Parthian Vengeance

Chapter 8

As both sides eyed each other warily across the featureless stretch of desert that would soon become a blood-soaked killing ground, an eerie silence descended over the battlefield. Horses scraped at the ground impatiently, chomped on their bits and flicked their tails to swat away flies. Men pulled on their bowstrings to test the draw weight, others checked their quivers and the cataphracts rested their great lances on their shoulders, their helmets pushed back on their heads. The breeze ruffled windsocks and banners and offered slight relief to men sweating in armour. Most of the clouds had disappeared by now to leave a clear blue sky. It was a beautiful spring day, and for many their last one on earth.

I was suddenly gripped by a fear that Narses would request a parley and escape our clutches, but my concern was allayed when a great noise suddenly erupted from the enemy ranks. The accursed kettledrums began to beat and then the shrill sound of horns pierced the air. Horses whinnied and some reared up in alarm but Remus merely stood unconcerned. He had heard these sounds many times before. Behind me men pulled their helmets down and wrapped their reins round their left wrists. Orodes offered me his hand.

‘God keep you safe, Pacorus.’

‘And you too, my friend.’

In front of us the foot soldiers of Narses were beating their spear shafts against their wicker shields, producing a great rattling sound that mixed with the noise of the kettledrums and horns to produce a dreadful din. How I regretted that Domitus was not here — his legions would reduce those wicker shields to wood shavings!

‘The enemy is moving,’ shouted Orodes, pointing over to the left to where the enemy’s right wing of horsemen appeared to be shifting further right. Were they fleeing?

Closer inspection revealed that the horsemen were actually moving in an ordered fashion and not in flight. I glanced at the mass of enemy foot. They were still rooted to the same spot. As the right wing of enemy horsemen continued to shift right more riders appeared to fill the gap that had appeared between the foot soldiers and the horsemen on the enemy right wing. Now our own left wing was greatly overlapped by the enemy opposite that began to advance against Nergal’s outnumbered horse archers.

It suddenly became horribly clear that the enemy had also been closely observing us just as we had been scrutinising them. Narses would have seen the banner of Mesene and would have also spotted my heavy cavalry positioned near the centre and not on the flank. He therefore believed our left wing to be weak and would throw his mounted spearmen and horse archers against it. If he succeeded then he would be able to drive back or even rout Nergal’s men and get his riders behind our army. A potential disaster was unfolding before my eyes.

I looked to my right to see Gallia leading Dura’s horse archers against the enemy foot. The companies rode towards the enemy in single-file columns, twenty in all, each rider at the head of the column loosing his arrows high into the sky at a distance of around four hundred paces from the front ranks. He then wheeled his horse to the right to return to the rear of the column. In this way a withering rain of arrows was directed at the enemy, while Dura’s horsemen stayed out of the range of enemy arrows and slingshots. I did not have to worry about the centre.

Meanwhile the enemy horsemen were now moving at a canter towards Nergal’s men, arrows arching into the sky from the horse archers behind their front ranks of spearmen. There were frantic horn calls coming from Nergal’s ranks as the Mesenians about-turned and began to retreat, the rear ranks turning in their saddles and shooting their bows over the hind quarters of their horses. Many enemy spearmen were felled as Nergal’s men loosed arrow after arrow at the oncoming enemy. He had obviously trained his men well.

‘Wedge, wedge. Follow me!’ I shouted and pulled my kontus from the earth. I dug my knees into Remus’ flanks and shouted at him to move forward. He reared up on his back legs and broke into a canter, then a gallop. In seconds Orodes was next to me and behind us over twelve hundred riders followed.

A cataphract is the most expensive soldier on earth, a man dressed in the finest and most effective armour and armed with an array of weapons made from the finest materials. As well as his kontus his weapons included a sword, mace, axe and dagger. He and his horse were encased in scale armour, steel leg and arm armour and a helmet that offered protection to the head, neck and face from arrows and blades. Yet all this lavish equipment counts for nothing if the man wearing it is not thoroughly trained.

Just as Domitus had honed his legions into fearsome machines, so had I, assisted by Orodes, moulded my cataphracts into a battle-winning force. As hundreds of iron-shod horses thundered across the ground the ten companies that made up the dragon, plus Orodes’ men, instinctively adopted the wedge formation. The first company formed up behind me, a hundred men forming the tip of the wedge widely spaced in two ranks, and behind them a second company and Orodes’ men mirroring the wedge arrangement of those in front. Either side of these companies, each one riding behind and in echelon of the one in front, were four companies to make the rest of the wedge. Years of practise on the training fields came down to these few moments on the field of honour, when twelve hundred horsemen can be transformed into a battle-winning instrument seemingly in a blink of an eye.

The scale armour, bulky and uncomfortable before battle, becomes as light as a feather in the cauldron of combat. I screamed my war cry and brought my kontus down on the right side of Remus, clutching it with both hands as we galloped headlong into the dense ranks of the enemy horsemen.

When we hit them a sickening scraping noise was heard as the cataphracts ground their way into the enemy’s left flank. They were still moving forward to get to grips with Nergal’s men when we struck, driving into the packed ranks of their horse archers and skewing horses and men with our lances. The horse archers wore no armour and had only soft caps on their heads. Ordinarily they would have fled before a cataphract charge, but though many did try to turn their horses away from us, there was nowhere for them run to. The packed ranks of their comrades were to their front, right and rear, and so they were forced to face the armoured monsters that had suddenly appeared in their midst. And then the killing began.

Remus galloped into a gap between two ranks of enemy horse archers and I buried my kontus in the first target that presented itself, a bowman dressed in nothing more than a beige kaftan and leggings. He turned in the saddle and stared wild-eyed as the metal tip of the kontus went into his sternum and out through his back. Whether he was alive or dead when I released the shaft that had penetrated his body up to half its length I did not know, but in the mêlée there is no time to sit and make judgements. Quick reflexes and speed are the keys to survival. I drew my sword and slashed at the head of a rider who appeared before me, inflicting a deep gash in his jaw. I screamed at Remus to move forward as I advanced deeper among the enemy, hacking left and right with my sword at heads and torsos. Orodes clung to my side like a limpet on a piece of rock, swinging his mace in his hand, the horsemen behind us using their maces and axes against the cloth caps of the enemy horse archers. It was carnage. Skulls were split like a grapes being stepped on as mace blows were rained down on hapless victims. The enemy spearmen had stopped their attack against Nergal’s men and had about-turned to get to grips with us, but between us and them was a great press of horse archers trying to flee for their lives.

After what seemed like only a few seconds but was probably half an hour, as if by magic the enemy horse archers disappeared. We then faced a charge by the enemy spearmen but it was not pressed home with any great vigour. Having seen the remnants of the horse archers flee into the desert, only small groups of spearmen attempted to charge us. Orodes rode up and down the line waving his mace in the air, shouting orders for the ranks to reform to face north where the bulk of enemy spearmen sat on their horses. I rode to the centre of the line, Vagharsh holding my banner and the standard of Orodes being held by another rider beside him. I tried to make a quick tally as officers arranged their companies in two ranks. It appeared that our losses had been slight, which was more than could be said for the enemy. The ground was carpeted with their dead as far as the eye could see, with dozens of slain horses also lying on the ground.

My own and Remus’ scale armour was smeared with blood but it was not my own, and a closer inspection of my cataphracts revealed that they too were daubed with enemy gore. It had been one of the most one-sided victories that I had taken part in. All that remained were the disorganised and no doubt dispirited enemy spearmen who were now grouped to our front. Their officers were riding to and fro, cajoling and threatening their men to move forward. But then arrows began falling among their ranks and many saddles were suddenly emptied. This was the final straw for the demoralised spearmen who suddenly broke and fled east into the desert in the wake of the surviving horse archers.

My men whooped and cheered as the enemy ran, pursued by companies of Nergal’s horse archers. Seeing the charge of the enemy horse stopped and then their whole wing largely destroyed, he had halted the retreat of his horse archers and brought them back onto the battlefield. He and Praxima now rode over to where we stood among the enemy dead and dying. I clasped his forearm when he arrived at our position.

‘My thanks, Pacorus,’ he said, grinning.

‘My thanks to you, my friend,’ I said.

‘You have won a great victory, lord,’ said Praxima, which elicited cheers from those men within earshot.

Nergal looked east to where his men pursued the enemy.

‘Not many will get back across the Tigris,’ he said with satisfaction.

