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by Peter Darman

  ‘The rider is from General Karys, majesty,’ the centurion told me.

  Karys, a dour, somewhat remote individual of Jewish heritage, had been Nergal’s general and one who had been very loyal to both him and Praxima. I had heard he had left Uruk following their deaths and had presumably gone into exile. My curiosity was aroused.

  ‘Show him in.’

  Memories of my friends flooded my mind as the soldier appeared in the hall, wearing the uniform I always looked to for reassurance on the battlefield. Over his red kaftan called a kurta he wore a scale-armour cuirass – a short-sleeved garment reaching down to the mid-thigh and slit at each side to facilitate riding. On the leather cuirass were attached horizontal rows of rectangular iron scales, each row partly covering the layer below. In the crook of his arm he carried a helmet made from curved iron plates attached to a skeleton of vertical iron bands, which had large cheek guards and a long leather neck flap. He bowed his head to us and handed the note to the centurion, who passed it to me. Gallia and Rsan watched with fascination as I broke the seal showing a double-headed lion sceptre crossed with a sword and read the words. At first I did not believe what I was reading.

  ‘Don’t keep us in suspense,’ said Gallia, ‘what does it say?’

  I handed it to her and she read it aloud.

  Greetings King Pacorus.

  The army of the illegitimate satrap of Mesene, so called, acting under the orders of the tyrant Tiridates, has been destroyed, the aforementioned satrap having perished while trying to flee the field of battle. I intend to march on Uruk where I await the King and Queen of Dura and their army.

  Your humble servant

  Karys

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Rsan, ‘I thought the problem in Mesene was a minor affair involving the Ma’adan.’

  ‘So did I,’ I agreed.

  ‘What will we tell Karys?’ asked Gallia matter-of-factly.

  ‘That he and his men can have sanctuary at Dura,’ I answered. I looked at the courier. ‘I will compose a letter for you to take back to your commander.’

  He saluted, turned on his heels and marched from the chamber. I waited for the doors to close before giving my opinion.

  ‘Even if Karys has defeated the satrap, the garrison of Uruk can hold out until Tiridates marches to its relief.’

  ‘Unless he already has Uruk,’ opined Gallia, ‘the letter would have been penned at least a week ago. I say we should join with Karys.’

  ‘And plunge the empire into civil war? No, I will not sanction it.’

  She shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

  I was taken aback. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  She stood and walked to where Rsan was sitting, holding out her hand.

  ‘Come. Rsan, tell me more about sharks and their curious eating habits.’

  She helped Rsan out of the chair, linked her arm in his and the pair walked to the doors, the guards flanking them pulling them open to allow them to exit, leaving me holding the letter from the man who had provided the spark to ignite civil war in the empire.

  The next council meeting was dominated by one topic – Tiridates’ declaration of war against Dura. It was delivered by a courier from the nearest post station across the Euphrates, the soldier unaware that as the bringer of bad news I could order him to be killed on the spot. I always thought that notion churlish, akin to battering a courier pigeon to death for transporting a message it had no part in. I tossed the letter on the table.

  ‘Feel free to peruse it,’ I told all the attendees. ‘Apparently, it is I who declared war first, though I cannot remember sending such a message to Ctesiphon. Furthermore, apparently the rebels of Mesene are operating under my orders and Dura is responsible for the death of the its satrap, who unfortunately was also a close friend of Tiridates, or so the latter states.’

  ‘It is a terrible misunderstanding,’ remarked a worried Rsan. ‘An apology must be sent to Ctesiphon immediately.’

  ‘Sod that,’ spat Chrestus. ‘This is Dura, not some insignificant backwater.’

  The other military men – Sporaces and Azad – rapped their knuckles on the table and Gallia gave them a triumphant smile.

  ‘I must protest,’ said Rsan, ‘having avoided a war with Tiridates, I see no logic in plunging Dura into a conflict over a simple misunderstanding.’

  ‘We cannot back down,’ insisted Chrestus, ‘to do so would make us look weak, and weakness invariably attracts more enemies.’

