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by Peter Darman

  ‘What a waste,’ I muttered again.

  Joro looked at me. ‘Majesty?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  The palace was soaked in misery. The marble walls, colourful friezes and cobalt blue doors were the same as I remembered them, along with the images of dragons that had been painted on the ceilings, but there was no laughter in the corridors, no smiling faces or bustle of activity. Only abject misery on the faces of the few officials that walked the corridors, fear in the eyes of every slave. We waited outside the throne room until the officer Joro had sent to inform Aliyeh of my arrival returned. The general said nothing and as the minutes passed the tension became almost unbearable. How it must have cut him to the core to see his beloved Media reduced to such circumstances, this man who had fought under Farhad and Atrax, the latter being elevated to lord high general of the empire before his untimely death.

  ‘The queen will see you now, majesty.’

  I removed my helmet as the doors were opened and we stepped into the throne room. Like most such chambers it had windows cut high in the walls to allow light to enter, though because it was dark outside there was precious little light coming in. Oil lamps burned on metal stands alongside two rows of marble columns supporting the wooden roof, from which came a pattering sound as the heavens opened. The tears of the gods, perhaps, weeping over Media’s fate.

  I walked with Joro beside me between the columns to the stone dais upon which two thrones sat side by side. They were cedar and the arms had been carved to represent dragons. Only one was occupied, by my sister whose eyes never left me as I halted in front of her and bowed my head. She gave me a derisive laugh.

  ‘An executioner bowing to his victim, that must be a first.’

  ‘I am not your executioner, Aliyeh.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Her tone was harsh, unforgiving. Aliyeh had never been what one would call beautiful, but her slender figure and serious demeanour had given her a graceful and handsome appearance. As a child she had been thoughtful and aloof. But Atrax had melted her icy exterior and together they had been truly happy, producing two sons who should have gone on to live long and privileged lives.

  ‘I come as a mediator in the hope of avoiding further bloodshed.’

  An evil glint appeared in her eye. ‘Spartacus intends to withdraw? Inform him I accept his offer.’

  No one laughed. Joro on my right gave a sigh and the few courtiers present stared with blank expressions at the queen. I sniffed the air and detected the aroma of esfand, an incense usually burnt to ward off evil. Clearly my sister did not trust me. I made no effort to sweeten the terms.

  ‘You will surrender the citadel. In return, you, Parisa, her son and two daughters will leave Media and go into exile, the exact destination to be determined.’

  Aliyeh leaned back and studied me, her eyes shifting to Joro when he spoke.

  ‘It is a generous offer, majesty, the supplies of food are nearly extinguished and we do not have the soldiers to withstand an assault should King Spartacus mount one.’

  ‘You may leave us, Joro.’

  The general desperately wanted to stay and argue the case for surrender, but he was of the old guard and the idea of arguing with his monarch, who had been chosen by the gods, was anathema to him. So instead he spoke to me.

  ‘I must ask you to surrender your sword and any other weapons on your person, lord.’

  Aliyeh laughed for a second time.

  ‘You do not need to worry about my brother visiting violence upon me, Joro. He would rather cut off his sword arm than become an assassin. He prefers to kill his enemies in the open, on the battlefield, with the whole world watching. He is very Roman in that.

  ‘Bring wine, and a chair for my brother. He is the most famous man in all Parthia, after all.’

  I had grown immune to her insults, which tripped off her tongue with alarming ease. But I welcomed them. If she was directing her disdain at me then perhaps she might consider yielding the citadel.

  ‘Everyone out,’ she commanded after a high-backed chair, cushions and a footstool had been brought for me, along with wine served in silver rhytons.

  Only a handful of slaves and two guards behind the queen remained in the chamber once Joro and the courtiers had left. The rain was still pounding the roof but the hall was warm enough, two huge fires spitting and hissing in recesses in the walls.

  ‘Tiridates is dead, then?’

  ‘I do not know,’ I answered.

  ‘But his army has been destroyed.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She raised her rhyton. ‘Another victory. Father would have been proud. All that remains now is for you to take the high crown for yourself.’

