he killed our friends?’ snapped Gallia.
‘I have to be realistic,’ I told her. ‘I am mindful that Tiridates has an army of over one hundred thousand men now that our friend Osrow has joined him. If we attack him and, for the sake of argument, we kill him, what is to stop his fellow kings launching attacks against Hatra, Elymais and in the east Sakastan? I can set the empire alight very easily, but dowsing the flames will be much harder.’
I thought it a clever retort but it served only to incense Gallia who stormed from the terrace and locked our bedroom door, consigning me to a guest bedroom for the night. Her temper had not subsided in the morning but at least her wrath momentarily abated when a party of horsemen arrived at the Citadel with an invitation for me. They were magnificently attired, all wearing open-faced helmets and scale armour cuirasses comprising leather vests covered with overlapping iron scales protecting the chest and back. Their black tunics were in stark contrast to their light tan leggings and brown boots, a deer symbol on each of their round hide-covered shields and the pennants that fluttered from their lances. A party of Sporaces’ horse archers had met them once they had crossed one of the pontoon bridges spanning the Euphrates, escorting them to the Citadel and ensuring they did not attempt anything untoward in the courtyard. After informing the duty centurion they carried a message for the King of Dura from Tiridates, their commander was escorted into the throne room after I had been informed of their arrival. Gallia, still not speaking to me, sat down beside me, her blue eyes boring into the officer as he walked towards me, helmet in the crook of his arm.