The Parthian

Chapter 2

It took us seven days to reach Hatra. After the first two days we relaxed our guard when it became apparent that no one was trailing us. My father’s mood began to lighten as we neared home, the more so when scouts rode in to inform us that the army had reached Hatra safely and the city was excited about our victory. Hatra, how that name filled me with pride. Sandwiched between the Tigris and Euphrates, the Kingdom of Hatra was the eastern shield of the Parthian Empire. As well as being a mighty fortress, it was also a flourishing trading centre through which caravans travelling both east and west passed. From the Orient the caravans brought furs, ceramics, jade, bronze objects, lacquer and iron. Caravans heading towards the east carried gold and other precious metals, ivory, precious stones, and glass. Many of these goods were bartered for others along the way, and objects often changed hands several times. Yet the most precious commodity of all was silk, the valuable material that was said to have come to earth as a gift from the Goddess of Silk to Lady Hsi-Ling-Shih, wife of the Yellow Emperor, who was said to have ruled the Orient three thousand years before our time.

There were many routes from Africa, Syria and the Roman Empire to the East, but the most important ones passed through the Kingdom of Hatra, and the rulers of Hatra had grown rich on the caravans that travelled through their territory, each one paying a toll to secure safe passage. At first this toll paid for a troop of horsemen to escort the caravan from one end of the kingdom to the other, to provide protection against the many gangs of bandits that infested the desert regions. But this was deemed a waste of money, as there was always a multitude of caravans, which required a huge army to guard. So the kings, my ancestors, organised massive sweeps of the kingdom to destroy the bandits. A combination of bribery, fire and sword eradicated their threat, and since those times the severest penalties had been in place for banditry and theft. The bandits and their families were hunted down and slaughtered without mercy, the bodies being staked out in the desert or impaled on stakes beside the road as a warning to others. It worked. Now, few bandits dared to show their face in the Kingdom of Hatra, its example being followed by the other rulers in the empire, for without trade the Parthian Empire would quickly wither and die.

Now the caravans, glad to have safe passage, paid their tolls and we grew rich. Some kings spent their wealth on an indolent way of life, such as King Darius, but others, like my father, built strong defences and large armies to protect what they had. For the Romans in the west and the Asiatics in the east were like hungry wolves when they turned their gaze to Parthia. My father had once told me, as his father had told him, ‘if you want peace, my son, prepare for war’. And so it was. Throughout the kingdom stone forts protected the trade routes and deterred aggressors. These forts were simple stone structures, with a garrison of twenty-five horse archers, a quarter of a company. They had one entrance, four watch towers at each corner and were austere in the least. But they served their purpose and made it all but impossible for bandits or enemy troops to operate within the kingdom with impunity.

‘It will be good to see your mother again,’ mused my father as I rode beside him on our way south. It was the first time he had mentioned her name since we had left home.

‘Yes, father.’

‘A man without a good woman beside him is an empty shell.’ He looked at me. ‘We will have to find you a wife soon, my son.’

‘Yes, father,’ I replied with little enthusiasm. Royal marriages were used to cement alliances and secure kingdoms; the wishes of those getting married were often of little or no concern.

‘Perhaps the Princess Axsen of Babylon. That would make a good alliance, though if she’s as fat as her father you’ll need a good cook to keep her happy.’

My spirits sank. ‘Yes, father.’

Our conversation was interrupted by Vistaspa galloping up and halting before my father. He saluted. ‘Message from the city, sire.’

He handed my father a scroll. He read it, glanced at me and smiled.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Give the order that we will camp here tonight and enter the city tomorrow.’

‘We are close to the city, father,’ I said. ‘Are we not entering it tonight?’

‘No, Pacorus. We have a surprise for you.’ Vistaspa eyed me and his thin lips creased into a smile. Please Shamash, I prayed, do not let it be the Princess Axsen.

We pitched camp later that afternoon, and two hours afterwards a large camel train appeared from the south, led by an escort commanded by Bozan. He jumped down from his horse, bowed to my father and embraced me.

‘Heard you nearly got yourself killed by some wild bandits. That bastard Darius paid them, no doubt. Probably thought a few thieves could do what a Roman legion couldn’t.’

‘We don’t know that, Bozan,’ said my father.

‘Course we do. You’re just too polite to say so. He’s a greedy little bastard, and he thought that if he killed you, then he could invite the Romans back and present your two heads on a platter to them,’ he nodded at myself and father.

‘Welcome them back?’ I queried.

‘A Roman legion doesn’t wander around in the desert, lost, boy. It was on its way to Zeugma.’

‘Enough,’ spoke my father. ‘These matters are for the council chamber and not for idle gossip.’

Bozan nodded his head and winked at me. ‘In any case, all that matters now is that Pacorus has a great triumph tomorrow.’

I was shocked. ‘Triumph?’

My father smiled. ‘You brought us victory against the Romans, my son. It is only right that the city should acknowledge your achievement.’

Gafarn stumbled out of the dusk carrying a suit of scale armour, the light from our campfires glinting off the scales.

‘Is this made of lead,’ asked Gafarn, ‘because it feels like it?’

‘Iron and silver, you cheeky little bastard,’ replied Bozan.

‘The Suit of Victory,’ said my father. ‘It has been worn only a few times. My father wore it after his defeat of the Palmyrians. Now you will wear it tomorrow.’

I hardly slept that night, but kept looking at the suit of armour that had been hung in my tent on a wooden frame. When the dawn came I kicked Gafarn awake and began to dress. Gafarn brought me a breakfast of bread and warm milk, and then went to make sure Sura had been watered and fed. He returned a few minutes later. As I sat on a stool outside my tent finishing my meal, the camp around was bustling with activity. Officers barked orders to men, while grooms attended to horses. As the sun rose in the eastern sky, signaling another glorious summer day, I began the process of turning myself into a cataphract. First came the silk vest, worn next to the skin. My father equipped all his horsemen with these items of clothing. Horse masters from the east had told him that the riders of the steppes wore these garments as protection against arrows. Apparently, if you were struck by an arrow while wearing a silk vest then the arrow would wrap itself around the material as it drove into flesh. This made extracting the arrow easier, though I was unconvinced. Nevertheless, the vest was pleasant to wear and let sweat pass through its fine fibres. Then came white cotton trousers and tunic, both loose fitting for extra ventilation. Gafarn had to assist me putting on the armour, standing on a stool and lifting it over my head to allow me to slip it on. It was beautiful, with long hems and broad sleeves. Every second armour plate was made of silver, which meant the suit shimmered with any movement. Gafarn put on my leather boots and passed me the gloves, which were covered with thin silver scales. The helmet was steel with a decorative gold band around the skull.