  ‘What is your opinion, general?’ said Gallia softly.

  ‘If we are at war,’ he replied, ‘then we must try to strike the first blow, just as Karys has.’

  Aaron, who had been studying Tiridates’ letter closely, looked up.

  ‘Karys?’

  ‘The name of the general leading the revolt in Mesene,’ I told him. ‘He is of your faith.’

  Aaron nodded. ‘His name means “shark”.’

  ‘A shark that consumes vipers,’ I muttered, the realisation suddenly dawning on me.

  They all looked at me quizzically. I pointed at Rsan.

  ‘Among the many letters we received from Ctesiphon after Tiridates seized the high throne, I seem to remember one discussing the symbol of Mesene.’

  Rsan stroked his beard. ‘Ah, yes, that the standard of Mesene would be reverting to the one used before the rule of King Nergal and Queen Praxima, may the gods bless their souls.’

  ‘What was the previous banner?’ I asked impatiently.

  ‘A viper, I believe,’ came the answer.

  The dead shark with its stomach full of vipers was a sign, of that I was certain. Nergal’s general had consumed the viper of Mesene, which could only mean Tiridates’ new satrap. The gods wanted war but they always thirsted for blood; why should I give it to them? I would not be responsible for thousands more deaths.

  ‘We are not going to war,’ I announced, ‘I will write to Tiridates explaining my so-called declaration of war did not come from Dura.’

  ‘And Karys?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘He must forge his own path.’

  ‘Pacorus the peace maker,’ she growled. ‘It does not suit you.’

  My decision was final but the immortals had other plans and no sooner had I retired to an office in the Headquarters Building to compile a letter to Tiridates, then we received word that Hatra and Gordyene were also at war with the high king, or at least his lord high general. Gallia thrust the missive from Gafarn into my hand before I had a chance to put pen to papyrus. It seemed a remarkable coincidence but rather than lobby me to muster the army, she simple asked me a question.

  ‘How would Claudia interpret these events?’

  She left me alone to digest the news from my brother, whose letter was both a precise summary of events and a plea for help. Darius, enraged by provocative raids by Hatra and Gordyene, which neither Gafarn or Spartacus had any knowledge of, had vowed to crush them with the aid of the new high king. Spartacus, needing little encouragement to wage war against Media, was already marching south with his Sarmatian allies, ‘ready to lay waste all Media with a savage fury’. But Gafarn could not in all conscience stand by and watch his son march to war and not join him, ‘especially as Darius has hurled insults at me, my wife and family’. The army of Hatra would therefore cross the Tigris at Assur to join with Spartacus, ‘after which we will march on Irbil to seek out and destroy the army of Media and its allies’.

  Word had reached Hatra of the insurrection and success of Karys and he requested ‘that the army of Dura march to join with Nergal’s brave commander, after which your combined forces should strike north and therefore draw off some of Tiridates’ forces that I have no doubt are already mustering in Media’.

  It was with a heavy heart that I walked back to the palace to converse with my wife. I stopped halfway up the steps and looked around. Guards walked the ramparts, workers were loading supplies into the granary, the reassuring sound of metal being worked on anvils came from the armoury and stable hands
were walking horses from the stables under the watchful eye of a farrier checking for lameness. Each individual had dreams, hopefully loved ones and looked forward to the future with a degree of certainty, knowing their king would pay their wages and safeguard the city where their friends and family lived. And now I was about to jeopardise it all. I felt bitter and angry but what could I do?

  On the terrace I found Gallia sharpening her sword, her helmet and dagger on the table beside her chair. She did not halt her work as I walked over and sat beside her.

  ‘We are going to war, then?’

  I stared at the stone balustrade. ‘Yes. I have tried to avoid it but events have overtaken me. I would have left Karys to his fate but I cannot in all conscience abandon my brother or my nephew, however hot-headed Spartacus is.’

  She lifted up the sword so the sun’s rays shone on the edge of the blade, so she could see if there were any nicks.

  ‘You have nothing to reproach yourself for, Pacorus. You are an honourable man, unlike so many we have dealt with over the years.’