‘Our men are under orders to take no prisoners,’ said Praxima sternly. I smiled at her. Even after all these years she still had the power to unnerve me.

‘That’s one part of Narses’ army dealt with,’ I said. ‘Let’s hope my father and Vardan have broken through to the Ishtar Gate.’

I saw Praxima pull an arrow from her quiver and nock it in her bowstring. Around fifty paces from us a wounded enemy soldier had staggered to his feet and was limping away east, into the desert. His right leg was obviously injured as he could barely put any weight on it. Just a few feet away, men on their horses watched him making his escape. They could have ridden him down with ease but saw no honour in killing such a pathetic figure. Sweating profusely from their exertions in battle, most had pushed their helmets back up on their heads. I saw their expressions change from unconcern to horror as Praxima’s arrow hit the poor wretch in the right leg, causing him to yelp in pain and collapse on the ground. He groaned in agony for a few seconds then, with great effort, managed to get back on his feet, almost hopping as his right leg hung uselessly. There was another twang and a second arrow hit him square in the back, pitching him forward face down on the ground. He made no further movement as Praxima calmly replaced her bow in its case.

She spat on the ground. ‘No pity for the soldiers of Narses.’

Suddenly the ground shook and I heard a deep rumble — the sound of thousands of horses charging. I gave the order to wheel left and face the direction of the sound, hoping that it was not more enemy horsemen mounting another attack against us. Within minutes we had reformed our line facing west and moved forward. Nergal, meanwhile, had brought his horse archers forward and deployed them either side of my cataphracts to provide missile support should we need it. We did not, for ahead I saw a most imposing sight — the lords were leading their men against the now isolated enemy foot soldiers.

A rider, one of Dura’s horse archers, arrived at my position with a message from Gallia that she had committed the lords and their horsemen against Narses’ foot soldiers. She had received news that the Babylonians and Hatrans had routed the enemy horsemen in front of them and had pushed back the remnants to the Ishtar Gate. The battle was as good as won and all that remained was the destruction of the enemy’s foot. Twenty thousand horse archers were now enveloping those troops as the lords and their horse archers emptied their quivers against them. The air was thick with arrows as Narses’ men were assailed from all directions.

I rode over to where Gallia had halted with her Amazons observing the scene unfolding before her, a great cloud of dust now obscuring the distance as Dura’s lords directed their assaults against the enemy. I reached over and kissed her on the cheek, my vest and shirt drenched with sweat. In comparison she looked as though she had just washed and dressed. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on her or Epona and her bow was still in its case. Behind her the Amazons appeared just as fresh and unruffled.

She smiled warmly at Nergal and Praxima as they joined us. She laid a hand on Orodes’ arm.

‘It warms me to see you all unharmed, especially you, lord prince.’

He took off his helmet and bowed his head solemnly. ‘Your servant, lady.’ Ever the gallant knight.

I also took off my own helmet, my sweat-soaked hair matted to my skull.

‘Spandarat insisted on getting involved, then,’ I said to Gallia, observing horse archers riding towards the enemy mass, shooting their bows and then wheeling sharply away.

‘I ordered him and the rest of the lords to attack,’ she replied. ‘Word reached me from your father that the enemy horsemen in front of him had been dispersed, and with you and Nergal scattering those on the other wing, it seemed an opportune moment to unleash the lords.’

‘You have impeccable timing, lady,’ remarked Orodes, wiping his brow with a cloth.

‘Now we can watch them being slaughtered,’ said Praxima with relish.

Dura’s horse archers were now reforming in their companies behind the Amazons, having retreated to the camel train stationed in the rear to obtain fresh quivers of arrows. To our left the tired cataphracts and their blown horses were forming into line, and beyond them the Mesenians. We had returned to our original positions.

‘Do you wish me to commit my men?’ asked Nergal.

I smiled at him. ‘Your troops are yours to dispose of as you see fit, lord king.’

Gallia swung round in her saddle. ‘Nergal is offering you assistance, Pacorus, don’t get all high and mighty with your royal talk.’

‘Why don’t we take the Amazons forward, Gallia,’ suggested Praxima. ‘Lop off some heads and balls just like in the old days.’

Nergal laughed and Orodes looked most uncomfortable.

‘Wait,’ I said. I turned and beckoned forward one of the commanders of my horse archers.

‘Send some of your men forward and inform the lords that I command that they desist their attacks.’

He saluted and rode back to his waiting officers.

‘What nonsense is this?’ asked Gallia.

‘No nonsense, my sweet,’ I replied. ‘Rather common sense.’

Praxima looked perplexed as a detachment of officers rode forward and searched out Spandarat and the other lords in the dust storm that was engulfing the horsemen and foot soldiers as thousands of hooves kicked up the dry earth. I sent other riders to the Ishtar Gate to see if Vardan or my father wanted assistance, and while I waited for a reply the shrieks, cries, shouts and screams of horses and men in front of us gradually died down as the lords disengaged from the battle.

A most unhappy Spandarat brought his horse to a halt in front of me.

‘If you weren’t my king, if my sons didn’t serve in your army and if I didn’t love your wife I would tan your arse.’

‘A most eloquent speech, Spandarat. Can I assume that you disagree with my orders,’ I said calmly.

He pointed excitedly at the enemy foot still standing in their ranks.

‘We have the bastards. They are surrounded and short of missiles and they can’t go anywhere. They are helpless.’

‘That is precisely the point, Spandarat. Everything you say is true and I am sure that they are even more aware of their predicament.’

He threw out his arms. ‘So?’

‘So I would speak to them first.’

He dropped his arms to his sides. ‘Speak to them?’

‘Yes, Spandarat. And I can’t do that if you and your men are shooting arrows at them.’

He looked behind him, scratched his head and rode to the rear muttering to himself. During the next few minutes parties of horse archers, most with empty quivers, filed past us to muster once more around the banners of their lords.

I asked Nergal to take his men and form a cordon around the enemy’s foot, supported by the resupplied Duran horse archers, telling them to stay out of bow and sling range.

Orodes was impressed. ‘You show mercy in victory, Pacorus.’

‘Mercy has nothing to do with it,’ I grunted in reply.

Men on foot, surrounded and with no hope of relief, would be more amenable to surrendering than fighting on, and that meant Duran and Mesenian lives would be saved. The battle had gone better than expected, our losses had been light and the enemy had been routed. As Nergal’s horse archers cantered south to form a cordon around the enemy foot soldiers, I began to formulate a plan that could yet salvage the whole campaign and avenge Gotarzes.

The army of Narses was on the verge of being destroyed and once that had happened the road to Ctesiphon would be open. Mithridates himself had suffered great losses when they had engaged my legions near the Tigris, notwithstanding our own brush with calamity, and now the enemy had tasted yet another defeat. Mithridates had clearly fled the scene, no doubt scurrying back to Ctesiphon to seek solace from his poisonous mother, Queen Aruna. If we finished Narses’ forces here, today, then Susiana and perhaps Persis would be open to attack. Once they had been rested and refitted the legions could be recalled to join with my horsemen. I could field ten thousand foot and twenty-three thousand horsemen, more if I could persuade Nergal to help us. My father would not be a part of any plan, I knew that, but Vardan might be willing to lend me some horse archers at least, if only to repay Narses and Mithridates for the destruction they had visited on his kingdom. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It all seemed perfectly achievable. Then I opened my eyes and saw Byrd and half a dozen of his scouts riding towards us, and my plan began to disintegrate.

Dobbai had once told me that the gods cared nothing for the lives of men and that our prayers to them were wasted words. She said that they sent plagues, drought and famine to torment men to alleviate their boredom for it amused their cruel natures to see humanity suffer, much as a small child delights in pulling the wings off a fly or the legs off a spider. She said that some men were beloved of the gods, and included me in that number, but only because such individuals were warriors or tyrants who inflicted pain upon others and washed the land with blood. She said the notions of peace and prosperity, which most men craved, were anathema to the gods. They loved only chaos, despair and bloodshed, for in such tumults men fell on their knees in front of idols of their gods and begged for deliverance, and the divine ones responded by heaping more misery upon them to satisfy their cruel natures. And men wept and the land bled. And so it was now as Byrd brought his sweating horse to a halt before me.

‘Vardan dead at Ishtar Gate. Narses reveals his hand.’

I heard the words but did not believe them.

‘Dead?’ said Orodes incredulously.