‘You look like a mighty warrior, highness,’ said Gafarn, who was beaming broadly.

‘I feel like I’m carrying a mighty weight. But I thank you for your help.’

I stepped outside my tent, to be cheered by my father’s bodyguard who stood mounted and at attention. White pennants on their lance shafts fluttered in the light breeze, and white horses chomped at bits and kicked at the ground in impatience. In the royal bodyguard all horses were white, and their highly groomed tails swished from side to side. The bodyguard wore white plumes in their helmets and white cloaks around their shoulders. They looked truly magnificent, none more so than my father, who wore his golden crown atop his open-faced helmet. On this occasion, as befitting his position as the commander of my father’s bodyguard, Vistaspa carried his banner — a white horse on a scarlet background. I saluted my father and then mounted Sura, who wore her body armour though none on her head, as it was restrictive and not needed today.

Trumpets sounded the advance and our column left camp and headed south, to Hatra. It was still morning when we sighted the city, a massive citadel of stone in the middle of a desert called Al Jazirah. There were four roads into the city, from the north, south, east and west. We were on the northern road, which today was lined with the troops of my father’s army. Ranks of cataphracts and horse archers lined each side of the dirt road for a mile up to the main gate. There must have been five thousand horsemen, while on the city walls I could see spearmen standing to attention. As we entered the final leg of our journey we were met by Bozan and his son, Vata. They stood mounted on the road, and before them stood a foot soldier holding the Roman eagle that I had taken. Bozan and Vata drew their swords, saluted my father and I, and then took their place in the procession immediately behind my father and Vistaspa. The soldier with the eagle marched at the head of our column directly in front of me. As we passed each group of horsemen on the road, the lances of the cataphracts were dipped in salute, as were the drawn swords of the horse archers.

Hatra was a city of one hundred thousand people, and as such occupied a large area. The whole of the city was encompassed by an outer stonewall fifty feet high, made of large square blocks of brown limestone, with defensive towers at intervals of every hundred feet. Access to the city was via four gates at each of the four points of the compass. In front of the city walls was a deep, wide ditch, with wooden causeways spanning it at every gate. At the gates were drawbridges, wooden platforms with one hinged side fixed to the wall and the other side raised by chains, which were pulled up at night to seal the city. For added security, each gate had two portcullises — heavy grilled gates suspended from the gatehouse ceiling. They could be rapidly dropped down if the city came under attack. They were made of oak bars and had iron spikes at the bottom. Held in place by ropes, they could be released quickly by slashing those ropes.

Inside the city, in its northern sector, stood an area surrounded by a second stonewall. This was the palace quarter, which also housed the imperial barracks bloc, the city’s temples and the houses of the aristocracy. This inner city also had four gates, which were more like small citadels than mere gatehouses.

Hundreds of years ago the area now occupied by Hatra was an oasis, fed by freshwater springs that pumped water from deep within the earth. It was these springs that filled the city’s massive moat, watered its citizens and kept the gardens green and fountains working. But the area around the city was deliberately deprived of water to keep it desert. My father said that this was because, should an enemy army besiege the city, it would have no supplies of water for its troops or animals.

We rode across the causeway that led to the outer wall’s northern gate, then under the wall and across the wooden bridge that led to the inner wall’s northern gate. Spearmen stood to attention on each side of the bridge and trumpeters sounded the salute as we entered the environs of the palace quarter. Once over the bridge and through the gate, we rode into the great square. On normal days the square was quiet as no stallholders were allowed to ply their trade on its sacred stones. Sandwiched between the royal palace and the Great Temple, the square was reserved for august occasions only. Today was such a day. It was a massive rectangle, and on its south side was the royal barracks housing the king’s bodyguard and their horses. These comprised a sprawling mass of stone billets, stables and offices. Beyond the barracks were situated the houses of Hatra’s nobles and prosperous citizens. Anyone could purchase a spacious house in the inner city, if they had the wealth. Today, Hatra’s finest citizens were gathered in the square to pay homage to the king and his army, and to me also, I surmised.

On the steps of the royal palace, surrounded by courtiers and priests, stood my mother, Queen Mihri. Every son will say that his mother is beautiful, but I believed that my mother was the most striking of all, and her appearance today only reinforced my opinion. Two years older than my father and nearly as tall, she was dressed in a pure white gown with a delicate gold belt around her waist. The gown covered her arms and legs, while on her head she wore a gold crown engraved with the image of Shamash at the front. Her long, black hair was naturally curly, though today it had been oiled, swept back behind her neck and fastened by a gold hair clip. A slave held a large sunshade over her as protection against the sun that was now high in a clear blue sky. Either side of my mother stood my two teenage sisters. Adeleh and Aliyeh. Like myself and my parents, they were both tall and olive skinned. Adeleh, the younger of the two at sixteen, had a round face and was always smiling. She had a carefree nature unlike her sister, Aliyeh, who was thinner and far more serious. Too serious, I always thought, for a girl of only eighteen. Immediately behind my mother and sisters stood the high priest of the Sun Temple, Assur. Now over sixty years old, his long hair and bushy beard were white. Thin as a lance, with a long, bony almost serpent-like face, his black eyes fixed me with a steely gaze as I dismounted at the foot of the palace steps. As a young boy he had always terrified me; indeed, I thought he was Shamash himself come to earth. Truth was he still unnerved me, though today I hoped he was pleased that I had brought a great gift for his temple.

My father, also dismounted, stood beside me and then walked to my mother. She bowed and he stepped forward and embraced her, to the light applause of the nobles and their families standing in the square. He embraced my sisters and then turned and nodded to Assur. The priest held out his hands and looked to the sky.

‘Let us pray to the Sun God,’ as one we all knelt and bowed our heads. Assur’s voice was loud and strong as he made his dedication. ‘O, Great Shamash, O light of the great gods, light of the earth, illuminator of the world’s regions, exalted judge, the honoured one of the upper and lower regions. Thou dost look into all the lands with thy light. As one who does not cease from revelation, daily thou dost determine the decisions of heaven and earth. Thy rising is a flaming fire; all the stars in heaven are covered over. Thou art uniquely brilliant; no one among the gods is equal with thee. Great Shamash, bless those here assembled to honour you. And bless in particular King Varaz and Queen Mihri, who by your infinite wisdom have produced their son and your servant, Prince Pacorus, who now returns safely to worship you, having smitten his enemies.’

