Carrhae

Chapter 5

The army marched two hours after dawn. I left Marcus and his machines behind and appointed him temporary governor of Seleucia in our absence, leaving him two cohorts of Durans to back up his authority. Nergal and his horse archers had left earlier with Malik, Byrd and their scouts, crossing the Tigris and striking southeast to intercept the army that had mysteriously appeared seemingly from nowhere. Vagises then led Dura’s horse archers across the bridge over the river followed by the legions. Finally the cataphracts in their scale armour, followed by their squires, the camel train carrying spare arrows, and wagons filled with supplies crossed the bridge.

It was another glorious day and many of Seleucia’s citizens had turned out to line the streets to see the army pass through their city. The legionaries marching six abreast and the cataphracts fully encased in their armour presented a magnificent sight, griffin pennants fluttering from every kontus and white plumes fixed to every legionary’s helmet. It was at times like these that I realised what a formidable machine Dura’s army was and it filled me with hope that we would be able to defeat the new threat that had appeared in the east.

After leaving the city and crossing the Tigris we headed in a southeasterly direction, following the churned-up ground made by the thousands of Nergal’s riders. Three hours later the King of Mesene returned with his horsemen in the company of Byrd and Malik and I halted the army.

‘It is Phriapatius and the army of Carmania,’ said Nergal.

‘So the mystery is solved,’ I replied. ‘How many men does he bring with him?’

‘Thirty thousand, perhaps more,’ said Byrd.

‘All horsemen,’ added Malik.

We marched towards Phriapatius for another hour and then deployed into battle order, the legions in the centre and the horse archers on the wings. Nergal’s men formed our right flank and Vagises’ men deployed on the left. In between the legions and Dura’s horse archers were my cataphracts arrayed in two ranks. To give the illusion of strength the legions were deployed in two lines, while on both flanks the horse archers were drawn up in their companies side by side. In this way our battle line had a width of over five miles. The camels carrying the spare arrows were deployed immediately behind the horse archers and the wagons holding spare shields, armour, helmets and javelins were sited to the rear of the legions.

I rode with Gallia, Vagharsh and the Amazons to the centre of the line, a hundred paces in front of the legions, and there we waited for Nergal and Praxima. Gallia and Praxima were dressed for battle like the Amazons: mail shirts, helmets with closed cheekguards and full quivers slung over their shoulders. The banner of Mesene fluttered behind Nergal and Praxima as Mesene’s king halted beside me. His wife took up her position next to Gallia. The Amazons raised their bows to salute their former second-in-command, now a god in Uruk.

The stoical Vagharsh held my griffin banner behind me as ahead a group of horsemen galloped towards us, their mounts kicking up a great cloud of dust as they hurtled across the parched earth. I looked into the cloudless sky and felt a trickle of sweat run down my neck. It was going to be another hot and bloody day.

‘It would appear that Byrd and Malik have found the enemy judging by the way they are riding.’ I looked down to see Domitus standing beside Remus, vine cane in his hand.

He nodded towards the black-clad riders who suddenly veered to the right while two of their number continued to head towards us, slowing their horses as they got nearer.

‘You and your scouts didn’t fancy fighting them, then?’ shouted Domitus.

Malik raised his hand in recognition of his friend while Byrd ignored him as they both pulled up their horses in front of me.

Byrd turned in the saddle and pointed ahead. ‘Phriapatius and his army draw near.’

‘About half an hour away,’ added Malik.

‘Will you attack first or fight a defensive battle?’ Domitus asked me.

‘We are not here to fight, Domitus,’ I told him.

He looked at me wryly. ‘Has anyone told the Carmanians?’

Nergal smiled at him nervously though none of us knew what the intentions of Phriapatius were. Nestled in the southeast corner of the empire, Carmania had been untouched by the recent civil war and though its army had been forced to retreat after it had invaded Nergal’s kingdom as part of the alliance of Narses and Mithridates, Phriapatius could still muster a substantial number of soldiers. Perhaps he desired no less than the high crown itself and sought to take advantage of our difficulties with the Romans and Armenians to seize Ctesiphon and Seleucia. I smiled to myself. Soon Seleucia would be nothing but a pile of rubble if it had to endure any more assaults.

Byrd and Malik stayed with us as their scouts went to the rear of the army to rest themselves and their mounts. I saw Byrd put a hand on his lower back and rub it.

‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.

