by Peter Darman
‘Thousands always die in wars,’ she replied, ‘that is the nature of conflict.’
She was no longer wearing tunic, leggings and boots. Now she was dressed in a long white dress, her lithe arms being decorated with gold armlets by a female slave. Another slave was grooming her hair, Gallia closing her eyes as the young woman brushed her still lustrous locks. Dura’s king and queen had no crowns but among the jewellery from the royal vaults sent to us by Claudia was a gold tiara adorned with diamonds. It lay on the table next to my wife, the other slave slipping gold and diamond rings on her fingers as the groomer relaxed her. Her arms and neck were smeared with an intoxicating perfume made from olive oil mixed with styrax, a tree resin. When they had finished she looked beautiful, smelled divine and even for a woman of her age would make other men jealous that the King of Dura had such a wife. But I paid her no compliments as we walked to the throne room, along corridors with white marble floors and walls adorned with scenes from Parthian history. Indeed, I said nothing as I fumed in silence. It may have been churlish but I felt as though I had won a great battle but lost the war.
The huge cedar doors covered in gold leaf swung open and we entered the throne room, a guard standing at each of the white marble columns, more around the walls. Clearly Silani was not taking any chances when it came to security. The general stood spear straight beside the dais where the high king sat, Phraates wearing the golden crown of Babylon and holding a gold arrow. Standing beside him, dressed in simple black robes and looking out of place among such opulence, was Claudia. She smiled at us both as we halted before the dais and bowed our heads. I glanced at Gafarn, Diana and Prince Pacorus to our left and Spartacus and Rasha on our right and stepped back, Phraates smiling at us both. Rasha and Diana looked absolutely regal, adorned with gold crowns, rubies and diamonds and normally I would have taken time to compliment them on their appearance, but their nefarious scheme still clouded my mind. So I said nothing.
The chief steward clapped his hands to bring forth slaves carrying silver trays holding gold rhytons studded with small diamonds, others holding silver wine jugs. Beautiful slave girls, all in their late teens carried the trays, their arms supple and their breasts barely concealed by the sheer white tops they were wearing.
‘Try to remember you are old enough to be their grandfather,’ Gallia whispered to me.
When our rhytons were full the slaves withdrew, Phraates rising from his throne and raising his drinking vessel.
‘To Parthia.’
After we had toasted the empire he returned to his seat, handing a slave his rhyton and studying each of us in turn.
‘General Silani has acquainted me of the valiant efforts you all made in defeating the rebel Tiridates. I am in your debt and Parthia is in your debt. I intend to punish those who betrayed me and reward those who remained loyal. I therefore ask each of you how I may repay the debt I owe you.’
There was silence as we looked at each other and at Phraates. Was this some sort of trick, I wondered?
‘Please,’ he said, ‘do not by shy. Allow me to get proceedings started. Prince Pacorus.’
My nephew, immaculate in a silver and brass scale-armour cuirass and carrying a gleaming helmet decorated with a white plume, stepped forward and bowed deeply to the high king.
‘Highness.’
Phraates pointed the arrow at him. ‘I have seen for myself your courage on the battlefield and have heard much about your wisdom. It is with the latter quality in mind that I have decided to make you satrap of Elymais, effective immediately.’
The prince was delighted. ‘You honour me greatly, highness.’
‘The death of King Silaces means his new queen,’ said Phraates, looking at Claudia who whispered in his ear. ‘Cia, of course. Well, her position is very vulnerable and a pregnant woman with no support can be quickly removed from power and murdered. Your presence will stabilise the kingdom, Prince Pacorus. Take your family. The city of Elymais is a most agreeable place.’
Then Phraates leaned forward, an evil glint in his eye.
‘Unless you want the crown of Elymais for yourself, in which case I give you permission to dispose of Queen Cia.’
A look of horror spread across Pacorus’ face.
‘I would rather swallow poison, highness.’
I thought I detected a look of disappointment on Phraates’ face, to be replaced by an appeasing smile.
‘No, no, it was just an idea, a test, which you have passed with flying colours.’