I was bursting with pride as his words resounded across the square. He bade us rise, then strode over to the soldier holding the eagle, took the Roman standard and then marched across the square towards the Great Temple. Because Shamash was the Sun God, the main entrance to the temple, a large porch flanked by two wings that jutted into the square, faced east. Shamash can see everything on earth, and is the god of justice. Shamash and his wife, Aya, have two children. Kittu represents justice, and Misharu the law. Every morning, the gates of Heaven in the east open, and Shamash appears. He travels across the sky and enters Heaven in the west. He travels through the Underworld at night in order to begin in the east the next day.

Assur wore a golden sun symbol on the back of his white priestly robe, as did his priests who served him, and who now followed him up the steps of the Great Temple. At the entrance to the temple Assur turned and faced the crowd, his priests filing past him into the building.

‘This offering to Shamash will now be placed in His temple, so He may know that the city of Hatra loves and fears Him. Praise be to Shamash, and may He bestow great fortune on those who devote their lives to His service. Amen.’ The crowd shouted ‘amen’ and then began to file into the place of worship. The Great Temple was the earthly home of Shamash, and once inside we were treated to a rather tedious sermon from Assur. Once it was over and we had filed outside, many elder nobles and their families came to me to offer their congratulations. Those of military age were in the army. These men and their sons and grandsons were the backbone of my father’s bodyguard, the cream of Hatra’s society: men of courage and honour whom I was proud to serve with. Any man could offer his services to my father’s army, but only those born and bred in Hatra could enter his bodyguard.

That night there was a lavish banquet in the palace and I got very drunk. I didn’t intend to, but the celebratory atmosphere, seeing my mother again and being acclaimed a hero by some of the most beautiful young women in the city got the better of me. Why not enjoy myself, I thought? I was, after all, the conqueror returned home, the vanquisher of the might of Rome and still only twenty-two years old. So I drank and drank until I collapsed face-first onto the floor. In truth I only remembered the start of the evening; the rest was a blur. But I do remember the stony stare of my parents and the look of horror on the face of Assur as I made an idiot of myself. The rest was darkness.

I was rudely awakened by someone throwing cold water over me in the darkness. I coughed and gasped at the same time and tried to catch my breath.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ I moaned weakly, astounded that someone had the audacity to do such a thing.

‘Get up. You are required to attend morning exercise,’ I recognised Vistaspa’s emotionless voice.

‘Lord Vistaspa, I …’

‘Get up. Now! You think our enemies will wait until a spoilt boy recovers from his hangover after making a fool of himself?’ He grabbed me by the hair, yanked me out of bed and threw me to the floor. The first shards of daylight were lancing through the shutters of my room. Vistaspa’s face was a stone mask in the half-light.

‘The company is already assembled, lord prince,’ he spat the last words in sarcasm. ‘Get yourself dressed and be in the square in five minutes. Full armour. Shield, helmet and spear.’ Then he marched from the room, leaving me soaking and groggy.

‘Gafarn, Gafarn,’ I half-shouted. My mouth was dry and I felt sick.

‘Highness?’ a weak voice murmured from under the window. Gafarn had obviously slept a few feet from me and had barely stirred as Vistaspa had stormed in.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Too much to drink, highness,’ he replied.

‘Fetch my armour and spear’. There was no reply. He had obviously gone back to sleep. I walked over to where he lay and kicked him.

‘Get up and get my armour and spear.’

He rose unsteadily. ‘Yes, highness.’

After gulping down some water, I left the palace and made my way into the square. The dawn had broken now, though the morning was still cool. I wrapped my cloak around me, with my shield on my left arm, a spear in my right and a helmet perched atop my head. I didn’t have time to strap it on, an omission I was soon to regret. When I arrived in the square a company of the king’s bodyguard was standing to attention, a column of two files fifty ranks deep. Vistaspa stood at its head, looking more stern than usual, which was saying something.

‘The noble Prince Pacorus has finally arrived, gentlemen. But what’s this?’ He strode over to me and knocked my helmet off the head. ‘Is that the way you wear your helmet?’

‘No,’ I replied. My stomach felt worse than ever, and all I wanted to do was lie down.

‘No, lord,’ he bellowed. ‘Address me properly when you speak to me, boy.’

‘Yes, lord. Sorry, lord, I…’

‘Silence, he snapped. ‘Pick up your helmet and get in line. There, at the head of the column. Move!’

I put my helmet on and trotted to stand beside Vata, who acknowledged me.

‘Watch yourself, Pacorus,’ he said quietly, ‘he’s in a foul mood. I think he wants to take out his frustration on us.

‘Why’s he frustrated?’ I asked.

‘Some slave girl must have turned him down last night. Plumped for his horse instead.’

I laughed, which in the circumstances was the worst thing I could have done. Vistaspa was in front of me in an instant, his face inches from mine.

‘So, little shit, found something to laugh about, have we? Would you like to share it with us all.’

‘No, lord. It was nothing.’ Vata stood like a statue, staring directly ahead.

‘Prince Pacorus thinks he is a great war hero, don’t you, boy.’

‘No, lord.’

‘Didn’t tell anyone that he was nearly skewered by a Roman prisoner because he wasn’t looking, or that if I hadn’t have put an arrow in the man the crows would be picking at his bones right now. We’ve wasted enough time. Column will advance in quick time. March’

We marched out of the square at a fast pace, a hundred men in full war gear, moving through the inner city, over the moat and then through the northern gate into the desert. Vistaspa kept a cruel pace, and after thirty minutes I was struggling. My mouth was parched and the sun’s rays were roasting my helmet, increasing the throbbing in my head. All around me the men’s breathing became heavy as we marched through the barren landscape.

‘Increase pace.’ Vistaspa moved into a light run and we followed, my thighs aching more with each mile we travelled. The previous evening’s indulgence was catching up with me fast. I began to cough and breath heavily. I gulped in hot air, which tortured my lungs.