Gallia and Praxima looked at him with concern. He arched his back and then rubbed it again.

‘No. Getting old. Cannot sit in saddle for hours like I used to.’

I had never thought of Byrd as old before. In fact I had never even considered his age. He was just Byrd: ageless, withdrawn and scruffy, someone who was always there when I had need of him. But now, looking at him, I could see that the lines on his face were deeper and more numerous and it made me ponder. I had known him for nearly twenty years and they had passed in the blink of an eye.

My daydreaming was interrupted by the appearance of the Carmanians who at first resembled a thin black shimmering line on the horizon. After a few minutes the line increased in height as thousands of horsemen approached our position, and then I could make out the different troop types as they trotted forward. In the centre of their long line was a formation of cataphracts — men in scale armour wearing helmets, carrying long lances and riding horses that wore half-armour covering their bodies but not their necks or heads.

Either side of these heavy horsemen were dense blocks of mounted spearmen, soldiers armed with lances and carrying large round shields painted red on their left sides. They were equipped with helmets but wore no armour on their legs or arms. They were probably wearing some sort of body armour — leather most likely — though I could not tell at this range. On the wings Phriapatius had placed his horse archers to match our own mounted bowmen.

The Carmanians halted around five hundred paces in front of us and after a tense few minutes in which neither side made any movement a solitary rider emerged from where Phriapatius was mounted on his horse in front of his banner: a huge golden peacock on a red background. The horseman galloped towards us as an officer of my cataphracts similarly left his position to meet him. This was standard protocol and indicated that Phriapatius wished to talk, which was a good sign at least.

The riders halted before each other in the middle of the space between the two armies, and following the briefest of discourses my officer returned to state that Phriapatius wished to talk with me.

‘How many in his party?’ I asked.

‘Four, majesty, including the king.’

I turned to Nergal. ‘I would consider it an honour if you and Praxima would accompany me,’ then I laid a hand on Gallia’s arm. ‘You too.’

We nudged our horses forward and walked them slowly into no-man’s land, our hands clutching our reins and well away from our sword hilts. There was little danger of violence between us but such gestures showed good faith when meeting with potential enemies. I looked behind me to see the lone figure of Domitus, white crest atop his helmet, standing a hundred paces beyond the front rank of the Durans. I felt a pang of sorrow when I looked across at the Exiles where there was no Kronos present.

‘I will find you, Mithridates,’ I heard myself say, ‘and you will pay for all your crimes.’

‘What?’ Gallia was looking at me quizzically.

‘Nothing.’

We brought our horses to a halt ten paces from Phriapatius’ party. He looked much the same as the last time I had met him at the Tigris where he had professed his reluctance at being part of the alliance forged by Narses and Mithridates. Now Narses was dead and Mithridates a fugitive. Their alliance was smashed, which begged the question: now neighbouring Persis and Sakastan no longer threatened Carmania, what action was Phriapatius taking?

Not a particularly imposing figure, the King of Carmania was of medium height with broad shoulders, a thick black beard and a large nose. Like many of the people who inhabited the lands near the Arabian Sea his skin and eyes were a dark brown. He regarded me with those eyes before his mouth broke into a broad grin.

‘We got here as fast as we could,’ he said. ‘As lord high general I thought you might appreciate some assistance.’

I have to confess that relief swept through me. ‘You are most welcome, lord. But I made no demand on your presence in these parts.’

‘When I heard that Mithridates had returned to haunt Parthia I suspected that you might need all the help you could muster, especially with the Romans and Armenians threatening the empire as well.’

‘You thought right,’ I answered.

Phriapatius spread his arms wide. ‘But I am forgetting my manners.’ He bowed his head to Nergal and Praxima. ‘I am pleased that we are meeting under happier circumstances and would welcome closer relations between the Kingdoms of Carmania and Mesene.’

This was an interesting moment as the last time Nergal and Praxima had met with Phriapatius had been after they had chased him and his army out of Mesene and back across the Tigris. He had invaded their kingdom and for an anxious moment I thought that Nergal might throw his peaceful overtures back in his face.

Nergal nodded at Phriapatius. ‘We would like that also.’

Phriapatius looked relieved and grinned once more. He held out a hand to the two younger men sitting behind him. Like him they were dressed in open-faced bronze helmets, short-sleeved silver scale armour cuirasses with sculptured bronze plates bearing peacock motifs on their shoulders, red silk shirts and expensive red boots on their feet. They had been present at our previous meeting.

