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by Peter Darman

  ‘What would be your advice regarding the situation in the east? The gods have been kind in ridding me of Monaeses and Cinius, but Antiochus should pay the price for treason.’

  ‘Tiridates, yes, when he is found,’ I said, ‘but I would encourage mercy for Antiochus.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He can be kept here, at Ctesiphon, until you feel he has atoned for his error.’

  ‘Gross error,’ said Phraates.

  ‘Indeed. But if you show the eastern kingdoms you are merciful as well as just, you will win them over, the more so if you decide against leading a campaign against them.’

  A campaign of retribution would be Phraates’ immediate thought, but with the Kushans still a threat across the Indus, he needed to show restraint.

  ‘You would be doing the Kushans’ work for them, highness.’

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I had forgotten about them.’

  ‘And do not forget you have allies in the east. Kewab for one and Salar for another. They are the men around whom you can re-establish influence over the eastern kingdoms. Kewab is well known among the people of those kingdoms and trusted.’

  ‘Perhaps he would make a good king of Aria, in time.’

  It was an admirable idea and further proof of Phraates’ growing wisdom, something that had been sadly lacking in the years prior to the rebellion. And as he was being honest, I decided to inform him of Rahim’s words concerning his son.

  ‘How did this old priest in Uruk know my son is alive?’

  ‘A vision, perhaps?’ I hazarded.

  He dismissed the notion. ‘Tiridates was intent on killing me, and would have killed me had not you, King Nergal and King Gafarn come to my rescue. The incompetence of Ashleen meant my son was left here in Ctesiphon. He would have been the first to die.’

  His head dropped and he placed the chalice on the table, his eyes full of sadness. It was time to take my leave. I rose and bowed my head to him.

  ‘Until tomorrow, highness.’

  Chapter 18

  Dagan, Osrow and the satrap of Susiana were executed the next morning, their severed heads adorning Ctesiphon’s gatehouse two hours after dawn. Spartacus had sent them to the palace the previous evening, along with King Antiochus and two individuals I had met with before. When we assembled once again in the throne room after a night sleeping on silk sheets, being massaged and oiled by slaves before partaking of a hearty breakfast of fruit, yogurt, wafers, bread, butter and honey, the sorry state of the prisoners stood in stark contrast to our own rich apparel and high spirits. Altan and Chingis, the ambassadors of Aria and Drangiana respectively, had always been rather thin, but now they both were gaunt and nervous, their eyes darting left and right, their rich robes dirty and torn. They both had manacles round their wrists, unlike King Antiochus who had no restraints, though a pair of Scythian axe men did hover near him menacingly.

  All three stood before the dais where Phraates sat on his throne, once again toying with his gold arrow, and once more flanked by Silani and Claudia. I stood to one side with Gallia, Gafarn and Diana. Prince Pacorus had already departed Ctesiphon with a detachment of horse archers to safeguard Queen Cia, Karys joining him with a thousand of Mesene’s horsemen. Nergal’s former deputy had been officially declared satrap of Mesene, thus ensuring the loyalty of that kingdom to Phraates. Spartacus and Rasha stood apart from our little group, the King of Gordyene still bitter over the election of his son to the throne of Media. Akmon and Lusin had also departed the palace, riding north in the company of Hatran horse archers to take up their new positions, a decision which no doubt also annoyed Spartacus intensely. But the latter’s mother and father were delighted their grandson would be King of Media.

  ‘The penalty for treason is death,’ said Phraates to the prisoners.

  Altan closed his eyes and Chingis looked around with pleading eyes for any support. He found none. His lord, tall and powerfully built, seemed resigned to his fate.

  Phraates continued. ‘However, as you were not the instigators of the recent rebellion, though you were misguided supporters, I have decided to grant clemency in my hour of triumph. King Antiochus, you will remain here at Ctesiphon until such time I deem you are no longer a threat to the security of the empire.’

  He turned to the ambassadors. ‘As for you two, you will return to your homelands and inform the surviving nobility that henceforth General Kewab is satrap of Aria, Anauon, Yueh-Chih and Drangiana, answerable solely to me. He will have full authority to raise armies, set taxation and appoint officials. You will also be answerable to him, and will take the lead in ensuring he has the support of those kingdoms.’

