Amazon

by Peter Darman

  She stared into the flames. ‘I know, I was there. But I was not referring to our personal experiences, though I grant you they were bad enough. No, my people were under the heel of the Romans. They had become a slave race, stripped of their pride and dignity. Parthia has never known subjugation and I pray it never will. I’m glad it is my home.’

  She turned her horse. ‘Come, Tiridates is getting away.’

  The enemy army had stolen half a day’s march on us but in truth we were in no hurry. Babylon lay a mere forty miles to the north, astride the Euphrates, and even if Tiridates decided to engage us again before we reached the city our tactics would remain the same, with a slight deviation: there would only be one camp. There had been murmurings among some centuries among the Exiles concerning them taking exception to fighting alongside Romans. But the recent battle had concentrated men’s minds on the task in hand, and victory was a remarkable elixir that could banish grievances, at least for a while. So once again the army marched in two columns, its right flank protected by companies of horse archers, its left by the Euphrates.

  The pace was not forced as we headed north, making fifteen miles on the first day. It was overcast and cool and by dusk a light drizzle was falling. Talib and his scouts returned when the last vestiges of daylight had disappeared, having found the army of Tiridates and shadowed it until chased off by parties of horse archers. But what he told us as he sat in a chair in our tent shoving hot porridge into his mouth surprised me.

  ‘Tiridates is retreating along the Tigris, lord.’

  Gallia, wrapped in a cloak as a defence against the cold, frowned.

  ‘He is abandoning Babylon?’

  ‘It would appear so, majesty,’ said Talib.

  I called an orderly and told him to fetch Silani immediately. Talib finished his porridge and told the Babylonian what he had told us, the general as surprised as we were.

  ‘Tomorrow, Silani,’ I said, ‘we strike for Babylon and you will demand its surrender, pointing out to the authorities that Dura’s army has siege engines to breach their walls and smash in their gates. It is my hope your influence may convince the Babylonians to surrender their city without a fight.’

  ‘And if they do not submit, majesty?’

  ‘Then the city will be besieged, stormed and an example will be made of it,’ I told him. ‘However, I believe we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed if Dagan is still with Tiridates.’

  ‘What of those officials in the city who have sided with Dagan against King of Kings Phraates?’ asked Silani.

  ‘They will be dealt with at a later date,’ I answered evasively. ‘But most likely they too will have fled.’

  The next day Talib once again rode out with his men as the pre-dawn light cast the eastern horizon in a purple glow. I still did not know why Tiridates had abandoned his very favourable position and indeed Babylon, but I thanked Shamash for the stroke of good fortune. I had no idea what was happening with Gafarn and Spartacus, but knew their combined armies would be more than a match for Darius, who had inexplicably declared war on them both. And Malik was also raiding to the north. Being created lord high general of the empire had clearly gone to his head. Or perhaps he was using his new position to settle old scores. Though why he would attack Gafarn, who had come to his aid when Spartacus had threatened to conquer the whole of Media, was beyond me. I sensed the influence of Aliyeh behind it all, which greatly saddened me. Her appearance at Hatra after her humiliation at the hands of Phraates had led me to believe she and I would be reconciled. But I now realised it was all an illusion.

  ‘You’re quiet.’

  I had been daydreaming as we rode north at a slow rate, behind us ten thousand legionaries tramping next to the date palms that lined the riverbank, to their right another five thousand Romans marching six abreast towards Babylon. The weather was clear and cool, the earth damp after the early morning mist that had covered the river to create a most unusual, almost supernatural effect. At least there was no choking dust to tickle the back of our throats and make our eyes sore.

  I looked at Gallia. ‘I was just thinking about Aliyeh.’

  ‘No wonder you are morose,’ she said.

  ‘She was always serious as a girl but never vindictive. I suspect her influence behind Darius’ declaration of war on Hatra and Gordyene.’

  ‘He might have been taking orders from Tiridates,’ she opined. ‘I doubt Darius has taken a decision in his whole life. What is he but the puppet of your sister?’