‘These are my sons,’ said Phriapatius, ‘Phanes and Peroz.’ He looked at the fourth member of his party, an older man in a simple iron scale-armour cuirass with a rather battered helmet on his head. Grey hair showed beneath his headdress but his eyes were clear and alert.

‘And this is Lord Nazir, the commander of my army.’

Nazir gave the slightest nod but his eyes never left Gallia, whose identity was as yet unknown to the Carmanians. Phriapatius also looked curiously at the helmeted figure of my wife.

‘Lord king,’ I said, ‘you are already acquainted with me and the rulers of Mesene, but may I introduce my wife, Queen Gallia of Dura?’

Gallia removed her helmet and bowed her head at a clearly delighted Phriapatius. ‘So, at long last I meet Dura’s warrior queen whose name and fame has spread to the furthest extent of the empire and beyond. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, lady.’

Gallia gave him a dazzling smile. ‘You honour me, lord.’

Phriapatius slapped his hands together. ‘This has been a most excellent meeting. You must all dine with me tonight in my tent before we all journey together to Seleucia.’

‘Alas, lord king,’ I said, ‘we are on urgent business that takes us into the east.’

Phriapatius raised his eyebrows knowingly at me. ‘But perhaps not.’

He turned and raised his hand and I saw three riders emerge from the Carmanian ranks. Gallia and Praxima, suspecting treachery, reached behind them to pull their bows from their cases.

Phriapatius held up his hands. ‘It is no trick I promise. Rather it is a gift for you, King Pacorus.’

Intrigued, I watched as the three horsemen approached in a line and saw that the two on the outside were soldiers escorting the one in the middle, whose reins were being held by the horsemen on his left. The middle rider had what appeared to be a sack over his head and his hands were pinioned behind his back. As they drew alongside Phriapatius I also saw that the feet of the covered rider were tied together under the belly of his horse. He was obviously a prisoner of some sort. Most odd.

The soldier who had been holding the prisoner’s reins continued to keep a tight grip on them as Phriapatius manoeuvred his horse to bring him to the left-hand side of the prisoner.

‘We encountered him two days ago. He rode boldly into my camp with a score of horsemen and demanded my allegiance.’ He reached over and pulled the sack off the prisoner’s head. ‘Imagine that. Insolent wretch.’

They had gagged Mithridates so he could not speak but he looked with wide, terror-filled eyes at his mortal enemies before him.

‘He took my two youngest sons as hostages when he was high king,’ continued Phriapatius, ‘to ensure my loyalty. When King Orodes became high king the first thing he did was to send my sons back to me unharmed. That in itself was enough for me to pledge my loyalty to the new king of kings. I therefore hand over his miserable stepbrother to you, King Pacorus, to do with as you see fit.’

I could not contain my joy as I slapped Nergal on the arm and then pulled Gallia towards me to kiss her on the cheek. Phanes and Peroz grinned and Gallia politely shoved me away, smiling as she did so. I could not believe my luck. After all these years and after the spilling of so much blood I had him. I had killed his partner in treachery and now I saw Mithridates bound and helpless on a horse a few paces from me. It truly was a great day and I thanked the gods for their generosity.

I dismounted and picked up the sack that Phriapatius had yanked off Mithridates. I regained my saddle and replaced it over the tyrant’s head.

‘Much better,’ I announced. ‘There are no words that can convey my gratitude, lord king. I can only offer an invitation for you and your men to ride with me to Seleucia where justice will be administered.’

Phriapatius grinned and bowed his head as Mithridates thrashed around as much as his fetters allowed him to do so, and from under the sack we heard muffled sounds as he tried to shout something.

‘We would be honoured,’ replied Phriapatius.

I left Domitus to bring the legions back to the city as I rode at speed in the company of Carmania’s, Dura’s and Nergal’s horsemen back to Seleucia. Once we had arrived Mithridates was confined in one of the palace’s towers with Udall, the rapidly fading Nicetas and the Sarmatian commander. Guards were posted in and around the tower, on the walls and throughout the palace compound as a precaution against any rescue attempts, though as Domitus pointed out when he and his men reached the city six hours after we had arrived, who would want to rescue Mithridates?

After washing and changing into fresh clothes and when night had fallen I went with Domitus to see him and the others. They had all been given food, water and fresh apparel, though I had ordered that Nicetas be removed to a separate, more comfortable room as he was falling in and out of consciousness and Alcaeus informed me that he would probably not last another day.