Byrd nodded nonchalantly. ‘Great number of enemy horsemen attack from south. Narses leads them. I see his great banner.’

I felt sick to my stomach. How can this be?

‘We must aid your father,’ said Orodes.

I looked at him and then Byrd, unsure of what to do.

‘Pacorus, decide!’ shouted Gallia.

My cataphracts were tired, their horses blown, and my horse archers and those of the lords had already fought their own battle. Only Nergal’s men were relatively fresh. I looked at the expectant faces around me.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘We must ride to the Ishtar Gate immediately. Nergal, will you ride with us as your men are the least tired among our forces?’

‘It will be an honour, Pacorus,’ he replied.

So I took my heavy horsemen, my own and Nergal’s horse archers, plus half the lords and their riders to the Ishtar Gate. Spandarat and the remaining lords were left behind to guard the enemy foot soldiers. We rode in haste across the battlefield to the blue-painted bricks of the Ishtar Gate, to find a scene of grim carnage but no Narses. Dead horses lay scattered all around, their guts ripped open and their legs twisted and broken, staring with lifeless eyes. Bones protruded from shattered ankles and blood oozed from gaping neck wounds. Some animals, still alive, groaned pitifully as pain shot through their punctured bodies. As we halted and slid from our saddles I could see that the path of dead and dying began around a hundred paces from the Ishtar Gate and led directly north.

Dead riders lay alongside their slain mounts and I saw that most of them wore the purple of Babylon. Some of Vardan’s soldiers were walking among the dead horseflesh, putting wounded animals out of their misery and retrieving any men still alive. Smashed shields and broken lances lay scattered on the ground along with abandoned swords and helmets.

As we led our horses in the direction of the Euphrates we came across a knot of officers from Vardan’s royal bodyguard, and among them my father and Vistaspa. Relief swept through me. I left Remus with my men and went to his side. We embraced and I thanked Shamash that he was safe and unhurt. I nodded to Vistaspa who bowed his head, and then saw Mardonius kneeling by the side of his dead lord. Vardan looked serene and untroubled in death, his eyes closed and not a mark on his face. His body was covered with a rich purple cloak edged with gold. There were a great many dead soldiers of the royal bodyguard in this particular spot, no doubt where fierce fighting had taken place. I also saw a number of slain cataphracts dressed in short-sleeved scale armour cuirasses, yellow shirts underneath — the colours of Persis. My father’s bodyguard waited on their horses two hundred paces away, their heads bowed with exhaustion.

I took off my helmet as Gallia embraced my father and Orodes bowed to him.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

My father, ashen faced and looking tired, shook his head.

‘What happened? I will tell you what happened. We advanced and engaged the enemy horsemen deployed in front of the Ishtar Gate, my soldiers on the right and Vardan’s men on the left. We cut our way through their spearmen and horse archers and reached the Ishtar Gate. That was easy enough. And in the moment of victory, when the soldiers of Hatra were finishing off the enemy and filling the city’s moat with their dead, Narses appeared at the head of a multitude of horsemen and hit the Babylonians in the flank.’

I could scarce believe it. ‘Appeared from where?’

‘From the Marduk Gate,’ answered Mardonius with a quivering voice as his lord and master, lifted onto a stretcher fashioned from lances lashed together, was carried into his city. Still wrapped in the purple cloak, his arms had been crossed over his chest and his sword lay on his body. The remnants of his bodyguard followed their lord on foot.

‘Narses kept his heavy cavalry in reserve near the Marduk Gate,’ continued Mardonius, ‘the main entrance into the city from the west, and led them against us when we and the Hatrans were disorganised following our first attack.’

‘It was clever,’ added my father, ‘very clever. He struck the Babylonians in the flank when they, just like us, were disorganised and compressed into a small area in front of the city walls. His men hit the Babylonians who had no time to turn and face them, herding them towards the river and preventing me from deploying my men.’

‘He used the Babylonians as a wall of flesh between them and us,’ said Vistaspa undiplomatically.

‘Their first charge inflicted many casualties, including the king,’ said Mardonius.

‘Where is Narses now?’ I asked.

‘Fled north,’ replied my father. ‘I sent my horse archers after him but he will be miles away by now.’

It was a catastrophe. Two of the empire’s kings, both of them allies, had been killed in the space of two weeks. My plans evaporated and the gods laughed. On the heels of Vardan’s death came more grievous news when a rider came from Spandarat informing me that the enemy foot that I had left him to guard had escaped and were marching towards the Tigris.

When I rode back to my lords and demanded an explanation I learned that not all of Narses’ reserves had been committed at the Ishtar Gate. I found Spandarat sitting on the ground when we arrived, his dead horse laying a few paces away, a lance through its body, and one of his men bandaging a nasty gash to his scalp. After the bandage had been tied off he was hauled to his feet. I slid out of my saddle and stood before him. Gallia did the same.

‘Are you hurt, Spandarat?’ she enquired with concern.

‘Nothing a bellyful of beer won’t cure,’ he replied, blood already seeping through the bandage.

I looked around and saw more than a few dead Durans on the ground. Spandarat saw my concerned look.

‘A great load of horsemen, men armed with shields and spears, came from the south and charged us. We emptied a few saddles with our bows but there were a lot of them, we had empty quivers and they were fresh. They charged us a couple of times and I was nearly turned into a kebab,’ he nodded at his dead horse. ‘They kept us occupied long enough for the foot soldiers to escape. I reckon they are about five miles away by now.’

‘They are falling back on Kish,’ I sighed. Kish was a city less then twenty miles northeast of Babylon that had been captured by Narses. I laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You and your men did well today. Take them back to camp and get that wound stitched.’

There was nothing to do except consign our dead to the flames, tend to the wounded and recover our strength. By the position of the sun in the sky I estimated that it was now late afternoon. I gave the order to retreat back to camp and thousands of tired, thirsty and hungry horse archers led their exhausted horses on foot back to their tents. In the elation and frenzy of combat scale armour and steel leg and arm armour feels as light as a feather; in the aftermath of battle they feel like they are made of lead. Every sinew and muscle in my body ached and it required two of Spandarat’s men to get me back in the saddle, so weak did I feel.

Remus, still in his scale armour, plodded back to camp like the rest of the horses carrying cataphracts, each man sitting listlessly in his saddle. It was a most curious thing, this afterglow of slaughter. It was as if each man was filled with a fire that gave him god-like strength in battle, but as soon as the fighting stopped it disappeared like the flame of a candle when it is snuffed out. In its place is lethargy and slow-wittedness. As we trudged back to camp Narses himself could have galloped among us and not one man would have had the strength to raise his sword against him.

In fact I learned later, when two farriers were unstrapping Remus’ scale armour, that Narses’ column of horsemen had ridden directly north and through the Babylonian camp, firing the tents, scattering camels and killing most of the camp guards and the small army of servants and hangers-on that always accompanied Vardan on campaign, before swinging east to head for Kish. It was a blessing that Vardan had not brought the half-naked teenage slave girls who served his guests food. Their lives had at least been spared. My own camp escaped any destruction, as did those of my father and Nergal.

There was no pursuit of Narses.

The next morning’s roll call revealed that the heaviest of our losses had been among the lords’ retainers: five hundred killed, three hundred wounded and a hundred and fifty horses slain. The cataphracts had suffered fifteen dead and forty wounded with no losses among their horses. A fair amount of leg and arm armour was dented and many iron scales had been dislodged from scale armour but that was a small price to pay for so few casualties. When we got back to Dura the armour could be repaired and squires would be busy over the next few days fixing iron scales back on rawhide. The horse archers had suffered a score killed and fifty wounded.

During the morning I received an invitation from Princess Axsen to attend her at her palace in Babylon and at noon rode with Gallia and Orodes and an escort of a hundred Babylonian horse archers to the city.

The signs of the previous day’s battle were all around as we rode to the city. The area in front of the Ishtar Gate and east of the city was filled with carts being piled high with the slain for transportation to great funeral pyres that were already roasting dead flesh. The sickly sweet smell of burning carcasses entered my nostrils and made me feel nauseous. I saw slain horses being hauled by their legs towards the raging fires and soldiers with fishhooks pulling bodies from the city’s moat. The buzzing of a plague of flies added to the horror of the scene as we trotted over the wooden bridge that spanned the moat and entered Babylon via the Ishtar Gate.