  ‘I fought to restore Phraates, the rightful king of kings.’

  She flicked a hand at me. ‘I have no desire to discuss Phraates, though if you think anything is right about that man you are sadly deluded.’

  ‘Where is Parisa?’

  ‘Tending to the wounded Prince Atrax, who hovers on the edge of death. If he dies I fear Parisa will die from heartbreak. She has lost her husband and will most likely lose her son. What has she to live for?’

  ‘Her daughters.’

  ‘Who will marry princesses who have no lands, no money and no future? No one. That is the prospect you offer them.’

  I took a large gulp of wine. ‘I offer them, and you, life, Aliyeh.’

  She stared at me. Her face was gaunt now, which gave her a hard, even fierce appearance, and in the dim light cast by the lamps I could see streaks of grey in her curly hair, though she still had thick locks.

  ‘I am the daughter of King Varaz, the granddaughter of King Sames of Hatra, the wife of King Atrax of Media. What you offer is no life at all but rather an existence of ridicule and humiliation. No, I refuse your offer. Go back to that whelp Spartacus and tell him I will forever be his enemy, he and that Agraci wife of his.’

  ‘Not all this again,’ I pleaded.

  She took a sip of wine. ‘But for the sake of Parisa, her children and those trapped here in the citadel, I will accept his offer, on condition you guarantee them safe passage to Hatra. They are related to that kingdom’s current rulers, albeit tenuously.’

  I was delighted and relieved, but my joy was tempered by Spartacus’ insistence that Aliyeh would not have sanctuary anywhere in Parthia.

  ‘Spartacus is insistent you must leave Parthia,’ I told her.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Did I say anything about myself? I was talking about Parisa and her children. Will he allow them safe passage to Hatra, or is he such a savage that he desires to eradicate the entire line of Farhad and Atrax?’

  ‘He is not a savage, merely a king who wishes to safeguard his kingdom.’

  She drank more wine, jabbing a finger at me as she did so.

  ‘You think he is honourable but you always did have a blinkered view of world. It was Spartacus and Gafarn who started the war against Media and forced Darius to declare war on them both.’

  ‘Impossible,’ I insisted.

  ‘Impossible? Tell that to the villagers burned out of their homes by horsemen wearing the colours of Gordyene and Hatra, who laid waste many settlements, killed their livestock and torched their vineyards and orchards.’

  There were tears in her eyes as a result of speaking of her dead son, but she quickly composed herself and presented a stony, royal visage once more.

  ‘It does not matter now. You will guarantee the lives of my daughter-in-law and her children?’

  ‘I will. But what about you?’

  ‘I will join my husband.’

  The dreadful realisation of what she was saying dawned on me.

  ‘No.’

  She sneered at my concern.

  ‘I played the great game. I lost. My husband is dead, my sons are dead and my kingdom lies prostrate at the feet of a foreign barbarian. I choose a real death in preference to a living one.’

  Aliyeh, I beg you…’

  She r
aised a hand to me. ‘It is unseemly for a king to beg, Pacorus. You may leave me now.’

  ‘I will guarantee your safety. Come with me to Dura, you will be safe there,’ I tried to assure her.

  ‘No, Pacorus. I have no desire to see out my autumn years in some dreadful backwater beyond the Euphrates.’

  Even now, at this late stage, she was hurling insults.

  ‘Besides, death is inevitable for all of us, even you, Parthia’s lord of war. I go to the great city with an untroubled heart.’

  The ‘great city’ was where the spirits of the deceased resided in the afterlife, protected by seven walls and seven gates. Upon arrival, every spirit was judged by a court and assigned a place in their new community. But because Aliyeh had been a queen in the mortal world and a member of an illustrious noble family, she would remain a queen in the afterlife, and would be reunited with her relatives and loved ones.

  ‘You will ensure I receive offerings in the temple?’