‘He has lost too much blood. The arrow that Gallia put in him shattered his shoulder joint and I could not stop the bleeding.’

‘She knows how to shoot a bow,’ I replied. ‘Try to keep him alive until the morning.’

‘So you can execute him,’ said Alcaeus.

‘Yes,’ I replied coldly.

‘Hardly seems worthwhile,’ he mused.

‘Justice has to be seen to be done,’ I told him.

‘He’s the son of Narses,’ said Domitus, ‘if he lives he will try to kill Pacorus to avenge his father. I would rather have him dead than Pacorus.’

Alcaeus laid a hand on my arm. ‘So would I.’

We were on the ground floor of the tower that held the prisoners and from the first floor we could hear the almost hysterical voice of Mithridates.

‘I demand to see King Pacorus! How dare you hold me here like a common criminal. I am the king of kings!’

The six legionaries who guarded the entrance to the tower looked at each other and rolled their eyes. I had placed Thumelicus in charge of the prisoners and he now descended the stone steps next to the wall that led to the floor above.

‘Do you want me to put his gag back on?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I will see him, if only to shut him up.’

Domitus looked concerned. ‘He might try to attack you. You know what a slippery bastard he is.’

‘I’ll take that risk,’ I said. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

Domitus drew his sword. ‘I’m coming with you.’

Thumelicus preceded us as we ascended the steps to arrive at the storeroom in which the captives were held. Two guards stood either side of the thick wooden door and two more sat at a table opposite, standing to attention when they saw us. Thumelicus ordered the door to be opened and then went inside, reappearing moments later with a firm hold on Mithridates’ arm.

‘Unhand me you brute,’ he snapped as he struggled in vain to free himself of Thumelicus’ iron grip. He froze when he saw me and for a second I thought I saw fear in his eyes, to be quickly replaced by contempt.

‘I wish to see my brother,’ he demanded.

I nodded at Thumelicus to let go of his arm. ‘Your stepbrother is at Hatra dealing with the Armenian threat, but then you would know of that.’

His dark brown, almost black eyes looked away. ‘I know nothing of the affairs of Armenia.’

Domitus guffawed, earning him a hateful stare from Mithridates.

‘And I suppose you know nothing of the recent Roman threat to the empire, notwithstanding that you have been their guest these past few months?’ I queried.

‘I do not deny it,’ he replied haughtily. ‘The Romans were kind enough to offer me and my mother sanctuary after my brother and his deluded allies forced us to flee for our lives.’

‘And provide you with an army to invade the Parthian Empire,’ I replied.

A smirk creased his lips. ‘As king of kings I have every right to use whatever means I deem fit to regain my throne from usurpers.’

‘Such as bringing Thracian and Sarmatian mercenaries into the empire to slaughter its inhabitants,’ I suggested.

‘No worse than enlisting Agraci vermin into your service,’ he shot back, then turned his reptile-like face towards Domitus. ‘But then, what can one expect of a king who surrounds himself with freed slaves, criminals and the like?’

‘You and the others are to be executed tomorrow morning,’ I announced, prompting Domitus to raise his eyebrows.

Mithridates laughed. ‘Even you would not dare to commit such an outrage. I have the right to be tried by a council of my peers.’

Anger began to stir within me. ‘You have no rights! You are a murderer who is responsible for the deaths of countless thousands of people. You killed your father, sent assassins to kill me and plunged the empire into a ruinous civil war that has left it weak and vulnerable to outside aggressors. You have furthermore entered into treasonous negotiations with external powers aimed at destroying the empire and reducing it to a vassal state of Rome. One of these crimes alone would warrant a death sentence.’

‘That is your opinion, King Pacorus,’ he sneered, ‘but it may not be the view of the other kings of the empire, kings who regard you as the reason the empire is in its present dire state.’

‘I am not a murderer,’ I snarled.

His eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘Are you not? How many kings have you killed? Let my see. There was Porus and Narses. And how many other kings have you got killed? Vardan, Farhad and your father. I hardly think you are qualified to lecture me about the spilling of blood. You should look at your own hands; there is enough of it on them. Have you considered that if it had not been for you and your army there would have been no civil war? All the other kings of the empire accepted my accession to the high throne, all except you. And because of your continued intransigence you provoked me into taking actions to safeguard the future of the empire.’

I was dumbfounded. ‘You mean sending assassins to kill me?’