  Chingis and Altan wore expressions of utter, blissful relief, falling to their knees and thanking Phraates for his mercy.

  ‘I hope your Egyptian is trustworthy, Pacorus,’ whispered Gafarn, ‘for he has just become the second-most powerful man in the Parthian Empire.’

  ‘The most powerful,’ said Gallia softly, ‘for what is Phraates without us?’

  Phraates nodded to the Scythians who bundled Antiochus and the two ambassadors to one side.

  The next to be brought before Phraates were the Egibi brothers, one fat and balding, the other thin and still possessed of a full head of hair, but both sweating, fear in their eyes. Phraates’ own eyes lit up when he saw them.

  ‘Ah, the financiers of the recent rebellion against me.’

  ‘Highness…’ began Itti, the thinner of the two.

  ‘Silence!’ commanded Phraates, turning to Claudia, ‘is he here?’

  ‘Yes, highness,’ smiled my daughter, beckoning forward the figure of Byrd who appeared in the doorway to the throne room.

  Gallia and I waved at him and he waved back, walking slowly into the chamber, escorted by two guards.

  ‘Welcome, Bard,’ said Phraates.

  ‘It is Byrd, highness,’ Claudia corrected him.

  The high king frowned at my former chief scout’s clothing, which was exactly the same as the day before.

  ‘Did the tailor not report to you?’ asked Phraates.

  ‘I sent him away, lord, no time for fine silks and jewellery.’

  ‘That much is apparent. Come closer,’ ordered Phraates, pointing at the perspiring Egibi brothers, who were both wearing rich apparel, though they had been rudely relieved of any jewellery by the look of their bleeding ears.

  ‘Princess Claudia informs me you are the owner of a transport guild that operates throughout Syria, Judea, Cilicia, Cappadocia and western Syria, Beard.’

  Byrd frowned. ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘These two wretches are the Egibi brothers,’ smiled Phraates, ‘among the richest men in the world, who own large tracts of land in Babylonia and Seleucia.’

  Byrd glanced at the two brothers.

  ‘Well,’ said Phraates,’ I have decided to seize all their transport assets, every riverboat they own on the Tigris and Euphrates and every camel caravan they operate between here and the Himalayas. I give them all to you, Beed, in gratitude for your support during the late rebellion.’

  Byrd beamed with delight. ‘You are very generous, high born.’

  ‘Those who remained loyal to me during my temporary exile will not be forgotten, Boid.’

  Claudia rolled her eyes at Phraates’ inability to pronounce Byrd’s name properly but my old friend did not care. He had just become one of the wealthiest men in the whole Parthian Empire. Phraates walked over to him, the heads of the Egibi brothers hanging low in abject misery.

  ‘I also give you the Egibi palace in Babylon, for you and your offspring to enjoy in perpetuity. I’m sure you already have a large mansion, but I want you to have a place to call your own in Babylon. So we can speak from time to time, you understand. The princess tells me you live in Palmyra.’

  ‘Yes, lord. Tent very comfortable.’

  ‘Tent? But surely you have a mansion?’

  ‘No, lord, just a tent. Nice tent.’

  Phraates looked at him and
shook his head. ‘I’m sure it is. You may leave us, Borde. See the chief steward on your way out. He will show you to the office of the Master of the Royal Purse where the ownership documents are deposited.’

  Byrd bowed his head, smiled at his friends and limped from the chamber, the gods having rained good fortune down on him.

  Phraates turned to the two brothers, giving them a filthy look.

  ‘One of you must die. You can discuss between yourselves which one.’

  But Itti Egibi had not become head of his family by being kind. He stepped away from his brother and jabbed a finger at the corpulent Nabu.

  ‘He is the one who should die, highness. He was the one who financed the rebellion against you in Babylon. Without my knowledge, I might add. I am just a businessman.’

  ‘He lies, highness,’ said Nabu, eyes bulging with anger, ‘it was my brother who plotted with Queen Aliyeh and King Tiridates to overthrow you.’

  Phraates put a finger to his mouth. ‘Shush, shush.’

  He turned to address us all. ‘You see how fickle are family ties. Who to believe?’