‘Run, you dogs.’ I was convinced Vistaspa was trying to kill me as we ran across the shimmering desert. The sun was high in the sky and pummelling us with a murderous heat. My mouth was parched and my lungs felt as though they were going to burst through my chest. My shield and spear felt like heavy weights, the burden of carrying them engulfing my arms in a searing pain. Those behind me were struggling as well, though Vata seemed to be coping well. We had been marching for two hours now under a vicious sun, and I knew I couldn’t go on for much longer. Sweat was pouring off my forehead into my eyes and the helmet’s cheek guards were rubbing against my face.

‘Halt!’ Vistaspa suddenly stopped and I and Vata nearly clattered into him. ‘Two ranks. Move!’

Behind me the men raced to left and right to form into two lines of fifty soldiers, one behind the other. We had reached an area of low-lying hills, and from behind one emerged a camel train. I estimated that it was a least a mile away, maybe less.

‘Level spears,’ ordered Vistaspa. ‘that train is our target.’ He drew his sword. ‘When I give the command, you will charge and capture it.’

I was astounded. We were nearly spent, and yet he wanted us to charge across open ground for a mile.

‘For Hatra,’ Vistaspa sprang forward and we followed, shields to our front and spears levelled. We yelled our war cry as we raced towards our target. I was amazed at Vistaspa’s stamina, a man of fifty who was out-running us all. After about half a mile our lines were ragged as men stumbled as their legs began to give way. Yet they pushed themselves beyond endurance. A piercing pain shot through my right side, causing me to wince in pain. Sweat poured into my eyes and my vision became blurred.

‘Come on, Pacorus, straight on. Don’t give up.’ I hardly recognised the strained cries of Vata beside me, but his encouragement did force me on. On we went, our pace having slowed into a trot.

‘Move, you lazy bastards,’ bellowed Vistaspa, as he widened the gap between himself and us. Where did he get his energy from? I was having difficulty breathing now as the caravan loomed large in front of us. I heard men groan around me and the sound of clatter as some fell to the ground, no doubt to be yanked back up by their equally exhausted comrades. It felt as though my chest was in a vice that was being closed shut. I couldn’t breath, my vision went black and I couldn’t feel my legs. I saw a group of camels ahead and figures scurrying around them, and then all was black.

I was awakened by water being poured over my face. I opened my eyes and saw Vistaspa holding the leather water sack from which the fluid poured. Beside him stood my father. I tried to get up but my limbs refused to move.

‘Will you excuse us, Vistaspa,’ said my father.

‘Of course, sire.’

Vistaspa walked away as my father knelt beside me.

‘Give your body time to recover. Compose yourself. While you are doing so, you might to reflect on your behaviour last night. You embarrassed your mother and I but, far worse, you embarrassed yourself. You must be an example, my son, not a figure of derision. If you want to be a peacock, go back to Zeugma and live with Darius and his young boys. You are a son of Hatra and are expected to act as such. Remember that, above all.’

I felt crestfallen. After a few seconds of awkward silence he handed me another canteen. I drank greedily and gradually feeling returned to my arms and legs. I was helmetless but still wore my scale armour. Vata helped me up, a wide grin on his big, round face.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Terrible,’ I replied. ‘How long was I unconscious?’

‘Not long, and you weren’t the only one, so don’t worry.’

I looked around and saw the company sat on the ground, eating rations that had been brought from the city. They looked dirty and exhausted, a stark comparison to the impeccably attired other soldiers of my father’s bodyguard who sat at tables beneath a large canvas awning that had been erected to shelter them from the sun. My father sat at the top table, with Vistaspa beside him, dressed in a fresh uniform. Servants prepared and served a light meal of roasted lamb and rice, washed down by water. We ate hard biscuits, but at least we had water. After thirty minutes Vistaspa ordered us into two columns once again. It was now an hour past midday and the sun was at its most brutal. The march back to the city was hard in the searing heat, though at least we had been watered and fed, of sorts. There were no mad charges, though, just a steady march back to the city. I slept like the dead that night.

The next few weeks were spent undergoing the perennial training routines that I had grown up with: rise before dawn, route marche on foot in full war gear for two hours, breakfast, archery practice for two hours, wrestling and other unarmed combat for one hour, a two-hour break for lunch and to let the daytime heat subside, then mounted manoeuvres in the late afternoon. The latter could last for up to three or four hours, depending on where they took place. Usually we rode out of the city into the northern desert where the terrain was mostly flat and free of wadis. The surface was hard-baked earth rather than sand, and was thus ideal for cavalry training. All Parthian nobles were taught to ride a horse in childhood. As the years passed we learned all the skills needed to fight war on horseback: how to jump obstacles, gallop over uneven terrain, and to execute circles, turns and stops. Once I had reached adulthood I became a cataphract and learned heavy cavalry skills. These included opening and closing ranks, charging, pursuing, turning and wheeling. Sometimes we went into more hilly terrain to learn how to charge uphill and downhill. It was an unending cycle of practice followed by yet more practice. Once finished for the day we would ride back to the stables where each of us would groom and feed our mounts, the stables themselves having been cleaned by the young stable hands. The royal stables bloc in the palace quarter was spacious and luxurious, as befitting the home of the most highly prized horses in the kingdom, but in truth all the army’s stables were well appointed. Parthians loved their horses, for it was their discipline and courage that won battles; and in disaster carried their masters to safety. Geldings or mares were preferred for cavalry mounts, as stallions, though more feisty and faster, were almost uncontrollable when mares were in season.

This, then, was my life. Six days of constant training and drills followed by a day of rest, though even on my day off I liked to hone my sword skills. Occasionally I spared with my father, who invariably humiliated me. ‘You must always move, Pacorus,’ he would tell me. ‘Stay light on your feet. A man who keeps still is already dead.’

It was two months after I had taken the eagle that an invitation for my father and I came from Sinatruces, the King of Kings, to attend him at the city of Ctesiphon, the capital of the Parthian Empire, located on the left bank of the Tigris and at the mouth of the Diyala River. This was something of a surprise, as Sinatruces was nearly eighty years old and something of a recluse. The last time my father had seen him was five years earlier, and then only briefly. Two days after the summons, my father convened a meeting of the city’s royal council.