  We were but fifteen miles from Babylon and the riverbank was no longer deserted but dotted with villages and irrigation channels and canals inland from the Euphrates. The settlements were all abandoned, the villagers taking their livestock and anything else that could be removed with them. I had given orders for the army to march inland away from the settlements, their fields and irrigation ditches. This was greatly appreciated by Silani, through whose homeland we marched.

  ‘What do you think about Silani?’ I asked her.

  Gallia looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t think about him. He is, or was, the commander of Phraates’ bodyguard, though I will grant you such a position requires great patience and a thick skin. He is not a spineless sycophant so must have some qualities, at least.’

  ‘I intend to make him King of Persis.’

  She pulled up her horse, causing Zenobia and the Amazons riding behind us to do likewise.

  ‘It makes perfect sense,’ I said, continuing my ride. ‘Osrow has proved himself disloyal, which is of little surprise, but Persis is too large and important for it to be ruled by, to use your words, a spineless sycophant of Phraates.’

  Gallia caught up with me. ‘When Phraates returns, he will want to appoint a new King of Persis.’

  ‘Who better than the commander of his bodyguard, the man entrusted with safeguarding the high king’s life?’

  Gallia regarded me sceptically. ‘You have forgotten one thing.’

  ‘Which is?

  ‘If Silani departs for Persis, who will protect Phraates?’

  ‘I’m sure we can find someone suitable,’ I said. ‘But with an ally on the throne of Persis, Silaces will also no longer be surrounded by potential enemies.’

  She fell into silence but I knew she was thinking of Silaces’ absence. She believed he had taken an oath of allegiance to Tiridates but I discounted the notion. For one thing, if that had been the case then the soldiers of Elymais would have been among the army of Tiridates. More importantly, he was an old friend who would not abandon us. But Elymais was five hundred miles from Dura and Silaces had to tread carefully if he wanted to keep his throne, and his head.

  ‘Horsemen approaching.’

  Zenobia behind us was pointing to the front, to a group of riders galloping down the column of horse archers that trotted ahead of us. As they got closer I recognised Sporaces and Talib beside him. They halted in front of us and bowed their heads, Sporaces smiling from ear to ear.

  ‘King Gafarn and King Spartacus are approaching, majesty,’ Talib informed me.

  ‘Babylon surrendered to them without a fight,’ beamed Sporaces, ‘so Seleucia will surely follow. Tiridates is running.’

  ‘To where?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘My guess would be across the Tigris to make a stand on the eastern side of the river,’ said Talib.

  ‘What of King Darius?’ I asked.

  Sporaces could not stop grinning. ‘He’s dead, lord, along with most of his army. Media is finished.’

  ‘The news gets better and better,’ smiled Gallia.

  ‘Where are the kings of Hatra and Gordyene?’ I asked.

  ‘Around five miles away, majesty,’ Talib told me.

  ‘We had better speak to them before they arrive,’ I said to Gallia.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Spartacus might not take kindly to the presence of Quintus Dellius, the man who was the governor of Armenia when our nephew was fighting beside Phraates to restore Artaxias to his throne.’

  We rode h
ard to intercept Gafarn and Spartacus, running into them after a ten-minute gallop, Gafarn escorted by his other son and a company of Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard, Spartacus accompanied by the same number of his King’s Guard. Gafarn and Pacorus were all smiles and warm greetings when we met, Spartacus more reserved though very polite to his aunt. He obviously still held a grudge against me over the business of Akmon and Lusin, one of many he carried around with him.

  But Gafarn was his ebullient self, informing us about how Darius had led his army across the Tigris at Assur, intent on striking at Hatra. But he and Prince Pacorus had forced him back a few miles west of the river, and when he had tried to re-cross the Tigris he was engaged by the newly arrived army of Gordyene that had been marching south along the river through Median territory.

  ‘The result was slaughter,’ smiled Spartacus. ‘Ironically, General Joro conducted a skilled retreat back to Irbil with what remained of his king’s army. Darius tried to flee on horseback with a small band of followers.’

  ‘He died squealing like a pig,’ sneered Shamshir.