  He pointed the arrow at Nabu. ‘You are a fat, greedy individual who made a great mistake by declaring your unhappiness at my refusal to return the fee I charged you for arranging your marriage to the Armenian girl.’

  He turned to Spartacus. ‘Who is now the Queen of Media. How strange is the will of the gods, do you not agree, King Spartacus?’

  ‘If you say so, majesty,’ grumbled Spartacus.

  Phraates returned to stare at Nabu. ‘It is not my problem if you cannot keep hold of a young woman, though I shudder to think of the acts a disgusting article like you would have subjected her to. Take him away.’

  Two Scythians grabbed his arms and hauled him away, Nabu Egibi squealing like a piglet as he was led away to his death. I was disgusted to see a smirk on Itti’s face as his brother was marched to the execution yard. Treason was a terrible crime and deserved the severest penalty, but I took no pleasure in seeing a helpless man hauled to his end like a beast to slaughter.

  Phraates walked up to Itti. ‘I know you are concerned about your children and grandchildren.’

  In a flash he stabbed the gold arrow into Itti’s left eye socket, driving it into his brain. The Egibi brother’s body stiffened for a few seconds, then crumbled in a heap on the tiles, blood pumping from the eye socket onto the white marble.

  ‘They have gone on before you,’ sneered Phraates, who turned to walk back to his throne.

  We stared, fascinated and horrified, at the grisly spectacle, Diana tut-tutting very loudly to signal her disapproval.

  ‘Clear this piece of carrion from my throne room,’ ordered Phraates, two Scythians coming forward to lift the corpse to carry it away.

  ‘Wait,’ said Phraates, jumping down from the dais to wrench the arrow from the dead man’s skull before they did so.

  ‘The Egibis have had enough gold out of me, I think,’ he said before returning to his throne.

  Slaves rushed into the chamber with towels and buckets of water to clean the blood from the tiles, Phraates holding out the gore-covered arrow so it too could be cleaned.

  ‘Do you regret instigating the war that returned Phraates to Ctesiphon?’ I whispered into Gallia’s ear.

  ‘The war was to avenge our friends, Pacorus, I don’t give a damn about Phraates, or Parthia for that matter,’ she told me.

  ‘So if Nergal and Praxima had not died before Ctesiphon?’

  ‘I would be extending the hand of friendship to Tiridates,’ she replied, giving Phraates a dazzling smile.

  Later that day I went to see Alcaeus during a visit to the marching camp that was still in operation south of Ctesiphon. The flood of injured had been dealt with, most of the hospital tents now empty and only the most seriously injured still being treated. The Exiles were still in camp, Phraates eager for them to stay and police Babylon and Seleucia until Silani, freshly created King of Persis, could organise reliable garrisons for the two cities. Alcaeus had managed to get some regular sleep and he looked less stressed than previously.

  I told him about the deception of Gallia, Diana and Rasha as he was making his afternoon rounds, the tents holding the wounded more ordered and calm now there were fewer men to treat.

  ‘Deception?’ Why do you call it that?’

  ‘I was not informed of their plan, which must have taken months to organise.’

  He grinned. ‘Because they knew you would not have endorsed it. Each one of them is a strong, determined woman, Pacorus, but together they make a fearsome alliance. Anyway, I thought you support Phraates.’

  ‘I do.

  ‘Well, then, what are you complaining about?’

  We were walking from cot to cot, Alcaeus examining their occupants in turn, a physician hovering nearby to listen to what his superior had to say. The patients, previously listless with vacant eyes, were now more alert as their recovery took hold. Those with mortal wounds had perished days ago and their remains cremated. Alcaeus nodded to a man I estimated to be in his late thirties, his left arm secured in a splint, his right shoulder freshly bandaged.

  ‘How are we feeling today, centurion?’

  ‘Arm and shoulder still hurt, but I’ll survive. That said, I haven’t eaten as well in an age.’

  Alcaeus nodded to me. ‘You can thank King Pacorus for that. He accepted all my suggestions concerning the treatment of wounded soldiers, including an abundance of healthy food. Wholesome food creates a healthy body and healthy mind, though I’m not sure if that holds true for Romans.’

