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by Peter Darman

  ‘You are forgiven, lord. We were both younger then and alas my age has taken its toll on me.’

  She must have been in her forties but her heart-shaped face was flawless, her neck firm and her body, that was something any young woman would be proud to possess. She turned her attention to Horns.

  ‘You had a white horse then, a magnificent stallion that served you faithfully. Remus was his name, if I am not mistaken.’

  ‘You are not.’

  Who was this divine creature? My memory failed me.

  ‘You must forgive me again, lady, but I have no recollection of us meeting before today.’

  ‘You were with Remus when I came to you before, with a message from Claudia, who spoke to you from the otherworld.’

  Now I remembered. Shame washed over me.

  ‘Forgive me,’ I said for a third time.

  She walked over to me and placed a finger on my lips, her own lips parting invitingly.

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, King Pacorus. But the Goddess Ishtar has need of you. Will you aid her?’

  I could not think what service I could render the Goddess of Love but was not about to refuse one of her priestesses.

  ‘I am your servant, lady.’

  ‘Please come to the goddess’ temple, majesty, it is most urgent.’

  ‘I will.’

  I fastened Horns’ saddle in haste and fitted his bridle, turning to lead him from the stall, to discover the priestess had gone. I led Horns from the building and was surprised to see a pair of mounted temple guards waiting for me outside. I knew they were temple guards because their small round shields sported a dove – Ishtar’s symbol.

  ‘We are to escort you to the temple, highness,’ said one.

  ‘Where is the priestess?’

  ‘The High Priestess Enheduana has gone on ahead, highness.’

  High priestess. She had risen since the last time we met. I smiled as the memory of that episode replayed in my mind. She had tried to seduce me then and I had resisted, albeit with difficulty. This time she had made no such advance. I patted Horns on the neck.

  ‘Another curse of getting old.’

  The Temple of Ishtar is located near the Processional Way, a walled compound with bronze gates and filled with gold icons and other riches. A scurrilous rumour held that Babylon’s women sat outside the temple and waited for a man to pass by and take a liking to them. The man would drop a few gold coins into the woman’s lap, after which the pair would enter the temple to have sex on the altar before the image of the goddess. This would ensure the woman had a faithful husband and healthy children. The reality was somewhat different. Many of the city’s women did indeed visit the temple, but they came to pray and donate gold to the goddess in the hope of winning her favour regarding a good husband and healthy offspring. The result was the temple became a veritable treasury defended by only a paltry number of palace guards, who were all eunuchs so they would not lust after the young, nubile priestesses.

  I arrived at the entrance to the temple to find a pair of Spartacus’ King’s Guard on sentry duty, waving people away who had come to worship. I dismounted and handed Horns’ reins to one of the temple guards.

  ‘Stay here and do not provoke the men at the entrance. They are trained to kill first and ask questions later.’

  I paced to the open bronze gates, one of the King’s Guard moving to bar my way.

  ‘The temple is closed today.’

  I was without my helmet and armour and wore a simple padded white tunic. That would account for his rude manner but did not excuse it. He was splendidly attired in a burnished helmet, red tunic, black leggings and red cloak. But his most striking feature, also worn by his companion, was the cuirass protecting his torso: a stunning piece of alternating steel and bronze scales. His shoulders and thighs were protected by pteruges – leather strips – and hanging from his belt was one of Gordyene’s ukku swords. The loot plundered from Armenian temples and the thousand talents of gold paid by Phraates to Spartacus for services previously rendered had been well spent.

  ‘I am King Pacorus of Dura and you will stand aside,’ I said slowly and forcefully.

  The guardsman grinned. ‘And I’m the King of Babylon, now piss off.’

  His grin vanished with the sound of horses’ hooves on the paved road. I turned to see Azad leading a party of his cataphracts, fully armoured, though without their lances, trotting towards us. They halted in front of the gates and their commander jumped down from his horse, which was not covered in scale armour.

  Now it was my time to smile.

  ‘From one king to another,’ I said to the guardsman, ‘get out of the way or I will kill you.’