  I nodded. A spirit in the afterlife required sustenance to avoid becoming a beggar and becoming embittered and turning into a demon that visited the world of mortals to spread torments. Deceased nobility received offerings in the temples of their home cities as a matter of course. But if Spartacus took possession of Irbil he might conceivably forbid the priests in the Temple of Shamash making any offerings to Aliyeh.

  ‘It shall be as you desire, sister.’

  She smiled warmly at me, the first time she had done so in years.

  ‘Thank you, Pacorus.’

  I stood and went to embrace her, but she waved me away.

  ‘Let us maintain our dignity.’

  She rose from the throne. ‘It will be good to see Atrax again, and mother and father. Farewell, Pacorus.’

  She walked from the dais and exited the throne room via a door that led to her private apartments, the guards and slaves following. I was left alone in the chamber, the white dragon on the banner hanging behind the dais staring down at me. I felt sad and alone as I trudged back to the double doors. Joro was waiting for me outside, standing spear straight and bowing his head as I joined him in the corridor. We did not exchange a word during the journey back to the gatehouse, the rain pelting down to add to Irbil’s misery. At the gatehouse the entry door was opened to allow me to exit, Joro joining me as I walked down the ramp to the waiting Hovik and his detachment of Immortals. Two were holding their shields over Gallia to protect her from the rain that showed no signs of abating. The winter afternoon was dark now, which suited my mood. I embraced my wife who was wearing a thick woollen cloak complete with a hood pulled over her head. Hovik handed me one but I declined.

  ‘Aliyeh will surrender the citadel,’ I told him, nodding at Joro who saluted to his counterpart, bowed his head to Gallia and me and returned to what was left of the royal house of Media.

  The next morning was bright and cool, the air damp with the downpour of the night before, a gentle breeze from the north creating morning dew. The drenched flag flying from Irbil’s gatehouse hung limply, an omen of the passing of the line of dragons. I stood alone, staring up at the entrance to the citadel and prayed to Shamash he give Aliyeh the wisdom not to carry out her threat. But when the iron-studded gates swung open and a colour party of Median soldiers exited led by Joro in dragon-skin armour and plumed helmet, I knew she had already left this life.

  Ignoring all pleas from my Immortal escort, I walked up the stone ramp, in full view of the archers on the walls above, and waited for the arrival of the general. He called a halt to the colour party, walked up to me and saluted, one military man to another. He handed me a sword in a scabbard, its silver pommel fashioned in the shape of a dragon’s head. I took it. It was the sword of the kings of Media, once carried by Farhad, Atrax and lately Darius.

  ‘She’s gone?’

  He nodded. ‘When the spirit desires to be free, lord, it takes but little effort for the body to surrender.’

  My voice began to falter as grief swept over me.

  ‘The body will be cremated in the citadel?’

  ‘Your sister expressed a wish to be cremated at her villa a short distance from the city, lord. She and King Atrax spent many happy times there.’

  Thus did Media fall to Spartacus, the King of Gordyene riding into the citadel at the head of a detachment of King’s Guard and a full battalion – a thousand men – of Immortals to take possession of the kingdom. Rasha was with him and I think she acted as a restraint on his more extreme desires for retribution. He invited Gallia and me to join them and requested we attend him and her when he assembled what was left of Media’s nobility and royalty in the throne room.

  His powerful frame filled the throne when he addressed the gathered lords, courtiers, priests and palace officials, Media’s dragon banner still in place behind him, Rasha beside him. Parisa and her children had been confined to their quarters.

  ‘It is not my intention to destroy the city or the citadel, though I have good reason to do so.’

  He extended an arm to Hovik beside him. ‘I have made General Hovik lord protector of this kingdom, answerable to me and me alone. He will ensure there will be no more Median aggression against Gordyene. Furthermore, as compensation for the damage and loss of life inflicted on my kingdom by Media, Irbil will pay reparations to Vanadzor, the amount to be decided at a later date. Furthermore. Media’s army will be disbanded. There were murmurs of protest from Joro, his officers and the few lords present but Spartacus cut them short, rising and placing a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Or I could order my soldiers to raze this city to the ground, I leave it to you to decide.’