The council met one a month to discuss matters relating to the city and the kingdom. This meeting was special in two ways. First, because it was extraordinary; second, because it was the first one that I attended. As the son of the king I would, one day, head the council, but until now I had been forbidden to attend. However, as I had proved myself in battle I was accorded the honour of formally being admitted to the council. In truth there was nothing grand about the location where the council met, being a small, comfortable room behind the palace’s throne room. There was a large wooden table, comfortable chairs and a large leather map of the Parthian Empire that covered the whole of one wall. Attending were my father, Vistaspa, Bozan, Assur, Addu, the royal treasurer, and the commander of the city’s garrison, Kogan. The garrison numbered two thousand men who were housed in four barracks in the city itself. They were the soldiers who policed the city and kept the peace, an onerous task with one hundred thousand inhabitants plus thousands of foreigners who came and went with the caravans that passed through the city every day. Peace meant trade and trade meant wealth. It was Kogan’s responsibility to maintain the peace, which was relatively easy as long as any trouble was quickly stamped on. My father left the policing of the city to him, knowing that this dour, studious individual who was the same age as my father would never let the king down. Like most efficient administrators, Kogan also had a cruel streak, though to be fair he kept this side of his nature under strict control, mostly.

After Assur offered prayers to Shamash, the meeting got under way. The mood was relaxed. Bozan sprawled in his chair, Vistaspa sat bolt upright, while Kogan watched everyone like a hawk. Assur fussed over his parchments.

‘I have called you all here for two reasons,’ began my father. ‘The first is to welcome my son to the council. He has proved himself in battle and I thought it proper that he acquaint himself with the administration of the city, which in time he will be responsible for.’

‘Not for many years, I hope,’ said a stern Assur.

‘With Shamash’s blessing,’ retorted my father. ‘The second reason is that I and my son have been commanded to attend the High King Sinatruces at Ctesiphon.’

‘I thought he was a recluse,’ said Bozan.

‘He is,’ replied my father.

‘Obviously our little spat with the Romans has aroused his interest,’ continued Bozan. ‘No doubt he wants his cut of the spoils.’

‘As King of Kings he has a right to such rewards,’ added Assur.

‘He’s only the King of Kings because of our spears,’ sneered Bozan.

‘Thank you, Bozan’, said my father. ‘Hatra will make a donation to his coffers should he request one, though I see no reason for it to be generous.’

‘Maybe the Romans have made a formal complaint to him,’ said Vistaspa. ‘Maybe he wants you both there to explain yourselves. You’re a fool to go.’

I was amazed at the way Vistaspa addressed my father, but then reminded myself that in such meetings all those who attended were free to express their views regardless of rank. My father told me that there was no point of having a gathering if those present were not allowed to give their views.

‘Were you commanded to attend?’ asked Assur.

‘We were requested,’ replied my father.

‘Then you are free to refuse, though I would judge such an action imprudent,’ said the priest.

Vistaspa shrugged and looked out of the window. Bozan placed his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.

‘They want their eagle back,’ he said.

‘What?’ I uttered, somewhat in surprise. It was the first time I had spoken and I felt myself blushing.

‘That’s right, Pacorus,’ said Bozan, looking directly at me. ‘You stole their eagle and they want it back. I reckon that they sent an embassy to Sinatruces, groveling at his feet and spinning a tale of how we entered their territory and massacred their men.’

‘That’s a lie,’ I said.

Bozan laughed. ‘Indeed it is. But the Romans are lying bastards as well as greedy ones.’

‘They can’t have the eagle,’ I said. ‘It’s mine.’

There was a ripple of laughter around the table; even Kogan smiled.

‘You took it, boy,’ said Vistaspa,’ but can you keep hold of it?’

‘Enough,’ said my father, clearly irritated by such trivia. ‘We will go to Ctesiphon and see what Sinatruces has to say for himself. Meanwhile, I intend to enlarge the army.’

‘Good idea,’ said Bozan.

‘That will be expensive.’ It was the first time that Addu, a gaunt man in his fifties with thinning brown hair, had spoken. His voice was slightly high-pitched, giving the impression that he was in distress.

‘But the treasury is full, is it not?’ queried my father.

‘Indeed, your majesty,’ replied Assur, ‘ but military spending drains it like water running out of a broken cup.’

‘Those chests of Roman gold should be used to pay for more heavy cavalry,’ remarked Vistaspa.

‘Or more troops for the garrison,’ offered Kogan.

‘Why does the garrison need more troops?’ asked my father.

‘There are Romans in the city, majesty,’ replied Kogan. ‘They may be fomenting rebellion.’

Kogan was right, but then there were many nationalities in Hatra. Indeed, there were the offices of many foreign trading companies in the city, all organising the commerce between the east and their home countries, including Rome. As long as they paid their taxes and caused no trouble they were left alone, as were the many temples that had been established throughout the city. A host of different gods were worshipped in Hatra, including Al Lat, Mithras, Maran, Shiu and Saqaya. Again, as long as they paid their taxes and incited no trouble, the temples were tolerated. Assur and his priests were vociferous in their opposition to the city allowing alien religions within its walls, but were partially soothed by the generous donations made to their temple courtesy of the foreigners’ places of worship. An offshoot of this religious tolerance was that Hatra was known as Bet Alaha, the ‘House of God’. This in turn resulted in a healthy traffic in pilgrims, who in turn brought more wealth to the treasury.

‘You are our eyes and ears in the city, Kogan,’ said my father, ‘and I have every faith in you to maintain security. However, only an army of horsemen can defend the kingdom from outside enemies. Pacorus and I will go to Ctesiphon. Bozan, you will organise the raising of an additional five hundred heavy cavalry and a thousand horse archers. We will leave in three days.’

In the interim, Vata and I took the opportunity to pay a visit to the city. Though we lived in Hatra, our duties rarely allowed us to wander through its bustling streets. Seeing a myriad of nationalities and different races was always a curiosity, though, along with the temples that were clustered around the east and west gates, through which human traffic and trade flowed all year round. Inside the city were parks where animals could be fed and housed for the night, which were supplied with watercourses for man and beast, and which were guarded by troops of the garrison, though many caravans also had their own guards. The air around the markets was filled with the strange aromas of exotic spices brought from the Orient, while other traders hawked silk and other expensive materials. By chance, Vata and I came across a Roman merchant house whose agents traded in the Parthian Empire, mainly in silk of which Rome had an insatiable appetite for. We entered the whitewashed two-storey building through its large porch. Inside the large reception area men sat at desks conducting business with travellers and natives of the city. The interior was functional if a little spartan.

‘I wonder if they make it look like the insides of the buildings in Rome?’ said Vata.

Before I could answer a short man, about thirtyish and dressed in a simple beige linen tunic, approached us, his hair cropped short as was the Roman fashion.

‘Can I help you?’