  He meekly stepped aside to allow Azad and me to walk through the temple gates.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘Some pretty young priestess with sweet lips and large breasts threw herself into my arms on the palace steps, told me you were in danger and begged me to get to the Temple of Ishtar as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Amazing what a pretty girl can achieve.’

  The score of cataphracts followed on horseback as we walked into the spacious temple grounds, to see a cart being loaded with small chests and High Priestess Enheduana standing near the temple entrance with a coterie of beautiful priestesses. A party of King’s Guard stood watching a group of disarmed and distraught temple guards off to one side. The high priestess gave me a dazzling smile when she saw me and the other priestesses broke into applause. Less pleased to see me was Shamshir who was overseeing the loading of the chests on to the cart. His jaw dropped when he saw me and my men, Azad ordering the latter to dismount.

  I walked over to the cart. The King’s Guards unsure what to do looked at their commander for guidance. Shamshir waved them back from the cart as I flipped open the lid of one of the chests. It was full of gold coins.

  ‘Rich pickings,’ observed Azad.

  ‘The spoils of war,’ said Shamshir, ambling over to us. ‘We are here on the orders of our king.’

  ‘Gordyene has no authority to plunder the temples of an ally,’ I told him, ‘you will return all this gold to its rightful owner, the Goddess Ishtar.’

  His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

  ‘I only take orders from my king.’

  ‘Very well, I will save you having to explain to my nephew why you disobeyed his orders. I know he can be prickly about such things.’

  ‘Take these chests back into the temple,’ I told Azad.

  My commander ordered his men forward, prompting Shamshir and the dozen or so King’s Guard with him to draw their swords. Azad and his cataphracts did likewise. I had never seen a swordfight between two sides equipped with ukku blades and I had no intention of witnessing one now.

  ‘Commander Shamshir,’ I said calmly, ‘may I remind you this is the Temple of Ishtar and as such is sacred ground. Would you risk the wrath of the goddess over a few gold coins?’

  ‘My king…’ he began.

  ‘Your king is not here,’ I shouted at him, ‘so I say leave this place with your honour and your lives intact. Report what has happened to your king and I will take the consequences, for as Shamash is my witness you shall not have one piece of gold from this temple.’

  There were a few seconds of tension before Shamshir slid his sword back in its sheath, ordered his men to do the same and then commanded the chests be taken off the cart and placed on the floor. He looked me in the eye, unblinking, as he ordered their contents to be tipped on to the white slabs, a slight smile creasing his lips. By rights I should have killed him on the spot and Azad would have cut him down had I not hissed at him to remain where he was. The commander of the King’s Guard calmly walked to his horse, commanded his men to gain their saddles, and then all of them trotted from the temple. The eunuchs rose to their feet and dashed over to the scattered coins, heaping them back into the chests prior to taking them into the temple.

  ‘You should have let me kill hi
m, majesty.’

  ‘To send a message to my nephew, you mean? Tempting, but we need him, his army and even his wretched King’s Guard to overcome Tiridates, who still outnumbers us greatly.’

  Enheduana told her priestesses to return to their duties and glided over to thank me, a glint of mischief in her eyes. I introduced her to Azad and he bowed his head to her.

  ‘May I have a word with the king alone, commander?’ she asked, threading her arm through mine.

  We walked across the slabs towards the temple, the slight scent of saffron coming from its interior where I soon found myself. The great chamber was empty, at the far end a golden statue of the goddess herself, shown naked with a lion at her feet. Enheduana turned to face me, her arms around my waist.

  ‘The goddess is pleased with you, King Pacorus, and bids her high priestess to give you what you desire.’

  She pressed her breasts into my chest and her loins into my groin. She smelled divine and her body was most inviting. I wondered if she was at that moment Ishtar made flesh. My loins were in open rebellion against my common sense but she was an expert at manipulating men’s feelings. She began to kiss my neck.

  ‘Why do you hesitate, lord?’ she whispered in my ear. ‘My bed is warm and outside it is cool.’

  ‘If I was a single man.’

  ‘Your wife would never know, lord.’