‘I told you he was incorruptible,’ said Claudia.
‘Extraordinary,’ said Phraates, waving the prince back.
He looked at Gafarn. ‘How may we reward Hatra?’
‘We would ask you to invite King Ali to Ctesiphon and embrace him as a friend, highness,’ said Gafarn.
Phraates turned the arrow in his hand. Ever since the ‘betrayal’ of the then Prince Ali at the Battle of Irbil fought against Mark Antony and King Darius, Phraates had viewed Atropaiene as an enemy. It was a ridiculous state of affair and one that needed to be rectified.
‘Atropaiene did not join with Tiridates, highness,’ I said.
‘Neither did it fight against him,’ Phraates shot back. ‘I will think on it. I promise.’
‘And you, King Pacorus,’ smiled Phraates, ‘How can I reward Parthia’s greatest soldier?’
I looked at Silani. ‘By making the commander of your bodyguard the ruler of Persis, highness.’
Claudia clapped her hands together with delight and Silani frowned, but Phraates was not amused.
‘Silani is the commander of my bodyguard and my most loyal Babylonian. Who will ensure the loyalty of that kingdom if I send him off to Persis?’
‘The same men who stayed loyal to you in your hour of need,’ I told him. ‘There are some very good officers in your bodyguard who should be promoted and rewarded for remaining with the colours when all seemed lost. Some are a little arrogant and haughty but the majority are fine officers. But Persis is too important to be left in the hands of individuals such as Osrow.’
Phraates’ eyes narrowed. ‘Osrow, do not mention the name of that traitor to me.’
‘Your highness should put a price on his head,’ I advised.
I unwitting played into Spartacus’ hands for no sooner had Phraates agreed to my suggestion than the King of Gordyene named his price.
‘A thousand talents of gold and he is yours.’
We all looked at him. Rasha was embarrassed but Spartacus was gloating in triumph. Phraates was delighted.
‘He is in your custody, King Spartacus?’
‘Yes, highness, along with King Antiochus and Dagan, the traitorous former governor. I have them under guard in Seleucia.’
So that was why the cutthroat Shamshir disappeared prior to the Battle of Ctesiphon. But how in the name of all that’s holy did he apprehend them? I caught Claudia’s eye and she smiled knowingly. So sorcery was involved. But why?
Phraates rubbed his hands together. ‘You have done well, King Spartacus, and I agree your price, subject to the usual deductions?’
Spartacus was confused. ‘Deductions, highness?’
‘A deduction of five hundred talents for murdering High Priest Timo, a further hundred talents deducted for trying to plunder the Temple of Ishtar in Babylon, and a reduction of an additional one hundred talents for your outburst.’
I laughed, earning a hateful glance from Spartacus. Three hundred talents of gold was still a tidy sum, though, and I had no doubt while we were standing here, Hovik was emptying the royal treasury in Irbil. Phraates gestured to the guards at the doors to allow whoever was waiting outside to enter. We all turned to see three figures framed in the open entrance.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ hissed Spartacus.
The figures walked forward, half a dozen big Scythians flanking them for their own safety. Rasha was beaming as Akmon and Lusin walked towards her, behind the limping figure of a man I knew very well.
‘Byrd?’
Akmon was in his early twenties now, still tall and lean but no longer the teenage prince of Gordyene. He did not give his father even a glance as he embraced his mother fondly, the now beautiful Lusin, the young Armenian woman with lustrous chestnut curls, bowing to her mother-in-law and kissing her tenderly on the cheek. The pair walked to the front of the dais and bowed to Phraates, who stood and spread his arms.
‘Behold the King and Queen of Media.’
Spartacus erupted in rage. ‘What! Can someone explain what is going on?’
The Scythians circled him, gripping their axes in anticipation of the King of Gordyene’s famous short temper heralding violence. But Phraates provided him with an explanation.
‘It is quite simple. Queen Rasha, together with Queen Gallia and Queen Diana, explained to Princess Claudia how they had engineered the war against Tiridates, who in turn briefed me fully on the details. I have to say I was and am most impressed. Such a display of cunning and ruthlessness is worthy of high praise. They say the female of the species is the most ruthless and here is the proof.