‘We are just looking,’ I said.

‘At what?’ he snapped. ‘Are you businessmen?’

Our appearance — gold-edged white tunics and leggings, leather boots, ornate leather belts from which hung silver-decorated scabbards — suggested we weren’t. I saw no reason to hide our identities.

‘I am Prince Pacorus and this is my friend, Vata.’

The Roman looked directly at me. ‘So, you are the one who took the eagle.’

I detected a mocking tone in his voice.

‘It was easy enough,’ I replied, ‘I found it lying in the dirt.

He bristled at this. ‘Rome never forgets its enemies.’

‘Parthia always looks for new victories.’ I was enjoying our verbal duel.

He moved closer to me, our faces inches apart. His audacity, considering he was in my city, was astounding, but I was to become all too familiar with Roman arrogance. ‘We have many more legions, Parthian,’ he spat, his bad breath reeking in my nostrils.

I clutched the hilt of my sword with my right hand. ‘Then go and get them.’

‘Enough, Pacorus,’ said Vata, laying a hand on my arm. ‘Pick on someone your own size. It’s unfair to start a quarrel with the a dwarf.’

We both laughed, causing the Roman’s cheeks to turn red with rage, his fists clenched. We left the building and went back into the street.

‘Cocky little bastard, wasn’t he,’ remarked Vata.

‘I think we’ll be fighting Romans again very soon.’

‘How many legions do you think they have?’

‘No idea,’ I replied. ‘Who cares?’

Vata shrugged. ‘Still, at least they’re shorter than we are. It’s always easier to kill someone who’s smaller. I wouldn’t like to fight a race of giants.’

My father and I left for Ctesiphon three days later. Vistaspa came with us, of course, along with a hundred of my father’s bodyguard, a hundred horse archers and our tents, food and spare weapons loaded onto forty camels. Ctesiphon was two hundred miles from Hatra, a journey that we made at a leisurely pace.

The journey through the kingdom allowed my father to inspect part of his domain. He always told me that it was important for the people to see their rulers, which also offered an opportunity for them to speak to him. Many kings viewed their subjects with distaste and suspicion, believing themselves to be appointed by gods to rule on earth.

‘That is a very dangerous way of thinking, to my mind,’ he said as we rode past a group of workers repairing an irrigation ditch in a field. ‘Some of them, and I have met them, believe that they are semi-divine themselves. That’s all very well until some common soldier in an opponent’s army shoots them with an arrow or runs them through with a sword. They don’t look so god-like when their guts are spewing all over the place.

‘It is true, for example, that you were born into a royal household and thus were a prince from birth, but the kingdom you will eventually inherit will grow rich only if you ensure the welfare of your subjects.’

‘All of them?’ I asked.

‘We can do nothing about plagues and famine. These things are sent by Shamash. But we can ensure that the kingdom is safe. And a safe kingdom is a prosperous kingdom. If this land,’ he waved his hand to indicate all around, ‘was infested with bandits there would be no trade passing through, no well-tended fields to harvest and no functioning irrigation ditches to water the fields. The people would flee and we would live as paupers. Our swords and lances keep the peace and allow the people to prosper. Always remember that, for when you forget it the kingdom is doomed.’

‘Yes, father.’

And he was right. The land, our land, was rich and prosperous. The distance between the Euphrates and Tigris is two hundred miles at its widest point, and in the area along their banks extending inland grains, vegetables and dates were cultivated, a complex system of irrigation dykes and ditches draining water from the rivers and keeping the land fertile. Oxen were used to pull ploughs, and cows, sheep and goats provided dairy products and meat. There was also a thriving textile industry producing wool for cloth and flax for linen.

The land itself was owned by nobles but worked by farmers, each of whom paid rent to their vassal lord. The aristocrats who lived in Hatra owned vast estates, but those who lived in their villas in the countryside owned much smaller tracts of land. It was the duty of each farmer to own a horse and a bow and practice his horsemanship and archery skills on a regular basis. In this way Hatra had a ready reserve of soldiers that could be called on. Inevitably there were some who neglected their military duties for farm work, but in general the system worked well enough. And when a general muster was issued, the lords were the first to ride to war. Parthian kings and nobles always led from the front.

The heat of the summer was receding now and the days were sunny but not stifling. The harvests were being gathered, which meant every road was filled with carts pulled by donkeys. When our column neared them, the carts and any human traffic on the road would move aside to let us pass. They bowed to my father and then carried on with their tasks.

‘You see, Pacorus,’ remarked my father, ‘they do not feel threatened by the appearance of soldiers.’

‘That’s because they are lazy and stupid,’ remarked Vistaspa, who had drawn level with us after leading a scouting party.

‘That’s because they feel safe,’ said my father.

‘They’ve become too accustomed to peace,’ growled Vistaspa.

‘But our army is the finest in the Parthian Empire, is it not?’ I added.

‘The army is, yes,’ said Vistaspa, ‘but if we have to issue a general call-up we’ll be in trouble.’

‘Not every man can be a warrior,’ remarked my father.

‘More’s the pity,’ said his bodyguard’s commander. Vistaspa then muttered something under his breath and rode towards the rear of the column, no doubt to take out whatever was irritating him on some poor trooper.

My father smiled. ‘He’s a good man, Vistaspa,’ I remained silent, ‘but he is too intolerant, I fear. But there is no man I would rather have beside me in battle.’

Ctesiphon was something of a disappointment. It was undoubtedly large and sprawling, but its squat brick buildings were dirty and its walls were also brick and coloured a dark yellow. It was also poor, or at least its inhabitants were. The people eked out an existent from agriculture, but the Silk Road did not pass through Ctesiphon, and therefore it could not tap its wealth. But it did not have to, for all kingdoms in the empire paid tribute to the King of Kings, thus there was a constant flow of money to the capital, though it obviously was not spent on its defences.

We were met outside the city by a detachment of cavalry led by the son of Sinatruces, Phraates. They carried the eagle standard of the King of Kings and were well appointed, with bright steel helmets, whetted lances and burnished shields. They wore mail vests and red cloaks on their backs. Phraates himself, bare headed, rode at the head of the column and greeted my father as an equal, as he was a king in his own right.

‘Greetings, King Varaz,’ he bowed his head. My father reciprocated. Phraates then looked at me. ‘And this must be your son, Prince Pacorus, whom we have heard so much of.’

I bowed my head. ‘Highness.’