  The unattractive commander of Spartacus’ King’s Guard was one of a select band of individuals: people I took an instant dislike to. I rounded on him.

  ‘You will curb your tongue. You should do well to remember that King Darius was my nephew and not some low-born Sarmatian bandit you are more used to associating with.’

  Shamshir said nothing but glanced at his king, who gave a slight shake of the head.

  ‘Irbil is currently besieged by the Immortals, uncle,’ said Spartacus tersely. ‘General Hovik is in command of my foot soldiers. I trust you approve of him, or should I replace him with someone else?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ snapped Gafarn.

  But Spartacus had not finished. ‘A Roman commander, perhaps, such as Legate Quintus Dellius and his legion?’

  His brown eyes mocked me and I saw Shamshir smirk. I was tempted to draw my sword and kill the latter on the spot.

  ‘You think you are the only one who has scouts, uncle?’ said Spartacus. ‘What would Spartacus the Thracian say?’

  ‘That I would be a fool to turn down the services of five thousand veteran soldiers,’ I retorted.

  ‘Where are Diana and Rasha?’ asked Gallia, growing tired of male squabbles.

  ‘In Babylon,’ smiled Gafarn, ‘where we should be rather than sitting here bickering among ourselves.’

  Spartacus turned his horse and cantered away, followed by his faithful assassin and King’s Guard. I looked at Gafarn and shook my head.

  ‘The lion of Gordyene is still sulking, I see.’

  ‘The loss of his son and heir still weighs heavily on him,’ said Gafarn by way of apology.

  ‘He will calm down,’ said Pacorus.

  If ever there was a man whose spirit was pure it was my namesake. Dobbai had always insisted that the gods were cruel, vindictive and toyed with men as a cat torments a mouse. And yet how the gods had blessed Pacorus.

  Handsome, brave, generous, married to a beautiful woman from a prestigious Hatran family, who had borne him two fine, healthy sons, there seemed no end to the good fortune enjoyed by the heir to Hatra’s throne. And yet Pacorus was both self-effacing and humble, which led some to believe he was actually a god sent to earth to live among mortals, so seemingly devoid of bad habits was he. If I believed in reincarnation, I would have said he was Orodes returned to us.

  We stayed in Babylon’s golden palace that night, Silani receiving a rapturous reception when he rode through the Ishtar Gate and down the Processional Way to the sumptuous building that was the home of Babylon’s kings and queens. Or perhaps it was relief that a familiar face was among the dignitaries who now occupied the Babylonians’ city, and their armies camped outside their walls. To impress the city’s population, we held a military parade along the Processional Way: Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard, half of Dura’s cataphracts and Spartacus’ King’s Guard rode down the road paved with white limestone and red breccia slabs. Flanked by high walls and punctuated by buttresses and towers, it was a memorial to a time when Babylon’s kings had ruled the known world. The walls were decorated with glazed bricks depicting rows of standing lions, the symbol of Ishtar, the Goddess of Love. As I rode along the Processional Way, accepting the applause of thousands of people standing either side of the sacred road, I noticed for the first time the lions had alternate white fur with yellow manes and yellow fur with white manes.

  The Ishtar Gate we had ridden through to access the Processional Way was also an impressive piece of architecture, one of hundreds of masterpieces scattered throughout the city and testimony to the achievements of Babylon’s kings of old to please the gods by erecting expensive and impressive buildings and monuments. The Ishtar Gate, a huge double gate over one hundred and fifty feet in length, was decorated with nearly six hundred figures of bulls and dragons. And yet, amid all the pomp and opulence, dozens of purple flags sporting a horned bull fluttering from the walls and buildings, the signs of Babylon’s long-term decline were there for all to see. Once there had been an outer city wall some fifty miles in length, inside of which was a huge summer palace filled with marble halls and courtiers dressed in rich clothes. But both the wall and the palace were long gone, looted and destroyed in the incessant wars that followed the death of Alexander of Macedon. Parthia had restored a degree of peace to Mesopotamia previously unheard of and Babylon had slowly recovered. But it would never reach the heights of power it had previously enjoyed. That said, there was still great wealth in the city, which did not go unnoticed.