‘The king of kings must take all necessary measures to safeguard the empire’s security,’ he replied seriously.

He actually believed his own words. I was rendered speechless.

‘The death of one man,’ he continued, ‘in order to preserve the integrity of the empire is a small price to pay. But I failed and then you marched against me, and the conflict that followed sucked in the kingdoms of Babylon, Mesene, Hatra, Margiana, Hyrcania and all the eastern realms. Ask yourself this, King Pacorus: was it you or I who was responsible for this? I think the Council of Kings should decide.’

The Council of Kings met at Esfahan, a city nearly two hundred miles east of Susa, where all the rulers of the empire’s kingdoms came together to settle disputes by diplomacy rather than by the sword. At least that was the theory. At such a gathering many years ago we had elected Phraates, the father of Orodes and Mithridates, to be king of kings and where King Narses of Persis had put himself forward to wear the high crown. Mithridates looked at me with a smug expression. Legally he was right: a council should be called to determine his fate. And I knew what the result of such a meeting would be — his serpent tongue would most likely extricate him from any blame regarding the empire’s troubles. Even Orodes, who had suffered banishment and disgrace at his stepbrother’s hands, would baulk at sanctioning his execution.

I looked at Domitus and then at Mithridates. ‘This is your last night on earth. There is nothing left to say.’

I nodded to Thumelicus, turned and walked down the steps followed by Domitus. As we did so the voice of Mithridates echoed round the tower.

‘You would not dare kill me. I am high king! I demand to see my brother!’

Then he was bundled back into the storeroom and the door was slammed shut.

Domitus replaced his sword in its scabbard as he walked beside me back to the palace.

‘Is he right about that council?’

‘In theory, yes,’ I answered, ‘but it could take months to organise, perhaps longer while we are preoccupied with the Armenians and Romans, and time tends to blur the collective memory. Mithridates knows this and thinks that he will be sent into exile once more. Sent back to Roman Syria to foment more plots. I cannot allow that.’

He stopped and grabbed my arm. ‘If you kill him there are those who will frown upon your actions.’

I sighed. ‘You mean Orodes.’

He nodded. ‘Among others. It is no small thing to execute a king. All the other rulers that have fallen have done so in battle. When was the last time a Parthian king was executed by one of his own?’

‘Mithridates murdered his father, Phraates,’ I answered.

‘There is no proof of that, Pacorus.’

‘I believe it to be so, Domitus. That is all the proof I need.’ I looked at him. ‘Tell me, if you were in my position what would you do?’

He thought for a moment. ‘Kill him.’

And so we did.

In front of the palace at Seleucia, between the gatehouse and the grand building itself, is a large paved area that was created during the time of the founding of the city by Seleucus I Nicator. I decided that it would be a suitable venue for the executions, being able to accommodate a large number of people who would bear witness to the event. I ordered Domitus to use the Durans to man what was left of the city walls and patrol the streets to enforce the curfew that was put in place until the condemned had been executed. Three cohorts of the Exiles would be drawn up on three side of the square, with more of their comrades lining the walls facing inwards to bear witness. On the north side of the square where the palace stood, I, together with Gallia, my senior officers, Nergal, Praxima, Phriapatius and his sons, would observe proceedings from the top of the palace steps.

So eager had I been to rid the world of Mithridates that I had given no thought to the manner in which he would be put to death. Domitus suggested crucifixion while Vagises favoured impalement. Though the thought of Mithridates wriggling on the end of a sharpened pole hammered into his rectum or nailed to a cross was appealing I decided against both methods. For one thing the victim could take days to expire and I wanted Mithridates dead as quickly as possible. In the end we settled on strangulation, but then had to organise the making of four crosses that would be set upright in the ground, against which the condemned would be secured. That night a dozen of the city’s carpenters laboured to fashion the crosses, which when ready were transported to the palace and planted in the ground, but not before several of the flagstones had to be removed so holes could be dug in the earth underneath.

The dawn came soon enough and with it the procession of the condemned from their tower to the place of execution. Rank upon rank of Exiles stood motionless as three of the prisoners were escorted in a single file into the square, two legionaries carrying the unconscious Nicetas by the arms behind them.

I stood between Gallia on my right side and Nergal on my left as the men made their final journey on earth. I think Mithridates still did not believe he was going to die as he cast disdainful glances left and right before fixing me with a hateful stare. Gallia sneered at him but he ignored her as he scanned those gathered on the steps. He noticed Phriapatius and spat on the ground to show his disgust. Phriapatius grunted contemptuously in reply.