‘Having kindly killed Darius, King Spartacus, you created a throne that needed filling. You do not have the authority to make your general lord protector of Media, thus reducing that ancient kingdom to your own vassal state.’
‘Media had for years terrorised Gordyene,’ protested Spartacus.
Phraates chuckled. ‘That may have been the case, but now Gordyene is a giant that towers over its neighbours, plundering them and cowering them at will. Armenia trembles before you and now Media lies prostrate at your feet.
‘I know you are estranged from your eldest son, King Spartacus, and it is for that very reason, in addition to the lobbying of your wife, that I have decided to make Prince Akmon Media’s king.’
Akmon looked at Lusin, not believing what was happening.
‘Subject to certain conditions,’ continued Phraates. ‘Firstly, General Joro will remain as the commander of Media’s army to provide continuity and act as your chief adviser. Secondly, all Gordyene’s soldiers will leave Media immediately, never to return, and they will also vacate Seleucia before they feel too much at home.’
‘Media’s nobles will never accept a son of Gordyene as their ruler,’ sneered Spartacus.
‘Oh, I think they might,’ said Phraates, ‘if he proves a wise ruler who does not lead them and their sons into endless wars. What say you, Prince Akmon? Will you be a warmonger or an upholder of the peace?’
Akmon swallowed, nervously looking around. ‘I will do my best to be a wise ruler, highness.’
‘Hatra will support him in his endeavours,’ said Diana.
‘We will? Gafarn was mystified by the whole drama.
‘We will,’ Diana said forcefully.
To say Spartacus was unhappy was an understatement. He was glaring at Akmon but Rasha was ecstatic, and for good reason. Far from being a wanderer in foreign lands, her son would now sit on Media’s throne.
‘His wife is an Armenian,’ spat Spartacus.
‘Which will strengthen our alliance with King Artaxias,’ smiled Phraates, ‘another reason why making Prince Akmon Media’s ruler makes sense.’
Spartacus had had enough. ‘I will not stand here to be insulted.’
He turned on his heels and marched from the chamber.
‘Remember to deliver King Antiochus and the other traitors to me,’ Phraates called after him, ‘if you want your gold, that is.’
Phraates smiled in triumph and waved Akmon and Lusin away, beckoning Byrd forward. Dressed in clothes that would not look out of place on a beggar, he hobbled forward and gave the slightest bow of the head. Phraates looked at him in disbelief and turned to Claudia. I could only hear fragments of their muted conversation.
‘He is rich?’
‘He has no mansion, he lives in a tent.’
‘Are you sure this is the right person?
Phraates shook his head. ‘Extraordinary. Well, Baard.’
‘Byrd, highness,’ Claudia corrected him.
‘Indeed. Well, I am told your money was instrumental in starting the war that defeated the rebel Tiridates, including the hiring of five thousand Roman soldiers.’
‘Governor of Syria friend of mine,’ said Byrd.
‘And what do you want in return?’
‘Share of House of Egibi’s business, lord.’
The House of Egibi was the richest and most powerful trading organisation in western Parthia, probably the whole of the Parthian Empire, or at least had been. It had existed for generations and was headed by two brothers, Itti and Nabu Egibi, though their present whereabouts after having sided with Tiridates and financed a rebellion in Babylon, was unknown. The Egibis were rich nobility, richer than many kings, including Dura’s. Their centre of power was the farmlands of southern Mesopotamia, the lands they owned producing an abundance of wheat, barley, dates, flax and olive oil, which was sold throughout Parthia and foreign lands. But the House of Egibi also traded in property, slaves and loans.
I looked at Lusin and wondered if she knew she had played a part in the rebellion against Phraates. She had been effectively sold by her family to be Nabu Egibi’s bride but had been spirited away by Akmon, a case of love triumphing over business. Phraates had charged Nabu a fee for arranging the match, which he had refused to pay back when Lusin absconded. And so the Egibis became supporters of Tiridates, though it was probably the lure of the expansion of their business interests into eastern Parthian that was a more powerful incentive. Whatever, Parthia’s foremost trading organisation now found itself in a precarious position.