  ‘This is a black day for Media,’ muttered Joro beside me.

  ‘Have patience,’ I told him, ‘let the King of Gordyene have his moment of triumph. It is always darkest before the dawn, my lord.’

  ‘But how long will Media’s darkness last, majesty?’

  ‘You have something to say, General Joro?’ asked Spartacus.

  All eyes were upon the general but he merely smiled graciously.

  ‘No, majesty.’

  ‘Then I suggest you leave us and begin overseeing the disbanding of what remains of Media’s army.’

  ‘What about the cremation of Queen Aliyeh, majesty?’

  Spartacus retook the throne.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I will be organising the funeral of my sister,’ I announced.

  Spartacus frowned. ‘As you wish, uncle. If you need any firewood please do not hesitate to ask my quartermaster.’

  The King’s Guard surrounding the dais sniggered, adding to the discomfort of the Medians. I walked over to the dais, two King’s Guard barring my way.

  ‘Move, or I will decorate the floor with your blood.’

  One of the soldiers looked behind him towards the king, Spartacus nodding his head. They stepped aside. I stepped on to the dais and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

  ‘Queen Parisa, the crown prince and her two daughters will be leaving for Hatra under an armed escort of Duran horse archers. If you harm them in any way, I will give you a war that will make the gods themselves sit up and take notice. You have been warned.’

  I stepped back, stepped over to Rasha to kiss her hand, turned and marched from the chamber, Gallia beside me.

  Aliyeh’s body was transported from the citadel on a two-wheeled cart pulled by a single horse, Joro leading the beast on foot. She had taken poison but her face looked calm, even serene, as we walked behind the carriage, the lords and senior officers who had been summoned to the throne room by Spartacus trailing behind us. Also present were the granddaughters of Aliyeh, both tall and pretty but both distraught and frightened, clutching each other’s arms for comfort as they walked through the deserted streets of Irbil to their grandmother’s villa. I silently thanked Hovik that his men had not plundered and burnt the property surrounded by vineyards and orchards.

  In front of Joro walked the high priest of the Temple of Shamas
h, a tall, gaunt individual whose mournful voice recited a prayer to request the Sun God look kindly on Aliyeh as she made the journey to the afterlife. The day was overcast and cool, though mercifully dry, though the priest’s deep voice added to the overall gloom as the procession made its way to the villa.

  ‘O ever-renewing light, who brings happiness to the people, who sets them free. O Shamash, who brings order to the dead and the living, who sees everything. O Shamash, light of heaven and earth, radiance of the lands. Beloved brother of Marduk, the trust of Babylon. We pay heed to your light and praise your heroic deeds. You provide the lone man with a friend. You give an heir to the impotent. You open the locked bolts of the heavens. You provide light for the blind.’

  Over and over he said the words until they became like a nail being driven into my skull. I was glad when we reached the villa, which was deserted, the slaves having either fled or been captured. Stable doors were open and no light came from the interior of Aliyeh’s residence. The priest mercifully stopped his relentless dirge when my sister’s body, wrapped in a white shroud, was placed on top of the oil-soaked funeral pyre that had been erected earlier that day.

  Gallia held my hand as the pyre was lit and the priest’s deep voice again filled the air.

  ‘Look upon your sister, Aliyeh, wife of Atrax, daughter of Varaz, with kindness, great Shamash. Let her ride the golden horses of the sun as a sign of your blessing and love, great one.’

  The priest raised his arms to the sky as the pyre erupted into flame, howling with fury like a dragon’s fiery breath as the heat blasted us. The flames caressed Aliyeh’s body and then consumed it, a tear running down my cheek as I silently said goodbye to my sister. I stood and remembered the times we had shared as children, happy times in the palace at Hatra, a carefree period when we had been blissfully unaware of the cruel world beyond its walls. Now only Adeleh and I remained, and I suddenly realised neither of us had any male heirs. The line of Sames and Varaz would end with my death. The flames roared, the gods laughed and grief embraced me.