  She turned over the sword and began running the stone along its edge.

  ‘Having said that, it was a mistake to defend Darius and your sister at Irbil.’

  ‘Spartacus would have killed them both, and Darius’ family, and I could not stand by and allow that.’

  She continued to sharpen the edge, her strokes measured and methodical.

  ‘People have to take responsibility for their actions, Pacorus. Aliyeh was complicit in the overthrow of Phraates and must pay for her treason, as must Tiridates and Darius.’

  She stopped her sharpening. ‘You yourself have always been a strong upholder of the law and proper procedure. You must have known that in the end it would come down to removing Tiridates by force.’

  I sighed and closed my eyes. ‘I suppose, though I did not think it would happen so quickly. It is as if some giant hand is directing events.’

  ‘The hands of the gods,’ she suggested.

  I opened my eyes. ‘I miss Claudia and her interpretations.’

  ‘Me too. When will we be marching?’

  I closed my eyes once more and reclined in my chair.

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  Chapter 10

  I issued orders for the army to be assembled, summoned Talib and his scouts and sent word to Kalet to report to the Citadel as a matter of urgency. Like the fully professional organisation it was, the army gathered around the legionary camp without fuss or hindrance. Chrestus had deliberately spread the account of Karys’ victory over the satrap of Mesene to bolster morale, issuing an official communiqué stating the army was marching to avenge the deaths of Nergal and Praxima, as well as supporting Karys in his fight against ‘the tyrant Tiridates’. Veterans were called back to the colours to man the forts north and south of the city, as well as provide a garrison for Dura itself. Technically, the replacement cohort was more than sufficient to defend the city walls, but I wanted more men under arms just in case Tiridates used his numerical superiority to launch an attack against Dura while the army was away.

  The air tingled with excitement and anticipation on the morning the senior commanders gathered in the Headquarters Building, the temperature mercifully bearable with low grey clouds blotting out the sun. The Citadel was unusually quiet, the bulk of the military activity taking place beyond the city walls. I stood by the map of the empire on the wall while Chrestus and the others helped themselves to water, a serious-looking Rsan sitting between Aaron and Alcaeus, his beard now heavily streaked with grey. I always kept a clean-shaven face but surmised that had I a beard it too would contain more grey than brown. I pointed at the map.

  ‘Our plan is simple enough. We march south on the western side of the Euphrates, cross the river south of Uruk and then join with the forces of Karys before marching north to engage the bulk of Tiridates’ army.

  ‘As you all know, the armies of Hatra and Gordyene are advancing from the north following Media’s declaration of war against them both. The gods willing, they will link up, defeat King Darius and then march south so Tiridates will be caught between our two armies.’

  I saw nodding heads and Gallia smile. I frowned at Kalet who was picking his nose. He looked like he had just got out of bed, his hair and beard untidy and straggly.

  ‘Not all the lords will be riding with the army.’

  Kalet stopped his nasal examination. ‘Why not?’

  I pointed at the map again. ‘If I was Tiridates, knowing that I had enough soldiers to engage both armies bearing down on Ctesiphon, I would launch an assault against Dura, which I would assume to be defenceless.’

  Rsan went ashen, much to the amusement of Chrestus who pretended to shake with fear, thus increasing the governor’s alarm.

  ‘Only five thousand of Dura’s lords and their retainers will be riding with the army,’ I announced, ‘the rest will be staying to guard the city.’

  Kalet was shaking his head. ‘That won’t go down well. There will be trouble over who’s going and who’s staying.’

  ‘How many will be staying?’ asked a concerned Rsan.

  ‘None will be staying,’ I answered.

  Kalet scratched his head. ‘You just said only five thousand will be riding south. What will the rest be doing?’

  ‘Riding east,’ I smiled. ‘I know my lords have a liking for raiding, plundering and stealing livestock.’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ insisted Kalet, ‘takings things we find lying around is not theft.’

  The commanders laughed and Chrestus slapped him on the back.