Four burly centurions had been given the task of being executioners, the one earmarked to throttle Mithridates being Thumelicus. As two legionaries manhandled the former king of kings against his cross the realisation that he was going to die finally gripped him. His eyes bulged wide as his arms were pinioned to the crossbeam and then he began shaking violently as his legs were bound tightly to the post.

Beside him Udall threw up and began pleading with the guards to let him go, saying he had been forced into Mithridates’ service. When the leather straps were fastened around his legs he pissed himself in fear. In comparison the Thracian showed no emotion as he was secured against the cross, looking at me with an unwavering iron stare, while next to him the limp body of Nicetas was lashed to his cross.

Mithridates was whimpering by now, looking at us with tear-filled eyes, imploring us to save him, after which he began sobbing like a small child, entreating us to show pity. But there was no mercy within us that day. I took no pleasure in killing helpless individuals but the memory of my father, Godarz, Drenis and Kronos steeled my determination.

With the victims secured those standing behind them placed leather straps around their necks, the straps being twisted with sticks behind the posts to tighten them round the condemned necks. The executioners looked at me and I nodded, then they twisted the sticks further to choke the prisoners. Thumelicus, being the big angry brute he was, twisted the stick so quickly that he actually broke Mithridates’ neck, the sharp crack being heard around the windless square. Within a minute it was all over and the victims’ bodies hung limply on their crosses.

Domitus dismissed the cohorts as we returned to the palace. I thought I would be elated but actually I felt relieved; relieved that the spectre of Mithridates that had haunted the empire for so long was no more. But in many ways his death was an irrelevance to the strategic situation. The Armenians still controlled all of northern Hatra and parts of Gordyene, and soon Crassus would arrive at the head of his army to further add to the empire’s troubles.

Domitus suggested that we hang the bodies of the executed from the city walls but I ordered them to be burned and their ashes scattered over the Tigris. Those Cilicians and Sarmatians that had been captured were sent under escort to Axsen at Babylon, there to serve her kingdom as slaves for the rest of their lives. They numbered less than five thousand but at least they could be distributed among the kingdom’s villages to assist in the rebuilding work being undertaken in the aftermath of two invasions at the hands of Narses and Mithridates.

The captives left the next morning, a column of unshaven, barefoot, filthy men chained together and escorted by five hundred of Vagises’ horse archers, who were under orders to kill any that showed any signs of rebelliousness. Sitting on Remus near what had been Seleucia’s gatehouse I watched them trudge out of the city west towards Babylon, their heads cast down, a sullen silence hanging over them. The only sounds were the tramp of their feet on the ground and the clinking of the chains around their ankles.

‘You do not seem very pleased with your victory,’ said Gallia on Epona beside me.

I pointed at the line of slaves. ‘That was me once, in Cappadocia many years ago. Chained just like that and condemned to a life of slavery.’

‘Then free them,’ she said, ‘it is within your power if you find their circumstances so disagreeable.’

‘I cannot. They will only cause trouble and Babylonia needs all the manpower it can get to repair the devastation visited upon it.’

‘You could always enlist them in the army,’ she suggested.

I was appalled. ‘Dura does not use mercenaries, men who would change sides for a few drachmas. They are untrustworthy, expensive and lack discipline.’

‘Well, then, you are better off without them. At least Axsen will be able to make use of them.’

In front of us the end of the column walked disconsolately out of Seleucia and into the desert.

The next day Axsen herself arrived at the city escorted by a hundred purple-clad riders. This time we stood at the foot of the palace steps to greet the queen whose city this was. She slid off her horse as I bowed my head to her. She embraced me and then Gallia, Nergal and Praxima and I introduced her to Phriapatius and his sons. It was a potentially awkward moment as the king had formerly been an ally of Mithridates and Narses. But Axsen smiled warmly at him and Phriapatius for his part was most eager to endear himself to Babylon’s queen and the king of king’s wife.

‘Carmania stands ready to assist your majesty in any way that you see fit,’ he promised as he and his sons laid their right hands on their chests and bowed deeply to her.

Axsen was delighted by their pledge of allegiance. ‘You are very kind and I thank you. Babylon is delighted to have Carmania as an ally.’