‘Your appearance belies a keen business mind,’ said Phraates, ‘for the future of the House of Egibi has been uppermost in my mind of late.’
‘Return tomorrow, Beed, and we will talk about it some more. In the meantime, I will send the royal tailor to your quarters to fit you out in new clothes.’
‘These clothes fine, lord, very comfortable,’ insisted Byrd.
Phraates shook his head.
‘And now I will take my leave. King Pacorus, you will attend me.’
In his office, the same office I had spent time with his father and grandfather, he tossed a papyrus roll on his huge mahogany table, reclining in his chair as two Scythians took up position behind him.
‘That was delivered to me via Queen Gallia,’ he told me, ‘it is from Octavian, the new Roman leader. In exchange for the return of the eagles on display in my Hall of Victory, he will guarantee peace between Rome and Parthia, with the Euphrates becoming the permanent border between our two empire.’
‘Apparently, that was one of the conditions agreed upon before Octavian agreed to hiring out a legion to Queen Gallia, though I confess how that beggar I have just met managed to finance your wife’s scheme is beyond me. Read it.’
‘Byrd is wealthy, highness,’ I said, picking up the papyrus.
The tone of the letter was friendly, conciliatory, and appeared genuine in its intentions to achieve peace between Parthia and Rome. Phraates leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, staring into space, something I had never seen before. He had always been a suspicious, cynical high king but I detected a change in mood in him.
‘There was a time when I would have banished you and your wife for even suggesting such a thing. But that was before I was overthrown by a coalition of eastern kings.’
He looked at me. ‘You could have taken the high crown for yourself after defeating Tiridates. I know your friends would have supported you, plus Carmania, Atropaiene, Hyrcania and Sakastan. Such a coalition would have been impossible to defeat.’
‘I have no interest in the high crown,’ I told him. ‘I took an oath to your father and to you and I intend to uphold both.’
A slave entered with more wine, though the chalices were smaller than the rhytons we had held in the throne room. But the wine was just as delicious. Phraates toasted me. This day was full of surprises.
‘Whe
n I accompanied your daughter north in the company of lepers, I thought my life was at an end. I slept on a rough carpet in a draughty tent surrounded by the infected. Every morning when I opened my eyes I was afraid to look at my body in case it was covered in sores and boils. Princess Claudia assured me I was perfectly safe but I did not believe her.
‘But I did indeed survive the journey, though my travails only increased when we reached the Alborz Mountains. Ever been there?’
‘No, highness.’
‘A desolate land of rock and ice. I was sure I would perish in its icy vastness. The winds are ferocious and the mountains are inhabited by great flocks of chamrosh and orcs, or so I was told.’
He shivered at the memory. ‘We finally reached the lower slopes of Mount Damavand and I was sure my time on this earth was done.’
The Alborz were located along the southern coast of the Caspian Sea, sitting between Atropaiene and Hyrcania. The name of the mountain range means ‘high watch’ and it was where the Bridge of Judgement waited for the souls of the newly dead. The bridge stretched over hell between Mount Alborz itself and the Peak of Judgment. All the righteous and the wicked passed over the bridge, the former to blissful happiness in the afterlife, the latter to damnation. The bridge becomes narrow or broad according to the nature of the soul upon it, though for souls such as Aliyeh’s her rank of queen and the lobbying of her royal relatives already in the afterlife, ensured for her the bridge remained broad. For the truly wicked, however, the bridge narrows to the thinness of the edge of a razor, so that their souls fall off hallway across, into the depths of hell.
‘I thought your daughter was taking me to the bridge,’ he said. ‘But instead we arrived at a place of warm springs, mild winds and warm temperatures. There I lived in a simple stone hut, eating simple fare and undertaking humble tasks. And do you know what I learned there, King Pacorus?’
‘No, highness.’
‘Humility and, do not laugh, honesty.’
Humility and honesty? I hardly recognised him.
‘It was a most cleansing experience,’ he told me wistfully.
He ordered more wine to be poured.