  ‘Be that as it may,’ I continued. ‘I have invited Malik to come to Dura with his best warriors, who will join with the balance of my lords and together they will cross the Euphrates and ride south to raid the Kingdom of Babylon.’

  ‘Babylon,’ I said loudly, ‘on no account are they to begin their nefarious activities the moment they cross the river. That is my brother’s realm.’

  Kalet was nodding enthusiastically. ‘Have no fear, lord, I will relay your command.’

  ‘So you see, Rsan,’ I said, ‘the enemy will be kept well away from Dura.’

  ‘What if Tiridates sends soldiers to engage Kalet and Malik?’ asked Chrestus.

  ‘Then they will withdraw to avoid battle,’ I answered. ‘You can do that, Kalet, can’t you? Turn tail and run?’

  ‘Don’t you worry, lord,’ he said, winking at Gallia, ‘we will keep Tiriphraates chasing shadows.’

  ‘His name is Tiridates,’ Rsan corrected him. ‘Phraates is the true high king that King Pacorus is endeavouring to restore to his throne.’

  Kalet shrugged. ‘They all look the same to me.’

  He really was incorrigible.

  ‘I want you riding south with me,’ I told him, ‘you and your son.’

  ‘It will be a privilege, lord,’ he grinned.

  Being a blunt instrument, he did not realise that the only reason I wanted his son along was to keep him away from Eszter. I had no desire to return to Dura to discover my daughter was pregnant. If I returned to Dura!

  ‘We march in two days,’ I told them all.

  After the council of war I went straight to see Scelias in his office in the barracks. Because of the forthcoming campaign the Sons of the Citadel had been suspended, as all the students had urgent duties to attend to. I assumed it was for that reason he was in a testy mood, though over the years I had come to appreciate that Greeks needed few reasons to become fractious. He issued a terse ‘come’ when I knocked at the door, entering to find him poring over papers on his desk. He gave the merest acknowledgement as I sat on a stool opposite him.

  ‘I thought you had a war to fight.’

  ‘I need your advice.’

  This pricked his interest and he ceased his shuffling.

  ‘What do you think of Lucius Varsas?’

  He rolled his eyes, his black eyebrows moving like two caterpillars.

  ‘You want my advice or confirmation of your de
cision?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He sighed. ‘Since the death of Marcus Sutonius the army’s siege train has been leaderless and it is lacking a quartermaster general. Lucius Varsas is his logical replacement but you are hesitant to promote him because you believe him to be too young and inexperienced.’

  ‘Correct.’

  He rose from his chair and walked over to the pigeonholes on the wall, which contained what appeared to be a disorganised collection of scrolls. Not hesitating he extracted one and returned to his seat, untying the ribbon to unroll it.

  ‘Lucius Varsas is twenty-nine years old and has been in the army for ten years. He passed the Sons of the Citadel course with a degree of ease, which puts him into an élite category in your army. He has also taken part in the campaign against Mark Antony and the expedition into Persis where he ably assisted the late, much lamented Marcus Sutonius.

  ‘Remember, Alexander of Macedon had conquered the world by the age of thirty, and if my memory serves me right, which it invariably does, you commanded the horsemen of the Thracian Spartacus aged twenty-two.’

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘Because you are a demi-god?’

  ‘No,’ I snapped.

  ‘If you are capable of commanding thousands of horsemen at such an age, then I see no reason for Lucius Varsas to be unable to command your siege engines.’

  ‘What do you think, though?’

  Another loud sigh. ‘Allow me to repeat what I have just said. Lucius Varsas is more than capable of commanding your siege train and undertaking the duties of quartermaster general, the position held by Marcus Sutonius.’

  ‘He’s not Marcus,’ I said absently.

  ‘Your logic is to be commended,’ he said dryly. ‘Do you have a coin?’

  ‘A coin?’

  ‘Yes, we could flick a coin to decide if Lucius should be your new quartermaster general.’

  I was shocked. ‘You would leave such a decision to chance?’

  ‘No, but as you seem incapable of making a decision yourself, it seems the logical thing to do.’

  ‘Imagine you are me for a moment, Scelias.’