Axsen turned and ushered forward the commander of her escort. I recognised him as the officer I had first encountered at Babylon’s Marduk Gate following Narses’ second siege of the city.

‘This is Demaratus. I have appointed him commander of Babylon’s garrison. He is a man Lord Mardonius had great faith in.’

I thought I detected Axsen’s voice falter when she mentioned the dead commander of Babylon’s army, but she smiled when Demaratus bowed his head to us.

‘It is good to see you again, Demaratus,’ I told him.

‘And you, majesty,’ he replied.

I walked beside Axsen as we ascended the steps and entered the palace. Legionaries were standing at every stone pillar and at every doorway.

‘I see that my palace is well guarded, Pacorus,’ Axsen noted as we walked across the intricately laid mosaics that led to the columned courtyard.

‘Babylon’s security is always uppermost in my mind, majesty,’ I replied.

Axsen giggled. ‘Oh, Pacorus, always so formal. And thank you for the gift of the slaves. We passed them on the road. They will prove most useful.’

At the entrance to the royal suite we halted and bowed to her as she took her leave, asking for Gallia and Praxima to accompany her into her private chambers. In the palace square meanwhile, workmen were re-laying the stone slabs that had been removed to allow the wooden crosses to be planted in the ground.

Later Axsen gave a great feast in the banqueting hall in celebration of our victory at Seleucia. Thus far she had said nothing concerning the execution of Mithridates but did so now as I sat beside her at the high table before the assembly of all the senior officers of the armies of Dura, Mesene and Carmania and the queen’s Babylonians.

‘I am glad he is dead,’ she told me, ‘but I fear Orodes may not approve of your actions.

This came as no surprise to me. ‘As his lord high general I acted according to what I believed would serve the empire best, majesty. At the very least Mithridates will no longer be a figure for malcontents to rally around. The empire cannot afford to be fighting a civil war at the same time as a conflict with the Romans and Armenians.’

‘What will the Armenians do now that the Romans have decided to invade Egypt rather than Parthia?’ she asked, a slave pouring wine into her gold rhyton.

I waved the girl away when she held the silver jug over my drinking vessel. ‘Tigranes has conquered northern Hatra and his soldiers are camped only sixty miles or so from the city itself, but without siege engines he has little hope of seizing it, especially now Orodes is there to reinforce Gafarn.’

Axsen sipped at her wine. ‘But Tigranes has agreed to a cessation of hostilities, has he not?’

I smiled. ‘Only because it suits him to do so. His forces muster at Nisibus and his son campaigns to conquer Gordyene. With a hundred thousand men at least he can afford to pick his moment to attack us again, and let us not forget that Crassus will be arriving in Syria soon.’

She replaced her rhyton on the table. ‘You do not paint a very rosy picture, Pacorus.’

‘It would have been far worse had Aulus Gabinius struck east instead of south.’

‘It was a miracle that he did so.’

I thought of Dobbai’s night ritual. ‘Yes, a miracle indeed.’

The assembled officers enjoyed the evening immensely and as the time passed and the wine flowed drunken oaths of loyalty were pledged between all and sundry. Thumelicus managed to find a Carmanian who was bigger than he and the two of them stood on a table and declared their undying friendship. The bearded Carmanian monster held Thumelicus’ arm aloft and declared to the assembled that the German was the slayer of maskim, to which everyone cheered and drank more wine.

‘Who is maskim?’ asked Gallia as Thumelicus and his new companion fell off the table onto the floor to rapturous applause.

‘Demons of the underworld,’ answered Axsen.

‘He was the one who strangled Mithridates,’ I said, pointing at the very drunk Thumelicus whose nose was bleeding profusely from hitting it on the floor.

‘Then his new title is most apt,’ replied Axsen.

Notwithstanding the descent into mass drunkenness the evening went well and it was good to see Axsen smiling, though she must have been grieving for the dead Mardonius and missing Orodes terribly. I drank too much wine and had to be helped to bed by a very merry Gallia who wanted me to make love to her. I remember hurriedly stripping off as my wife disrobed. I lay down on the bed, and then inexplicably tried to unwind the bandage on my left arm before passing out.

I woke up to loud banging on the door to our room and opened my lead-like eyelids with difficulty, the banging and shouting from behind the door making my headache worse.

‘Majesties,’ I heard a man shout, ‘your presence is required in the throne room.’

The thumping on the door continued and I saw Gallia rise from the bed.