The gate itself, now over five hundred years old, was a most wondrous thing. More than forty feet high, it was made of bricks fronted with a copper turquoise glaze alternating with unglazed bricks covered with gold leaf. Either side of the arch itself were base reliefs of animals — lions, the symbol of the goddess Ishtar, horned bulls — gauws — and dragons, the symbols of the god Marduk, the deity whose city this was. There appeared to be no damage to the gate itself or the surrounding walls, which suggested that either Narses intended to starve the city into surrender or he had attempted an assault against another sector of the walls.

We rode through the gate and onto a paved road that the commander of our escort informed me was called the Processional Way. In the centre of the road were laid great limestone flagstones, either side of them smaller red flagstones. The way itself was lined with the statues of one hundred and twenty lions made from glazed bricks.

We turned off the road when we reached the gates to the royal palace and entered the huge compound, which was surrounded by a wall of great height and strength with guard towers positioned along its circumference every fifty paces. We rode into a great paved square surrounded on two sides by barracks and stables. The large gatehouse behind us filled another side and a second gatehouse occupied the fourth side. We made our way across the square and through the second gatehouse to reach a second square that fronted the palace.

The palace guard stood to attention on the square to receive us, at least five hundred purple-dressed warriors armed with thrusting spears, wearing bronze helmets and carrying round wooden shields faced with bronze and bearing Vardan’s gauw symbol. We dismounted and Mardonius walked over and bowed his head to all three of us as slaves took our horses to the stables.

‘Greetings King Pacorus, Queen Gallia and Prince Orodes,’ he said formally. ‘Princess Axsen awaits you in the palace. If your majesties would follow me.’

He strode purposefully in front as a guard of honour fell in behind us and we walked to the steps of the royal palace. There, standing at the top of the steps at the entrance to the palace, stood Axsen. About my age and shorter than me, she had always been a sturdy girl having inherited the physical characteristics of her father. Usually of a cheerful disposition, she mostly wore her long brown hair in two plaits. Today, though, she wore it free with black ribbons tied in it. Her round face was full of sorrow and her brown eyes were puffy from weeping over the death of her father. She looked like a lost and lonely child despite being surrounded by priests, slaves and her father’s commanders and advisers. My heart went out to her. Ignoring all protocol and royal etiquette, Gallia raced up the steps and threw her arms round her friend. The tall severe-looking priests, sporting thick, long black beards and adorned in red robes, frowned and mumbled disapprovingly among themselves, but Axsen hugged her friend and thanked her for her show of affection.

I bowed my head to Babylon’s princess, then stepped forward and embraced her.

‘I am truly sorry for your loss, lady.’

She managed a thin smile. ‘Thank you, Pacorus, your presence here is most welcome.’

Her voice was faltering and I could tell that she was having difficulty maintaining her royal composure. Alas, she had no husband or siblings with whom to share the burden of grief, only a multitude of servants and subjects.

Orodes stepped forward and went down on one knee before her. It was the first time that they had met.

‘Dear lady, I am but an impoverished prince and yet I pledge my sword to your service in honour of your father, a valiant and great king who has been taken from the world too early.’

They were fine words well spoken and touched Axsen, who extended her hand to Orodes so that he could kiss it. She stepped forward and gently lifted him to his feet.

‘Thank you, Prince Orodes. I have heard of your charm and great courage. Babylon is honoured to receive you.’

My father arrived with Gafarn moments later and behind them Nergal and Praxima. Like Gallia the wife of Nergal dispensed with royal protocol and embraced her friend warmly, again to the consternation of the assembled priests and advisers.

The palace’s throne room was vast, the intricately painted ceiling depicting the stars and moon and supported by a dozen thick stone pillars. The central dais on which two gold-inlaid thrones stood was fashioned from smooth slabs of sandstone and gauw banners hung on the walls behind it. Sunlight flooded the room from square windows cut high in the walls and fires burned on great metal dishes on stands for the chamber was cool despite the bright sunshine outside. Guards stood at every pillar and around the dais.

Axsen led us across the throne room to a small antechamber behind the dais, guards opening the plain wooden doors to allow their princess and her guests to enter. The room was airy and bright, the walls painted white and the interior furnished with plush white couches piled with cushions. Axsen sat in a great cushioned chair and bade us sit on the couches opposite her. Mardonius stood on her right side. A stern-looking priest with a black beard stood on her left side. Next to him was a woman with a very low-cut white gown and bare arms adorned with gold jewellery.

Slaves bought us fine wine to drink and fruit, honey cakes and pastries to eat. The slats in the windows had been opened fully to allow air to enter as the doors to the room were closed. Axsen waved away a slave who offered her wine.

‘My friends,’ she said, ‘I thank you all for being here, especially you, King Varaz, whose army is the mightiest in the Parthian Empire.’

My father bowed his head to her.

‘I am only sorry that we should meet in such unhappy circumstances. Be assured that Hatra is first among the allies of Babylon.’

Axsen smiled and I saw a look of relief appear on Mardonius’ face.

‘Lord Mardonius you all already know,’ said Axsen, then gesturing to the priest and woman standing near her. ‘These are my father’s other chief advisers, who now serve me. Nabu, high priest of the Temple of Marduk, and Afrand, high priestess of the Temple of Ishtar.’

The pair bowed their heads to us as Axsen nodded to Mardonius.

‘Thank you, highness,’ he began. ‘We have made a tally of the losses suffered before the city yesterday. We have counted eight thousand enemy dead and two thousand Babylonians slain. Of our valiant allies, I believe that the losses of Hatra, Dura and Mesene are light in comparison.’

‘Two hundred dead,’ reported Nergal.

‘Seven hundred dead,’ remarked my father grimly, ‘most of them suffered when Narses attacked with his reserves.’

‘Most of my losses were suffered in the same way,’ I added. ‘What news of Narses?’

‘We received reports earlier that he and his forces had left Kish and are now falling back on Jem det Nasr,’ replied Mardonius.

The latter place was a small town near the Tigris.

‘Most likely,’ continued Mardonius, ‘he will retreat back over the Tigris.’

My father looked at me, no doubt thinking that I would urge a pursuit of Narses, but I said nothing. For one thing the funeral of Vardan had to take place first, and then Axsen would have to be made queen of Babylon. So I stayed silent.

‘Babylon has suffered grievously at the hands of Narses and Mithridates,’ said Axsen. ‘Many villages have been destroyed and their inhabitants killed or carried off into slavery. In addition, irrigation systems have been destroyed and livestock slaughtered. It will take many months before the kingdom returns to normal. Therefore I have no alternative but to seek to make peace with Mithridates. I am sorry, Pacorus.’

I smiled at her. What else could she do? Babylon had lost thousands of its citizens as well as its king, and Babylon also bordered Susiana.

‘You follow the course of wisdom,’ I replied. ‘It would be foolish to impoverish your kingdom further.’

Mardonius closed his eyes with relief and my father nodded approvingly. Mithridates and Narses would have to wait, though how I would be able strike against them now was beyond me. I toyed with my drinking cup, a delicate silver vessel inlaid with gold. If only Vardan had used his wealth to raise a larger army then perhaps he would not be lying in his private chambers being washed and prepared for his funeral. In the silence I thought I could hear the gods mocking me.

The next day dawned crystal clear and windless, the vivid blue of the sky a fitting backdrop to Vardan’s funeral. The whole of the city, which also contained the refugees from the countryside, turned out to see their king’s last journey on earth. He had ruled them for nearly forty years, most of them alone as his wife had died giving birth to Axsen. We slept in the palace the night before the funeral but I spent most of the night on the bedroom balcony staring across the city at the mirror-like waters of the Euphrates that were illuminated by a full moon.

Earlier in the day I had assembled Spandarat and the rest of the lords and told them to take their men back to Dura. Nearly twenty thousand men and their horses would soon denude the locality of provisions and I did not want to impoverish Axsen’s kingdom any further. My two thousand horse archers went with them. I watched them file out of camp before we visited Axsen: a long line of horses and camels winding its way north. Nergal likewise sent most of his horse archers south back to Uruk and Vistaspa ordered Hatra’s cavalry back to their homeland, he himself staying with my father’s bodyguard that had suffered no losses during the recent battle. Indeed, I heard that even in the fight with Narses’ reserve at the Ishtar Gate they had formed a cordon round my father but had even then seen no fighting. The Babylonians and Hatra’s other cataphracts were between them and Narses’ men.