  I sighed and gently unwrapped her arms from me.

  ‘But I would know and it would eat away at me like a maggot in an apple, until eventually my marriage would be nothing but a rotting shell.’

  She stepped back and bowed her head.

  ‘You refused me once when we were both young and now you do so again in your autumn years. I have never been an envious woman but I envy your wife, King Pacorus. She must be a remarkable woman to make you resist great temptation.’

  ‘She is.’

  She leaned forward and planted a delicate kiss on my scarred cheek.

  ‘Farewell, King Pacorus, if you change your mind you know where to find me.’

  With that she turned and walked away from me, disappearing through a doorway leading to what I assumed were her private chambers, leaving me alone in the temple. I bowed my head to the statue of the goddess and went back outside where Azad waited on his horse, Horns’ reins in his hand. I hauled myself into the saddle and took the reins. I said nothing as I gently nudged my horse forward, the other cataphracts forming two files behind us. The cart had gone, the chests and gold coins had gone and peace had returned to the Temple of Ishtar.

  Spartacus said nothing about the incident at the temple when the kings and queens gathered in the palace to discuss the next phase of the campaign, which would decide whether we would succeed in ejecting Tiridates from Ctesiphon or fail in our task of restoring Phraates.

  Babylon’s palace was one of the wonders of the world, a sprawling complex filled with a throne room, quarters for administrators, public halls, private rooms, bedchambers, courtyards and slave quarters. Always quarters for the small army of slaves that allowed the palace to function. Then there were the courtiers, who also resembled a small army, though mercifully most of those had joined Dagan when he fled the city to be with his new master. It was a place of opulence and rich paraphernalia where the walls were decorated with mythical creatures associated with Babylonian folklore, such as aurochs, dragons and lamassu – multi-headed, eagle-winged lions.

  I stood in the throne room and stared at the high-backed gold chair the kings of Babylon had sat in for generations, the floor covered with purple carpets edged with gold and silver thread. I smiled when I remembered Axsen sitting on the throne, a small figure dwarfed by the chair symbolising her power, her short legs barely able to reach the ornate footstool that was an important emblem of kingship, for a ruler’s feet should never touch the ground when sitting on his throne and must be protected at all times by soft carpets. Like the throne itself, the footstool had leonine feet to show respect to Ishtar and to request Her protection. Around the dais were incense burners, which when lit were used to accentuate the throne’s sacredness and the person sitting on it. Even the dais itself, which raised the king or queen above everyone else, emphasised he or she was different, special, to everyone else. Or so Babylonian customs held it.

  I smiled when I remembered a stiff and awkward Orodes, already in love with Axsen, standing beside the dais while Axsen carried out her royal duties following the death of her father Vardan, loyal friend of my father and a great king and warlord. Orodes was a landless, banished prince then, she the ruler of an ancient kingdom. But love triumphed over adversity and the pair married and went on to rule the Parthian Empire together. They were good people, they were good times and I missed them.

  ‘Pacorus?’

  I snapped out of my reminiscing to see Gallia beside me, dressed in leggings and long-sleeved white tunic and boots, sword at her hip.

  ‘It was in this very room when we received news that Surena had liberated Gordyene from the Romans, do you remember?’

  ‘Vaguely,’ she replied.

  ‘He was a great servant of Parthia; I should have supported him more. I blame myself for his death.’

  ‘He was never the same after the death of Viper,’ she said, ‘Orodes had no choice. You seem troubled, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘They are waiting for you.’

  ‘They’ were the attendees of the council of war I had called, which met in one of the private chambers off the throne room. It was a more intimate venue and in the summer the doors opened to reveal views of the king’s private gardens. Today, though, the doors and shutters were closed due to the cool weather, light being provided by oil lamps on a silver chandelier above the huge mahogany table. Slaves in purple tunics, white leggings and soft leather slippers served wine and pastries to those waiting at the table. I walked in with Gallia who sat herself down between Rasha and Diana, both dressed as she was. It was strange to see Diana dressed like an Amazon but these were strange times. Legate Dellius did not look out of place in his tunic and rich cuirass, though the same could not be said for his deputy Tribune Tullus, who had the face of a hardened thug. I glanced at Shamshir next to Spartacus and wondered if they were related.