  Following the military parade we were treated to a feast by the city authorities, though in truth, as I had suspected, most had fled over the Tigris on hearing of our approach, having previously sided with Dagan. They quite rightly suspected they would be either incarcerated or put to death for their treachery and so had taken themselves off, along with their families, to seek refuge at Ctesiphon. Nevertheless, the administrative machinery of the palace functioned as before, a small army of slaves, cooks, officials, clerks, stewards and guards ensuring meals were prepared and served, laundry washed, floors cleaned, incense burned and the gardens maintained.

  At the feast that evening, the visiting kings and queens were treated to a lavish fare of beef, chicken, fish and ostrich, the latter from the royal gardens themselves. The senior officers of the armies of Dura, Hatra, Gordyene and Mesene, not to mention Kalet and his fellow lords, devoured huge quantities of meat, eggs, bread, dates, olives and sausages made from stuffing spiced meat in animal intestines, all washed down by reservoirs of beer and wine.

  Gallia, Diana and Rasha spent the evening in animated conversation, glad to be in each other’s company and enjoying the food and drink. Spartacus ate sparingly and barely said two words to me, though he did speak at length to Karys concerning affairs in Mesene and specifically how it came to pass that a Roman legion was able to march through Agraci territory without being noticed.

  ‘I am as in the dark as you are, lord,’ said Karys evasively.

  I had asked Legate Dellius to remain in camp, telling him honestly that I feared an incident between him and Spartacus. He was more than happy to oblige but I wondered what would happen over the coming days when our combined forces marched to the Tigris. We were waiting for the return of Talib and his men to get as accurate a picture as possible before we planned the next phase of the campaign. At the feast I broached the potential problem of friction between the Romans and the soldiers of Gordyene with Spartacus.

  ‘My men are under strict discipline, uncle,’ he told me testily. ‘There will be no friction unless I authorise it.’

  ‘And will you?’

  ‘We are here to restore Phraates to his throne,’ he said, ‘though he has not be seen these past few months. Some say he is dead.’

  ‘He lives,’ I stated.

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘With Claudia,’ I replied.

  He sipped wine from a jewel-encrusted chalice.

&
nbsp; ‘She does have a habit of turning up unexpectedly, I will give her that.’

  It was another Claudia who filled my thoughts the next morning as I wandered to the royal stables to saddle Horns. Gallia, Diana and Rasha had shut themselves in one of the reception rooms in the palace, placing guards at the door with orders to bar anyone from entry. So I decided to take a ride to gather my thoughts. The stables were huge and could accommodate up to two thousand horses, though now were largely vacant following Dagan emptying the city of its garrison when he marched to join Tiridates. Purple-clad stable hands – slaves, albeit well fed and clothed – bowed their heads to me as I wandered across the huge paved courtyard to the mud-brick stables faced with blue glazed bricks. It was in Babylon that a vision of Claudia had spoken to me and I remembered fondly hearing the voice of the wife of my lord again. How long ago it now seemed. And yet here I was, again in Babylon fighting a war.

  Horns had been fed, watered and groomed before I arrived, his coat shimmering in the spacious, well-lit stall. I threw the white saddlecloth on his back and fastened the straps of the saddle under his belly.

  ‘The goddess has need of you, lord.’

  I let go of the buckle I was holding and turned on my heels, drawing my sword to face the individual before me. She smiled and opened her cloak to reveal a beautiful woman in a very tight white dress that accentuated her large breasts and shapely hips.

  ‘I am unarmed, lord.’

  I should have been staring into her sparkling hazel eyes but I could not take my eyes off her perfect breasts. She laughed and closed the robe. I sheathed my sword and cleared my throat as I felt myself blushing. Her breasts safely out of view, I looked her in the eye.

  ‘My apologies.’

  She glided towards Horns and began gently stroking his neck. He grunted in approval. Of course he did. Who would not want a delicious creature caressing them? Her enticing perfume filled the stall as her soft voice spoke.

  ‘You do not remember me, do you, lord?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said, wracking my brain to try to think where I had seen her before.