‘What’s the matter? It’s late, come to bed.’ Gallia shook me out of my daydreaming.

‘I cannot sleep,’ I answered. ‘It’s all my fault.’

She sat down in the chair beside me.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Gotarzes, Vardan. They are dead because of me. If I had not made an enemy of Mithridates and Narses they would still be alive.’

She regarded me with narrowed eyes. ‘Do you really believe that? That if you had grovelled at their feet that Phraates would not now be dead, or Gotarzes for that matter?’

‘Vardan came to my aid and the price he paid was his own life,’ I said.

‘Oh, Pacorus. He aided you of his own free will, just as your father did.’

I was not to be consoled, though. ‘Dobbai was right. I underestimated them and Babylon has paid a heavy price.’

She laid a hand on my arm. ‘You cannot take on the troubles of the whole world and nor can you give up and allow Mithridates and Narses to win.’

I rose and kissed her on the forehead. ‘What would I do without you?’

‘Get yourself killed in battle. Now come to bed.’

But I slept little and my heart was heavy the next day as we accompanied Axsen and her priests, advisers, commanders, courtiers, aristocrats and their wives to Vardan’s funeral. My education as a prince had acquainted me with the rituals and religious beliefs of the different kingdoms in the empire. I knew, for example, that to Babylonians proper funerals were important to prevent the disgruntled dead from returning from the afterlife to haunt their relatives.

The great funeral procession began its journey in the royal palace and then headed for the Temple of Marduk in the centre of the city. Guards lined the route to keep back the multitude of wailing and weeping citizens who threw flowers at the coffin resting on a four-wheeled cart pulled by four black bulls whose horns were covered in gold leaf. A soldier of the palace guard led each animal by a gold chain attached to the bull’s nose ring. Even their tails were adorned with gold. These beasts would later be slaughtered to accompany Vardan on his journey into the afterlife.

Immediately behind the cart walked Axsen and behind her Mardonius and her senior advisers. After them came the visiting royal guests. I walked beside Gafarn, my adopted brother who had once been my slave but who now was a prince of the empire.

‘By the way,’ he said to me in a hushed voice, ‘I meant to tell you that Vata is to marry your sister.’

I had always thought that my younger sister, Adeleh, would end her days as a spinster. Happy and carefree, she had been pursued by a number of sons of Hatra’s richest aristocrats but had always declined their offers of marriage.

I was shocked. ‘I had no idea.’

Vata was my childhood friend and was the son of Bozan, formerly the commander-in-chief of my father’s army. He had led the expedition into Cappadocia that had resulted in his death and my transportation to Italy. Now Vata held the north of my father’s kingdom against external threats.

‘He visits Hatra often,’ said Gafarn, ‘and Diana always arranged that he and Adeleh would see each other when he did. She said they were both lonely souls and should be together. So she insisted that they both eat with us at every opportunity. You can only imagine the amount of food I had to consume to encourage their friendship to turn into love.’

‘It must have been torture for you,’ I grinned.

On this sombre day to receive such news was welcome indeed.

Behind us came Babylon’s aristocrats and their wives, the women wearing brightly coloured robes and headdresses inlaid with lapis lazuli, silver and gold. Many of them also wore bell-shaped amulets to ward off evil spirits. A small army of musicians accompanying us played harps and lyres and sang songs about Vardan and his greatness.

At the temple itself the coffin holding the body of Vardan was carried by soldiers of the royal bodyguard into the inner sanctum at the rear of the chamber that contained the statue of Marduk. We stood as Nabu prayed to Marduk that Vardan would be allowed to enter heaven. A great purple curtain separated the statue of the god from those assembled in the temple.

‘Who’s Marduk?’ whispered Gallia.

‘The creator of the world,’ I answered. ‘He defeated the evil goddess Tiamat in single combat then spilt her body in two. One half he used to create the heavens and the other to create the earth. He also created the Tigris and Euphrates from her eyes and made mountains from her udders.’

‘Why can’t we see the statue?’ she pressed me, clearly unimpressed that we stood in the house of a powerful god.

‘It is considered ill manners for mortals to gawp at his statue. I have been told that he has four eyes and four ears so that he may see and hear everything, including you, my sweet.’

She curled her lip at me as the coffin containing Vardan’s body was carried from the holy of holies to be placed once more on its carriage. As the funeral cortege made its way back to the grounds of the royal palace the crowds who stood packed either side of the route stood in silent reverence as their king passed by. Many were weeping and their tears appeared genuine, for I knew that at funerals professional mourners were hired to impress guests. Vardan had been a good king in the tradition of Babylonian rulers. One of the reasons that Babylon was accorded great status in the empire was that its rulers stressed goodness and truth, law and order, justice and freedom, learning, courage and loyalty. Indeed, the city had always accorded special protection to widows, orphans, refugees, the poor and the oppressed. Just as well — the ravages of Narses had created many of each group.

As I walked with my wife to the royal tomb, — a vaulted chamber underneath the palace and approached from the outside by a ramp — I knew that Axsen would not be swearing vengeance against the killers of her father. Babylonians believed that immoral acts were crimes against the gods and would be punished by them. I could hear the laughter of Dobbai in my ears at such a notion.

Only Axsen, Nabu, half a dozen of his priests who carried the king’s coffin from the cart at the top of the ramp and the soldiers pulling the bulls entered the tomb itself, the latter departing once the throats of the bulls had been slit.

‘Poor bulls,’ said Gallia as the soldiers walked back up the ramp.

‘They used to kill slaves to attend the king in the next life,’ I said, ‘and I have heard that even aristocrats who were close to the king took their own lives in the tomb so they could be with him always.’

Gallia screwed up her face. ‘That is disgusting.’

‘We live in more enlightened times,’ I answered. ‘Now only the bulls and precious objects will accompany Vardan into the afterlife.’

She was still curious, though. ‘What objects?’

‘His clothes, games, weapons, treasure and vessels filled with food and drink. Everything he needs to maintain his status in the next life.’

She ridiculed the idea. ‘The dead do not need objects.’

As an ashen-faced Axsen came from the tomb and walked with faltering steps up the stone ramp, I whispered into Gallia’s ear.

‘Perhaps not, but we must respect the beliefs of others just as we expect them to respect our own.’

The tomb was sealed and the cortege dispersed. Gallia and Praxima accompanied a weeping Axsen back to her private chambers in the palace. The fine lords and ladies of the kingdom returned to their mansions in the city. Thus ended the reign of King Vardan of Babylon, murdered by the traitor Narses.

Seven days later the coronation of Axsen took place. In the intervening time Narses had pulled all his forces back across the Tigris. Of Mithridates we heard nothing save a strange tale that Ctesiphon itself had been attacked and his frantic mother had demanded that he return forthwith to save her.

I laughed at such an idea as I sat with my father, Gafarn, Nergal, Vistaspa, Orodes and Mardonius in one of the many guest annexes in the palace. This one had been given to my father and had its own small courtyard complete with an ornamental pool with fountains in the middle. We reclined on plush couches as slaves served us pastries, sweet meats, yoghurt, bread, honey, wine and fruit. The atmosphere was very relaxed. Even my father appeared to be in a good mood.

‘Where are the women?’ he asked, looking at Nergal and me.

‘My wife is with Axsen and Gallia,’ said Nergal, ‘that is the Princess of Babylon and the Queen of Dura, lord.’

He may have been a king himself but Nergal could never forget that he had once been but an officer in Hatra’s army many years ago. He still regarded my father with awe, and perhaps a little fear.

‘Ever since the funeral they have been in each other’s company,’ reported Mardonius. ‘The Princess Axsen takes comfort in her female friends.’

‘The sisterhood is a powerful force,’ I remarked.

‘Well,’ said my father, taking a wafer from a silver plate held by a slave and dipping it in a jar of honey held by another, ‘she will be a queen tomorrow. It is our job to ensure that her reign is long and prosperous. I owe that to her father, at least.’

Mardonius placed his hands together under his chin. ‘Babylon has to seek an accommodation with Mithridates, majesty. We are not strong enough to withstand another invasion.’

‘With the losses they have suffered,’ I said. ‘Mithridates and Narses will think twice before crossing the Tigris once more in a hurry.’

My father finished his honey-daubed wafer. ‘Perhaps, but they can call on the resources of all the lands between the Tigris and Indus. I agree with Mardonius.’ He looked at Nergal.

‘And your borders may also be at risk.’