  ‘Good of you to join us, Pacorus,’ quipped Gafarn.

  Karys’ grey eyes followed me as I took my seat beside Rasha, a slave serving me wine and offering me a slice of honey cake, which I took. I nodded to Quintus Varsas who was also present, my quartermaster rising to unroll a papyrus map on the tabletop.

  I took a sip of wine and a bite of the cake.

  ‘Quintus, here, has come up with a plan to give us victory, which will enable us to retake Ctesiphon.’

  Gafarn was surprised. ‘Why do we need to retake Ctesiphon? It is just an over-sized palace?’

  ‘Bigger than this one?’ asked Tullus, looking up at the ceiling painted with golden griffins.

  ‘Much bigger,’ smiled the King of Hatra.

  ‘Tiridates needs to keep hold of Ctesiphon if his credibility as king of kings is not to be fatally weakened,’ I said. ‘Having marched halfway across the empire and seized Phraates’ own kingdoms and cities, he cannot allow them to be taken back by the true high king’s supporters. That is why Ctesiphon has suddenly become central to the outcome of this war.’

  ‘He will be expecting us,’ said Spartacus, who appeared remarkably relaxed at being in the same room as two Romans he had met before as enemies, in addition to being denied his loot from the Temple of Ishtar.

  ‘He will,’ I agreed, ‘but we are going to deceive Tiridates. Quintus, you have the floor.’

  Quintus, the youngest by far in the room, cleared his throat and pointed at the map, only to be interrupted by his namesake.

  ‘You are Roman?’ said the legate.

  Quintus looked at me. I nodded.

  ‘I am, sir, yes.’

  ‘By what strange turn of fate do you find yourself in a Parthian army?’

>   ‘My distant uncle was captured by King Pacorus following a Roman expedition against Dura,’ answered Quintus, ‘afterwards he and several other engineers stayed on in Dura in the employment of King Pacorus.’

  Tullus’ hard visage turned into a mask of perplexity.

  ‘You didn’t ransom them, then?’

  ‘I did not,’ I told him, ‘I do not believe prisoners should be bartered like livestock.’

  ‘Or enslaved,’ added Gallia, to smiles from Gafarn and Diana.

  ‘Please continue, Quintus,’ I said, finishing off the slice of cake.

  ‘My relation rose within the army of Dura to become its quartermaster general, a position I have the honour of holding following his recent death.’

  The legate was surprised. ‘How can a foreigner rise so high in Dura?’

  ‘In Dura,’ I told him, ‘talent is recognised irrespective of birth, race or religion, legate.’

  ‘Can’t see that working,’ said Tullus gruffly, his mouth stuffed with cake, ‘it would lead to chaos in my experience, what with different races always at each other’s throats.’

  ‘The same chaos that resulted in Carrhae, Lake Urmia and Phraaspa, tribune,’ snapped Gallia, ‘the same chaos that has defeated army after army Rome has sent into Parthia?’

  Far from being insulted, Tullus found her words commendable. Perhaps it was a sort of mutual respect between two implacable foes.

  ‘Meant no disrespect, lady,’ he said, picking up another cake, ‘I’m just a gruff centurion whose gladius does his talking for him. I bet you were there when Crassus had molten gold poured down his throat.’

  Gafarn choked on his wine. ‘That is a myth, tribune. Marcus Licinius Crassus died when an arrow was shot into him in the days after the Battle of Carrhae.’

  Diana nodded her head at Gallia.

  ‘An arrow shot by the Queen of Dura.’

  Tullus’ jaw dropped. ‘You killed Crassus?’

  Gallia’s blue eyes shone with pride. ‘I did.’

  ‘And the eagles he lost,’ said a beaming Rasha, ‘plus others, are in a hall at Ctesiphon, just across the Tigris.’

  ‘If we can address the matter in hand rather than refighting history,’ I pleaded, nodding at my quartermaster general.