Phraates was a studious-looking individual, his hair cropped just above his shoulders with a neatly trimmed, short beard flecked with grey. He had a broad face and a rather bulbous nose. I guessed he was nearing sixty years of age.

During the ride to the palace Phraates rode beside my father, myself and Vistaspa immediately behind.

‘You are to be congratulated, Prince Pacorus,’ he said. ‘Your valour is the talk of the empire.’

‘You honour me, majesty,’ I replied.

‘You are a worthy son of Hatra, the home of the empire’s finest warriors.’

His flattery seemed genuine, and I for one could not help but smile as we rode through the royal gates and came to a halt before the steps of the palace. It was a large, tall building with an ornate white stone façade. Guards stood on the steps, spearmen with large wicker shields and red felt caps on their heads. Our horses were taken from us and Phraates led us up the steps, through the reception area and into the throne room. This was a cavernous area some three storeys high, with a white and black marble floor, thick stone columns on either and a golden throne on a dais surmounted by a griffin at the far end. Courtiers were clustered in groups around the throne while a guard stood in front of each column. As we were led into the room the various hushed conversations died away. All eyes were on us as we approached the dais. We halted a few paces from the figure seated on the throne, an old man with white hair and a wispy beard, which was platted to resemble a serpent’s tongue protruding from his chin. He wore a golden crown encrusted with gemstones on his head, while his black tunic was adorned with golden stars. His face was thin and bony, his cheeks slightly sunken. But his dark brown eyes were alert and piercing, and had fixed on us as soon as we had entered the room.

Phraates nodded to a tall, thin man with a staff who stood beside the throne, some sort of chancellor I assumed.

‘Majesty, may I present King Varaz and his son, Prince Pacorus,’ we went down on one knee and bowed our heads.

‘Arise, arise,’ said the king, to polite applause from the courtiers. The king’s voice was deep and powerful, which came as something of a shock to me considering his frail body.

‘You are most welcome, King Varaz, and we congratulate you and your son,’ he nodded at me, ‘on your victory over the Roman invaders.’

‘Thank you, majesty,’ said my father.

Sinatruces held out his right hand, into which was placed a rolled scroll by the chancellor. The room was silent as he carefully unrolled it.

‘This document is the reason I invited you here, King Varaz, for it is a demand from the Senate of Rome. A demand that I return their legion’s eagle, which they say has been stolen, and furthermore that I pay them reparations for the destruction of said legion.’ There were angry mutterings around the room, which were silenced by Sinatruces holding up his left hand.

‘It would appear to me,’ he continued, ‘that the Romans think that the Parthian Empire is a vassal state, which must pay homage to them. This they must be disabused of. I have therefore replied that it is they who should be paying reparations to us for their gross violation of our sovereignty, and that any future incursions will be countered by great force.’ Again, applause filled the room.

‘A most wise reply, father,’ said Phraates.

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor as Sinatruces spoke, as befitting his rank, though my father looked directly at him. After the preliminary niceties were out of the way, Sinatruces spoke in the ear of his chancellor, who announced that everyone was to leave the room aside from myself, my father and Phraates. Once the courtiers had filed out, the two large wooden doors were shut. Guards still stood around the room and I had no doubt that they would be listening intently to what was about to be said, to be later disseminated as idle gossip among their comrades.

Guards placed chairs in front of the dais for us to sit in, while a slave came forward with a tray holding silver goblets. I took one and drank, slightly surprised to discover it was cool water, not wine. Sinatruces sighed and then began to speak again.

‘King Varaz, your kingdom is the shield that protects our western border, and I fear that in the months ahead that shield will be battered by Roman spears. Rome is not threatening war, but there is a large Roman garrison in Syria and I’m sure the commander there will be ordered to test your defences and will do so. Hatra is strong and will defend itself with honour, I doubt not.’

‘Majesty,’ replied my father. ‘Hatra is strong but would be stronger with reinforcements.’

‘Ah,’ sighed Sinatruces. ‘I thought we would come to that. I have to tell you that the empire is threatened from the north by the Alans and by the Sakas in the east. I cannot ask for troops from the kings who are facing those threats, for to do so would risk leaving our borders vulnerable.’

‘Rome is a bigger threat than tribes of nomads, majesty,’ said my father.

‘You are right, King Varaz, ‘but Hatra’s army is the strongest in the empire. We are not unmindful of your dilemma, and thus are prepared to grant you aid.’

‘Troops?’ my father asked.

‘Alas, no, but we will give you ten cartloads of gold to allow you to sustain your war effort.’

I cast a glance at my father and saw his eyes light up. Hatra’s treasury was already full, and such an amount would allow my father to strengthen the army.

‘A most generous offer, majesty.’

Sinatruces clapped his hands. ‘Excellent! You will both stay for the banquet tonight. A most satisfactory meeting, I think.’

We were shown to our luxurious quarters in the palace where we were waited on by a host of slaves. I bathed and afterwards had a massage at the hands of a lithe Armenian girl, whose fingers erased the aches from my neck and shoulders and sent me into a dream-like state. It was most excellent life being royalty, I had to admit.

The evening banquet was a sumptuous affair. Parthians believe that consuming red meat and fats create evil thoughts, and is in any case the food of barbarians. Thus the trays were piled high with fruits, vegetables, fish, fowl and lamb. Delicacies included oranges, pistachios, spinach, saffron, sweet and sour sauces, kabobs and almond pastries, all washed down with the finest wines. My father was seated on the left side of Sinatruces, with Phraates on his right side. I sat next to my father, while behind us stood guards. The chancellor and a number of other officials sat at another table, one of some twenty that were arranged around the feasting hall. In the centre a troupe of jugglers was entertaining the guests as a small army of servants ferried trays to and from the kitchens. Sinatruces, I noted, ate sparingly and drank little, speaking the occasional word to my father, who smiled and nodded dutifully.

I also noticed that an old woman had suddenly appeared in the room and was shuffling towards the top table. I was somewhat surprised, not least because no one seemed to be taking the slightest notice of her. She was dressed in rags and had a stooped appearance. She was constantly looking right and left and seemed to be muttering insults at all and sundry. Her stooped posture, misshapen nose and sore-covered face was in stark contrast to the beautifully attired and attractive guests that filled the room. She continued to shuffle towards us, and a feeling of horror came over me as I realised that she was heading directly for me. I stared in disbelief as she stopped opposite me on the other side of the table. She cackled in a most disconcerting way to reveal a row of brown teeth. Her breath, even from a distance, was repellant. She pointed at me.