‘There have been no reports of any incursions into my kingdom, lord king,’ replied Nergal.

‘Not yet, perhaps, but I would suggest strengthening your border defences.’

‘Your friendship with Pacorus makes you an enemy of my stepbrother, Nergal,’ said Orodes grimly. ‘He neither forgets nor forgives.’

‘Just be careful of any large-breasted women who suddenly appear at your court,’ I said to Nergal. ‘Mithridates prefers to send women to do his work instead of soldiers.’

‘I will deploy additional troops on my southern border to assist Babylon should Axsen require it,’ said my father, changing the subject.

Mardonius bowed his head. ‘That would be most welcome majesty.’

‘Dura will always stand by Babylon,’ I added.

‘That is what Lord Mardonius is afraid of,’ joked Gafarn.

‘This is no time for levity, Gafarn,’ my father rebuked him. ‘Nevertheless, my son has touched upon the one thing that may deter Mithridates and Narses and that is our unity. If Mesene, Babylon, Hatra and Dura are as one then our combined strength will be a deterrent to aggression.’

I stood up. ‘I pledge Dura’s allegiance.’

Nergal also stood. ‘As do I.’

‘I would if I had a kingdom to pledge,’ offered Gafarn, earning him a frown from my father.

‘For what it is worth,’ said Orodes, ‘I too offer my sword to Babylon.’

‘It is worth a thousand warriors, lord prince,’ answered Mardonius diplomatically.

My father clapped his hands. ‘Excellent. This has been a good meeting.’

Afterwards, as we were dispersing, my father cornered me.

‘Remember, Pacorus, we hold the line of the Tigris. There must be no further aggression against Mithridates.’

I held up my hands. ‘Of course, father. But Dura will pay no annual tribute to the tyrant that sits in Ctesiphon.’

‘That is between him and you. I doubt he would accept it anyway. Another thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘No more bringing Agraci into the empire.’

I smiled. ‘Haytham is a true friend to Dura, father.’

My father looked very serious. ‘That may be, but the presence of ten thousand Agraci warriors east of the Euphrates will have alarmed every court in the empire. I can see Assur’s face now.’

Assur was the high priest of the Great Temple at Hatra and believed the Agraci to be black-robed devils that had to be kept at bay, annihilated ideally.

‘Haytham is also a friend to Mesene,’ I said in low voice, ‘and will aid Nergal if his kingdom is attacked. As will I.’

He said nothing more but I knew that he was unhappy. He was pleased that Dura prospered and that I had made peace with the Agraci, but like most Parthians he could not see beyond his prejudice against Haytham’s people. But I, who had once been a slave and had mixed with and fought beside a host of different races in Italy, had no time for such blind bias. Any man who offered me his hand was my friend, regardless of what god he worshipped or what race he belonged to.

Gafarn walked with me back to my quarters after the meeting.

‘The Armenian raids against our northern borders are increasing,’ he said. ‘Father thinks there will be war against them soon, that is why he does not want any conflict in the south.’

‘I did not realise the situation had become so bad.’

He frowned. ‘It is the Romans, Pacorus, they are the ones behind it all. They covet nothing less than the whole of Parthia. Ever since Armenia became a client state of Rome there has been nothing but trouble in the north.’

‘But Vata is containing it?’

He smiled. ‘Vata is like a lion, but is a lone lion. Soon, I fear, our father will be marching against Armenia and then there will be war with Rome.’

These were ill tidings indeed. But if Hatra went to war then Dura would be marching alongside her. I put my arm round Gafarn’s shoulders.

‘Enough of war, tell me how your son is getting along. How old is he now?’

If a pall of sadness and misery had hung over Babylon on the day of Vardan’s funeral, the coronation of his daughter transformed the city into a festival of gaiety, music and laughter. Every Babylonian lord and his family were in the city to see their princess made a queen. Their ladies dressed in brightly coloured robes, wearing enough gold and silver on their bodies to cover the entire surface of the great ziggurat that towered over the rest of city. Purple flags and ribbons hung from all the gates into the city and every building was decorated with flowers to produce a crescendo of colours. The royal guard stood on the walls of the palace and lined the route to the Temple of Marduk, while other Babylonian spearmen lined the Processional Way. Each man was armed with a long spear and knife and was dressed in purple leggings and a purple tunic that covered his arms and extended down to his knees. A turban headdress and a large wicker shield faced with leather and painted purple completed their appearance.

The city gates had been opened before dawn and by first light the streets were already thronged with a multitude of well wishers and sightseers. Jugglers, clowns, musicians and fortune-tellers plied their trade among the masses. Pickpockets too, no doubt, for the lure of rich pickings was worth the risk of losing a hand if caught.

Axsen had asked that the soldiers of her friends and allies take part in her coronation parade, and so for days smiths, farriers and squires had been labouring to get our horsemen ready for the great day. Squires worked long hours repairing and polishing leg and arm armour and smiths riveted iron plates back on to scale armour. Tunics, leggings and cloaks had been ferried to the Euphrates where they had been washed and dried by the women of the local villages. Remus and Epona had been attended to by the grooms of the royal stables and looked a handsome pair on the day of the coronation.

I wore my Roman armour cuirass and helmet, which sported a fresh comb of white goose feathers, white shirt, brown leggings and red leather boots. Gallia dressed in white silk leggings and a long-sleeved blue tunic edged with silver. Axsen had given her a gold diadem for her head inlaid with red gemstones called rubies, which had reportedly come from a distant land to the east.

Praxima was similarly attired in a rich golden headdress, her husband wearing a red shirt and leather cuirass on which had been attached overlapping bronze scales. Orodes outdid us all with his long-sleeved purple silk shirt, his cuirass of shining silver scales, white leggings and boots edged with silver. My father and Gafarn wore short-sleeved scale armour tunics, the metal also being silver.

We paraded on our horses in front of the place as Axsen descended the steps dressed in a simple white gown that covered her body and legs, her hair loose but immaculately groomed, her cheeks coloured with rouge and her eyelids darkened. On her fingers she wore gold rings and gold hung from her ears.

Mardonius waited at the foot of the steps by the four-wheeled carriage covered in gold leaf that would transport her to the temple. He assisted her into the transport and then sat beside her as the four horses pulling the carriage walked forward, the queen’s bodyguard in their dragon-skin armour mounted all around her. We followed the royal party out of the palace and along the Processional Way to the Temple of Marduk.

I looked up at the sky. The gods were favouring Axsen today for there was not a cloud to be seen, and a pleasant westerly breeze brought fresh air from the Euphrates to blow away the stench of the city. The crowds cheered their princess as she made her way to her new life as a queen, and at the entrance to the temple she was carried shoulder high on a simple wicker chair by four of Nabu’s priests through the temple and into the inner sanctum. The temple was filled with the kingdom’s nobles and their wives plus the representatives of the five populations of the city. In order of hierarchy these were the original Babylonian citizens who were represented this day by the president of the city council, a small, piggy eyed man with thinning hair who had a very tall and haughty wife. The next group was the priests of the Temple of Marduk; then the Greek citizens whose descendants had arrived when Alexander of Macedon had take the city; followed by the slaves who worked in the temples and palaces. At the bottom were the so-called ‘people of the land’: the farmers who worked in the fields.

Axsen was escorted into the holy of holies, Nabu going before her banging a drum and proclaiming ‘Axsen is queen, Axsen is queen’. This was not for our benefit but rather to alert Marduk that a new ruler of Babylon approached him. Afrand, again wearing a low-cut red robe that showed her ample breasts to full effect, stood at the entrance to the holy shrine and handed Axsen her gifts for Marduk — a richly embroidered robe, a gold bowl filled with oil and a mina of silver.

Axsen then disappeared behind the curtain with Nabu and there paid homage to the god. When she reappeared she was escorted to a gold throne on a dais covered with purple cloth that had been erected in the temple for the ceremony. Nabu stood on her right side and Afrand on her left as two priests carrying felt cushions approached her, a gold sceptre laid on one, the crown of Babylon on the other. The temple was filled with the smell of burning frankincense as Nabu took the gold crown and placed it on Axsen’s head.

His words echoed round the room. ‘Before Marduk, thy god, may thy priesthood and the priesthood of thy sons be favoured.’

Afrand took the gold sceptre and handed it to Axsen.

Nabu’s voice boomed once more. ‘With thy straight sceptre make thy land wide. May Marduk grant thee quick satisfaction, justice and peace.’