  The centurion grinned and cast his eyes over me.

  ‘I fought against you at Phraaspa, majesty, and with you at the Euphrates and Ctesiphon. I and a lot of others thought we were dead when you abandoned your foot soldiers in the recent battle.’

  ‘It was the only thing I could think of to save you all,’ I told him. ‘I hope you heal quickly.’

  ‘Took an arrow in the shoulder and a bloody horse crashed into our shields after being struck by javelins,’ he told me matter-of-factly. ‘You are shorter than I expected.’

  ‘My apologies.’

  His eyes rested on my spatha. ‘Is that one of the magical blades I have heard so much about, the ones that can cut through other swords and armour?’

  ‘It is a Roman spatha, like the ones carried by your own horsemen. It was a gift from a friend.’

  ‘A Roman friend?’

  ‘A Thracian.’

  ‘In a couple of weeks you will be fit enough to travel back to Syria,’ Alcaeus informed him.

  The centurion grinned. ‘There’s a nice bonus waiting for me there. This has been a lucrative campaign.’

  ‘I never knew Byrd was so rich,’ said Alcaeus, ‘just goes to show, appearances can be deceptive.’

  ‘I wish you a speedy recovery, centurion,’ I said, ‘hopefully you will not return to Parthia, at least not as a soldier.’

  I spoke to the other men in the tent also, one from faraway Yueh-Chih who declared his intention to travel back to his homeland when he was fully recovered. With no horse or camel, he would have to seek employment with a trade caravan as a guard or camel driver, either that or walk the breadth of the empire to reach his home, a journey of many weeks. I wondered if Tiridates was already on his way back to Aria. Once there, he would be faced with a stark choice: grovel to Phraates in the hope of keeping his throne, and indeed his head, or plot another uprising. The latter was highly unlikely as Aria and the other kingdoms that had thrown in their lot with Tiridates, were now bereft of troops. I also doubted they had the stomach for another war, not with the Kushan threat still hanging over them. Tiridates could always defect to the Kushans, of course. But what sort of welcome would be extended to a man who had betrayed his high king?

  These thoughts swirled in my mind as I left the camp of the Exiles and rode back to Ctesiphon. Horns ambled across the dirt plain, the ghastly debris of battle having been cleared away and the dead cremated in
huge pits that had been covered over. The pits had been sited well away from the Tigris to prevent putrid substances leaking into the river and killing all the fish as well as poisoning the many thousands the waterway supplied with water for drinking and irrigation. Achieving complete incineration of thousands of bodies was impossible, invariably resulting in partially incinerated remains that had to be buried. The only indication of the great battle that had taken place was a great patch of churned-up ground directly south of the palace complex, plus the covered burial pits to the southwest.

  A slight breeze blew in my face as Horns trotted north, the sun creating only a slight haze on the horizon as the temperature was warm but far from hot. I peered ahead and saw a solitary figure, perhaps two of three hundred yards distant. I looked around for any other signs of life but saw none. Then I heard a sound being carried on the wind, the ching-a-ling of a bell. I saw the figure more clearly now, a stooping shape in rags with a large hood obscuring the face. Intrigued, I carried on until I was but a mere twenty yards from the individual, pulling up Horns in alarm when I saw the bell and realised it had been a warning signal.

  A leper!

  I moved Horns to the left to take a wide detour around the infected person, who continued to shuffle forward, the bell dangling from his belt sounding with every step. Who suddenly stopped and turned to face me, though the large hood concealed his head and face.

  ‘The great King of Parthia, the victor of Carrhae, Phraaspa and now Ctesiphon, fleeing like a frightened child. From a poor leper?’

  I pulled up Horns. The voice was muffled but oddly familiar.

  ‘Everyone, high and low, flees from lepers. Have we met?’

  ‘Many times, son of Hatra.’

  I should have been shocked but was rather pleased, jumping down from Horns to get closer to her.

  ‘A leper?’

  She rang the bell. ‘It guarantees we can speak in peace. So, you are lord of the Parthian Empire now, or would be if it were not for your ridiculous sentimentality.’

  ‘You mean my sense of honour that forbids me breaking oaths?’

  ‘You are still angry with your wife?’