‘Give me your hand, little lamb,’ she spat.

Who was this foul old crone who dared to speak to me thus? I felt my anger mount, and was about to rise and order her out of the room when Sinatruces spoke.

‘You had better do what she asks, Prince Pacorus.’

I was stunned. ‘Majesty?’

‘This is Dobbai, a Scythian from the mountains of the Indus. She is a sage, some say a sorceress, and has been a member of my court for many years now. She has a gift. She can see the future. That is why we tolerate her.’

‘That is why you fear me, Sinatruces,’ she pointed a bony finger at the king. ‘Let me speak to the lamb, otherwise I will turn you into a warthog.’

To utter such words to the High King was to invite immediate execution, but Sinatruces merely smiled and gestured to me to hold out my hand.

I have to confess that I was hesitant to extend my arm. She not only looked revolting, but her sunken cheeks and emaciated frame suggested that she had not eaten for a while. Perhaps she wanted to eat my hand! Suddenly confronting an army of Romans seemed less daunting. However, aware that all of those who sat at the top table were observing me, along with others on nearby tables, I held out my right arm.

The old hag grabbed it with her right hand with a grip that was surprising strong. Her clutch was bony and cold. I shivered. She looked at my upturned palm and then spat into it. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Filthy old crone, how dare she treat me like this.

She then drew her left forefinger across my palm, mumbled some nonsense to herself and then looked me directly in the eyes. This made me feel even more uncomfortable. I felt my cheeks colour. For what seemed like an eternity, but was actually only a few seconds, she stood motionless.

‘Portents,’ she spat the word at me, ‘portents of doom. You will slither like a serpent into the belly of your enemies, and there eat away at their innards.’

She was clearly mad, but she still held my hand fast. She looked at the palm a second time after drawing circular motions with her forefinger in her spittle.

‘The eagle will scream in pain but will thirst for revenge. Many eagles will pursue you, but under the desert sun you will pick at their bones. A pale goddess with fire in her eyes will be your companion, son of Hatra.’

Then she let go of my hand, reached over and grabbed some pork ribs from my plate, and shuffled away. As she passed Sinatruces she turned to him.

‘Merv burns while you stuff your face, old man.’

Sinatruces looked alarmed as the old hag walked away, chewing on a rib as she did so. He beckoned to his chancellor who scurried over. Sinatruces spoke to him in a somewhat agitated manner, and then the chancellor hurried off.

‘Merv is a city on our eastern frontier,’ whispered my father.

‘Do we listen to the ramblings of an insane, stinking witch?’ I replied, wiping my hand with a napkin.

‘I don’t know, Pacorus,’ he said, staring at me. ‘Do we?’

I could barely hide my annoyance. ‘No, we do not.’

I called for a servant to refill my goblet with wine. The hag had disappeared now, along with my appetite. I dismissed what she had said from my mind. Eagles, serpents? I shook my head. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vistaspa looking at me, but not with his usual mocking stare. Instead, he nodded and toasted me with his goblet. This discomfited me even more.

The next day we departed Ctesiphon for Hatra, taking the cartloads of gold with us. Our audience with Sinatruces and Phraates that morning had been brief, and the old king had seemed very distracted. Phraates offered us extra guards for the journey but my father declined his offer. Vistaspa’s men were more than adequate, though for additional security he sent riders ahead to order that more of Hatra’s cavalry meet us on the road.

‘This gold should pay for the additional troops you want to enlist,’ said Vistaspa as we rode at the head of the column.

My father nodded thoughtfully. ‘An unexpected bonus, that’s for sure. I was worried Sinatruces was after a portion of the Roman gold we took. Still, what with that and his gift, we should have enough spears to keep the border secure.’

‘You think the Romans will attack us, father?’

‘For certain,’ he replied.

‘Raids, most probably,’ said Vistaspa. ‘A few villages burned, maybe a town, if we don’t keep our guard up.’

‘We’ll have to watch the north especially,’ said my father, ‘since I doubt our old friend Darius will give us any support.’

Vistaspa nodded. ‘He might pay a few more tribesmen to cause us problems.’

‘Two can play at that game,’ said my father.

But thoughts of Roman raids soon passed as we travelled along dusty roads baked hard under blue skies. The pace was leisurely, and for long periods we walked beside our horses, resting under canvas shades two hours either side of midday, when the heat was most fierce. Four days from Hatra, a detachment of the city’s cavalry led by Vata met us during the late afternoon. Vata pulled up his horse in front of my father, bowed his head then reached inside a saddlebag to hand him a scroll. My father read it, frowned and passed it to Vistaspa.

Vistaspa, as was his wont, read it without expression. ‘It’s begun, then.’

‘Sooner than I thought.’

‘What is it, father?’ I asked.

‘A message from Bozan. A week ago Roman cavalry attacked and plundered Sirhi. They must have crossed the Arabian Desert from Syria. They have taken many captives, no doubt to be sold as slaves.’ Sirhi was a town on the banks of the Euphrates, in the north of the kingdom.

‘I have to get back to Hatra. Vata, you will escort the gold to the city. I, Vistaspa and Pacorus will ride to the city tonight.’

After a light meal we left in the early evening, riding hard. We covered the fifty miles in a day, arriving at the palace late at night. Bozan was waiting for us in the council chamber. After going to see my mother, I and my father went to the chamber where Bozan was deep in conversation with Vistaspa.

‘Well?’ enquired my father, ‘how bad is it?’

‘Not as bad as we first feared, my lord,’ replied Bozan. ‘The town remains intact, though the outlying villages have being mostly reduced to ashes and their inhabitants carried off into slavery. The garrison commander panicked and exaggerated the size of the Roman force and the damage they did.’

‘Doesn’t mean there aren’t more Roman troops in the area,’ added Vistaspa.

‘There is a legion at Damascus, but to march it across the desert just for a raid seems too big a risk,’ mused my father.

Bozan was in a bullish mood. ‘Strike back at them, my lord. They cannot be allowed to get away with this outrage.’

‘A wise course of action, I agree,’ added Vistaspa, ‘but the question is, where to strike?’

While my father deliberated, servants brought us wine, fruit and bread. We were tired and covered in dust, while our eyes were ringed with black through lack of sleep.

‘I can’t decide tonight,’ said my father at last. ‘We will reconvene in the morning.’