Thus did Axsen become queen of the Kingdom of Babylon. As the assembled dignitaries paid homage to her, including Gallia and I, the priests burned more frankincense. I smiled to myself. This precious incense was extracted from the bark of trees that grew on the coast of Arabia. It was collected by Haytham’s people who sold it to the Egyptians and Romans and even the Parthians, the merchants in Dura doing a brisk trade with the supposed enemies of the empire to acquire the precious incense.

When Axsen had received oaths of loyalty from all her nobles she was escorted outside by Mardonius to witness the grand military parade. First came her own royal bodyguard in their dragon-skin armour, followed by a thousand mounted spearmen with shields and five times that number of horse archers. Then came my father’s royal bodyguard led by Vistaspa with Hatra’s banner flying behind him, followed by my own heavy cavalry looking resplendent in their scale armour, steel arm and leg protection and full-face helmets. Vagharsh carried my banner and griffin pennants flew from every kontus. Five hundred of Nergal’s horse archers brought up the rear of the column.

As the horsemen who had ridden into the city via the Ishtar Gate and down the Processional Way left Babylon through the Marduk Gate, slaves brought our horses and we journeyed back to the palace to attend the feast that was attended by four thousand people.

Two days later representatives from other kingdoms in the empire appeared at the palace to pay their respects to Axsen, nobles from Media, Atropaiene, Hyrcania and Margiana. No one came from Persis or the other eastern kingdoms in the empire, though an invitation for Axsen to attend Mithridates at Ctesiphon did arrive. The queen wrote back accepting the invitation when her present onerous difficulties had been attended to.

‘You should have asked him to return to us all the Babylonians he took back to Ctesiphon as slaves after his recent visit,’ remarked Mardonius dryly.

With the evacuation of Babylonian territory by Narses’ army the task of rebuilding those areas laid waste by his army began. This involved Axsen receiving a seemingly never-ending stream of nobles and village headmen begging for aid from the royal treasury. I attended one such meeting a week after the queen’s coronation, the throne room crammed full of petitioners, guards and city officials. The intimidating figure of Nabu stood on the left side of the queen on the dais and Mardonius on the right.

The day was hot, airless and the crowded room was stuffy and began to reek of human sweat. Gallia and Praxima had taken themselves off to see a woman who lived in the south of the city who could apparently levitate off the ground from a cross-legged position. My father had already taken his leave of Axsen and was taking his men back to Hatra, a letter from Vata increasing the frown lines on his face with news of yet more Armenian incursions.

Orodes, ever the diplomat, had taken a keen interest in the affairs of Babylon and a delighted Axsen had invited him to act as an adviser with her high priest and Mardonius, and now he stood to the side of the old general listening earnestly as a headman implored the queen to send engineers to assist in the rebuilding of his village’s irrigation system.

So there I was standing like a fisherman in a boat without a net, as Axsen took the burden of kingship on her shoulders. I was daydreaming when I heard someone cough behind me. Turning, I saw a young woman in a low-cut white dress standing before me. Tall and shapely, she wore delicate white slippers on her feet and her shoulders were bare. Her skin was dark brown like her eyes and her complexion was flawless. She was certainly a beauty, the wife of a prominent noble no doubt, judging by the expensive perfume she was wearing.

‘Forgive me, highness, I have a message for you.’

‘A message?’

She smiled, her teeth white and perfect. ‘Yes, highness. I am one of the priestesses at the Temple of Ishtar and I bring a request for you to go to the temple.’

I was confused but also curious. ‘Who makes this request of me?’

‘A lady, highness, who asked that you come to the temple today to meet her.’

It was all very mysterious but as I had nothing better to do and was bored to distraction by what was happening in the throne room, I agreed to her request. I made my excuses to Axsen and Orodes, who appeared absorbed in it all, and left the throne room with my attractive messenger.

She accompanied me as I walked to the stables to collect Remus, smiling at me when I caught her eye, her steps delicate and silent beside me, almost as if she was gliding over the ground. The stables were like those in Hatra — large, luxurious and well staffed. A small army of stable hands tended to the horses’ every need, each animal having a separate stable boy to feed him, groom him, muck out his stall and saddle him, in addition to the farriers and veterinaries who tended to their wellbeing. It was a far cry from the austere stables at Dura, not that the horses there were any less cared for, just not as indulged as they were at Babylon.

I arrived at Remus’ stall and told the young men in purple livery standing around that I would be taking him out, and then was met by incredulous stares when I informed them that I would saddle him myself. They gave my escort guide lecherous glances as I dismissed them, leaving me alone with her.

The priestess stood at the entrance to the stall as I went through the routine that I had learnt as a small boy. First I brushed Remus’ back to remove any dirt or grit that may cause chaffing under the saddle.

‘How long have you been a priestess at the temple?’ I asked, brushing him from his neck towards his hindquarters so all the hairs laid flat.

‘Since the goddess spoke to me as a small child, highness.’

I inspected him to ensure there were no sores or wounds on his body.

I walked past her to fetch the saddlecloth lying on the bench opposite the stall, under my saddle hanging on the wall. Strangely the other stalls were empty of horses and this particular stable block was also deserted of people. It was suddenly very quiet and very still. As I passed her I inadvertently stared at her breasts.

I threw the saddlecloth on Remus’ back, positioning it forward over his withers and sliding it back so that his hair lay flat beneath it, running my hand over the white material, a red griffin stitched in each corner.

‘My body pleases you, highness?’ she purred.

I could feel my cheeks flush at her words as I took the saddle from the wall and placed it gently on my horse’s back, slightly forward and then settling it back.

‘What? My apologies, I did not mean…’

She laughed. ‘There is no need to apologise, highness. Ishtar is the goddess of love as well as war and fertility. Her servants aspire to possess her qualities.’

I checked that there were no wrinkles beneath the saddlecloth and then grabbed the free end of the girth.

‘What qualities are those?’ I asked, tightening the girth gently to leave enough space to be able to slide my fingers between it and Remus’ body.

She moved closer to me, the alluring smell of her perfume filling my nostrils.

‘Ishtar is the perfect woman, highness, tempting and sensual, a seductive and voluptuous beauty.’ She breathed in and her breasts rose. The stall suddenly seemed very small.

She smiled as I brushed past her to fetch the bridle that had been placed on hooks beside the saddle. She stroked Remus’ neck.

‘Your horse is a most beautiful beast, highness.’

He moved his tail casually and adopted a relaxed stance to indicate that he was very content. I smiled as I put my right hand under his jaw and held the bit with my left, pressing it gently into his mouth and up over his tongue.

‘Yes, he and I have been together a long time.’

With the bit in his mouth I gently slid the bridle’s headpieces over his ears, then pulled the forelock over the brow band.

She continued stroking him, fixing me with her brown, oval eyes as she did so.

‘He was sent to you, highness, so that you would not lose your way.’

I stood in front of him and ensured that the bit, noseband and brow band were level and without twists.

‘No, I found him in a town called Nola in a land a great distance from Babylon.’

She stopped stroking him and smiled at me once more. ‘No, highness, he found you.’

I fastened the throatash and then the noseband, running two fingers between it and Remus’ nose.

She moved closer to me until her face was inches from mine, her full lips parting invitingly. She placed her hands on my hips.

‘I will give myself freely if you desire it, highness.’

As my loins stirred with lust she moved one hand to behind my neck and caressed my groin with the other. She smiled.

‘Your body says yes, highness.’

She moved her lips closer to mine and it was with god-like will that I suppressed my lust for her.

‘My body may say yes but my marriage vows say no,’ I replied, gently pushing her away.

‘I am here to serve you in all things,’ she persisted.

I backed away from her and held up my hands. ‘You are most generous but showing me the way to the temple will suffice. We will have to find you a horse so that we may ride to the temple together for I do not know the way.’

I walked round the other side of Remus so temptation was out of view.

‘He will lead you there, highness.’

I only half-heard her words as I checked that there was a width of two fingers between the brow band of the bridle and Remus’ brow.

‘All done,’ I announced. ‘Now, let’s get you a horse and then we can ride to the temple together.’

I turned to discover that she no longer stood behind me. I walked out of the stall and looked up and down the corridor. She was nowhere to be seen. I led Remus from his stall outside into the expansive courtyard. An elderly stable hand came towards me carrying a bucket and spade, bowing his head to me.

‘Did you see a young woman leaving these stables, she was very beautiful and wearing a white dress?’

He shook his head. ‘No, majesty.’

He called to one of his companions nearby on the paved courtyard, who also reported not having seen the priestess. I vaulted into the saddle.

‘A striking young woman cannot just disappear into thin air.’

‘Do you wish for me to fetch the captain of the guards, majesty?’ he said.

‘No, carry on with your duties.’

He bowed his head and continued on his way, leaving me none the wiser.

‘Well,’ I said to Remus, ‘I had better find a guide to take me to the temple so that I can resolve this little mystery.’

Without prompting Remus began to walk forward purposely, across the courtyard and out of the palace compound. He ambled past the guards at the gates and swung left to take us north up the Processional Way.

‘You seem to know the way,’ I said to him and sat back to enjoy the ride.

He took me to the northeast quarter of the city, along an unpaved road at right angles to the Processional Way. Away from the royal thoroughfares citizens threw their garbage and filth onto the streets, which was then covered up with layers of clay. I thus rode along a street that was significantly higher than when it had originally been constructed.

I came at last to the Temple of Ishtar, which was surrounded by a high wall built of mud-bricks. Guards stood at the entrance to the temple complex to keep the throng of worshippers at bay, spearmen dressed all in white with wicker shields painted gold. As soon as they saw me one called inside the tunnel entrance to the temple and a score of other guards appeared and roughly pushed aside the worshippers with their spear shafts to make a passage for me. Remus was unconcerned by the assembly of well-dressed dignitaries, half-naked mystics, poor people, cripples and visitors from other lands dressed in exotic robes who protested and wailed as they were shoved aside to give me access. We passed through the tunnel in the thick perimeter wall and past two guardrooms that flanked its other end to exit into a rectangular courtyard surrounded by stables, barracks and other accommodation. In fact it looked more like a palace than a temple.

‘I told you he would find his way here, highness.’

I looked down to see the beautiful priestess who had tried to seduce me in the stables standing on my right side. She smiled at me.

‘Shall I take him? The high priestess awaits.’

I was going to ask how she got here before me but then I saw Afrand coming towards me, like her other priestesses dressed in a low-cut white dress, white slippers on her feet and a gold diadem in her hair. I dismounted and my beautiful messenger led Remus to the stables. Guards ushered worshippers from the temple grounds. One man, obviously of some importance judging by the amount of gold on his fingers and round his neck, and the richness of his accompanying wife’s apparel, was protesting loudly.

‘Do you know who I am? I will tell you. I am the governor of Sippar and a member of the royal council. I have paid handsomely to enter the temple and object strongly to being treated in this way.’

His wife was making noises like the shrieks of a crow as they were unceremoniously ushered from the courtyard.

‘How small are the minds of men,’ remarked Afrand as she watched them go. She bowed her head to me.

‘Welcome, King Pacorus, you honour us with your presence.’

I returned the gesture. ‘Your servant, lady. I have to confess that I am a little confused by the message I received summoning me here.’

‘Your friend was right — a tall man on a white horse with a scarred face,’ she said.

‘And where is this “friend” now?’ I asked.

‘With the goddess,’ Afrand replied. ‘Can I offer you refreshments?’

‘No, thank you. I would like to see her now.’

‘Very well. Follow me, majesty.’

We walked across the courtyard, which was now empty of people, through an arch in a stonewall that led to a second courtyard. On the roofs of the buildings that surrounded this courtyard were at least two score of dovecotes housing dozens of white doves. Afrand saw me admiring them.

‘White doves are the personal birds of Ishtar. Worshippers purchase sacred cakes made in our own kitchens, which they crumble and feed to them. Thus do they hope to gain favour with the goddess.’

‘And does it work?’ I enquired innocently.

Afrand looked at me with her large hazel eyes. ‘The goddess grants those who are worthy what they desire.’

‘And how many are worthy?’

‘She said that you were always full of questions,’ she replied.

‘Who?’

‘Your friend.’

We carried on walking across the second courtyard to a building at the far end that had a façade decorated with niches and narrow buttresses. Two guards stood at the centrally placed entrance cut in the brickwork — two golden doors. They snapped to attention as Afrand approached and then one banged on the doors.

They opened and Afrand beckoned me to enter.

‘These are the goddesses’ personal quarters which only a chosen few may enter. Come, King Pacorus.’

She walked inside and I followed. We entered a windowless chamber lit by oil lamps hanging from the walls and filled with the aroma of burning jasmine. As my eyes got accustomed to the half-light I could see a white curtain hanging from a gold rail in front of me that led to another room. Two priestesses dressed in white approached and bowed to me, one holding out her hands.

‘Your friend waits beyond the curtain with the goddess but you must leave your sword here. No weapons are permitted in the presence of Ishtar.’

I unbuckled my belt, handed my sword and dagger to the priestess then walked forward. I stopped and turned to Afrand.

‘Are you not coming?’

She shook her head. ‘Her words are for your ears only. Do not fear, you are beloved of the gods. Place the lock of your wife’s hair on the altar before you ask a question. You can retrieve it once the audience is over.’

I felt a chill go down my spine. ‘How do you know of such a thing?’

Afrand seemed surprised at my question. ‘Your friend told me, of course. How else would I know of such an intimate item?’

I swallowed and walked towards the curtain, then pulled it back and entered Ishtar’s sanctuary. This room was even darker than the other chamber; a handful of oil lamps cast a dim light. The smell of jasmine was even stronger. I strained my eyes to observe the room, which like the one I had just left was windowless but had a lower ceiling. There were no seats or other furniture, just gold stands on which incense burned. I walked forward to approach the statue of Ishtar that stood on a marble pedestal, a low altar placed before it to receive offerings. I reached inside my shirt and lifted the chain that held the lock of Gallia’s hair over my head and placed it on the altar. My heart was pounding in my chest as I stared at the statue carved from alabaster and inlaid with rubies. The goddess stood naked before me, supporting her breasts with her hands. She was curvaceous and seductive just like her priestesses.

The smell of jasmine began to make me feel light-headed as I stood in front of the altar. I strained my eyes to discern any movement or sound. There was none.

‘Pacorus.’

I was startled by my name being whispered. I looked around but could discern no one else in the room.

‘You have achieved much and yet there is so much more that you must do.’

It was a woman’s voice, soft yet strong, commanding yet kind. My heartbeat increased.

‘Are you, are you Ishtar, lady?’

She laughed, though it was not in a mocking way.

‘Oh, Pacorus, you are just the same as when I first met you. I am not a goddess. I am your friend.’

‘Do you have a name, lady?’

‘That is not important. What is important is that you remain strong for your task is not yet complete. Your enemies grow strong but the gods have sent you helpers who will aid you to defeat them. But they are not kings and princes.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘Do you not? Then I will help you see. The one born in the land of water must be given his own army, and you must journey with the one who came from the desert who will furnish you with temple gold. It is always darkest before the dawn, Pacorus. You must keep the faith, little one.’

I turned to face my celestial visitor but when I did there was nothing but an empty space. I waited for a few more minutes to see if she would speak to me again but there were no more words. I picked up the chain and replaced it round my neck and then left the sanctuary, confused. Afrand saw my confusion as she escorted me back to Remus.

‘The gods speak in riddles,’ I said at length.

‘Your friend was not a god, she was as real as you or I.’

Now I was even more confused. ‘But you sent me into the holy sanctuary of Ishtar.’

‘Because that is where she wanted to see you.’

I was getting angry now. ‘And you let this person, whom you had never seen before, just wander into your holy of holies? She could have been any trickster or liar.’

Afrand remained calm as I hoisted myself into Remus’ saddle. She held his reins.

‘All the priestesses who serve Ishtar here are chosen by the goddess for their special and unique gifts. For example, one can see things that will happen in the future. Yesterday she had a vision of a dark-haired woman walking into the temple and asking me to send a message to King Pacorus of Dura. The priestess told me that this woman would tell me of the scar on your cheek, the others on your back and leg, and the lock of your wife’s blonde hair you always wear round your neck.’

‘These things are known to many people,’ I answered.

‘The visitor also told me of the last time you saw each other, when you kissed her hand when she held it out to you, though she meant for you to take it, on that storm-lashed night when her son was born and you promised to take care of him.’

I looked at her and my blood ran cold.

‘Did she give you her name?’ I asked.

‘Of course. It was Claudia.’