‘Enough!’ I shouted, sending a spasm of pain through my skull. ‘We hear you! Stop banging on the door or I will have you flogged.’

The banging ceased abruptly and I hauled myself to my feet. I had a mighty hangover, my head hurt, my stomach was delicate and my mouth felt parched.

‘Queen Axsen is asking for you, majesties,’ said the male voice.

I walked over to the door and was about to open it when Gallia called to me.

‘Are you going to put some clothes on or are you intent on frightening the guards?’

I realised that I was naked and so picked up my shirt and then pulled on my leggings as Gallia wrapped a robe round herself.

‘Tell the queen we will be with her shortly,’ I called to the guard.

Ten minutes later, feeling the worse for wear, we walked into the throne room to find Nergal, Praxima and Phriapatius already in attendance.

‘I am sorry for disturbing your sleep,’ said a smiling Axsen, ‘but I thought you would like to hear the latest news from the north.’

My heart sank. The Armenians must have taken advantage of our disappearance from Hatra to launch an attack against the city. I looked forlornly at Gallia. Surely the city had not fallen?

Axsen stood with a letter in her hand. ‘The gods have sent another miracle. Tigranes is dead.’

Gallia smiled and then threw her arms round me. Nergal offered me his hand and I took it before Praxima kissed me on my unshaven cheek.

‘Dead?’ I asked. ‘How?’

She sat back down on her throne and held up the letter.

‘This arrived earlier from Hatra. Word reached the city two days ago that the Armenian king had died peacefully in his bed at Nisibus.’

I was most surprised. ‘The last time I saw him he was fit and healthy, despite his great age.’

Axsen nodded. ‘Orodes states that all the reports he has heard confirm that Tigranes was in rude health and after an evening meal retired to his bedchamber as normal. Rumour is that a wolf was heard howling very near to the palace in the city and that despite soldiers carrying out searches in and around the building no animal could be found, but its howling was heard by all and sundry throughout the night.

‘In the morning servants went to rouse the king but found him dead in his bed. Most strange.’

I looked at Gallia who cast me a knowing glance — the magic of Dobbai continued to work it would appear.

‘What does this mean?’ asked Phriapatius.

‘It means, lord,’ I said, ‘that Parthia is in a far better position that it was a week ago. Mithridates and his rebellion have been crushed and now Tigranes is dead. His son Artavasdes will become the King of Armenia, but he does not have the talents of his father.’

‘The gods smile on the empire,’ said Phriapatius with satisfaction.

‘They might still piss on it,’ pondered Nergal, looking at the surprised faces of Axsen, Gallia and Praxima, ‘begging your pardon, ladies. But the Armenians still have an army of one hundred thousand men and Crassus is still on his way.’

‘Nergal is right,’ I agreed, ‘but at least we have more time in which to plan our next course of action.’

After I had washed and eaten breakfast Axsen convened a council of war on the spacious veranda in the palace’s north wing.

Against a backdrop of stunning views of the Tigris and the surrounding terrain the queen asked for my advice in my capacity of lord high general. It felt more like a gathering of friends for a picnic than a council of war. Apart from Phriapatius I had known the others present for years so the meeting had a very relaxed air about it. Nergal sat with his feet on a stool while Gallia and Praxima were seated either side of Axsen.

‘I will take my army back to Dura,’ I announced first. ‘Despite Tigranes’ death the Armenians remain the main threat before Crassus arrives.’

‘We will be coming with you,’ said Nergal, prompting Praxima to smile at me. ‘If Hatra falls then there will be nothing to stop the Armenians and Romans marching south into Babylon and then Mesene.’

‘I will stay with my army if you wish, Pacorus,’ offered Phriapatius, prompting Axsen to smile at him.

It was a generous offer and thirty thousand troops would certainly strengthen a weakened Babylon. However, thirty thousand men and thirty thousand horses, to say nothing of the thousands of camels that attended the king’s army, would place an enormous strain on the already overburdened resources of the kingdom. Such a large number of men and beasts would quickly empty the granaries of Seleucia and nearby Kish and Jem det Nasr.

‘I was thinking rather, lord,’ I said to him, ‘that you would consider being deputy lord high general to keep the east of the empire secure, and to garrison the cities of Persepolis and Sigal on behalf of King Orodes.’

Persepolis was the capital of the Kingdom of Persis, formerly ruled by Narses, while Sigal was the capital of neighbouring Sakastan, formerly ruled by King Porus but subsequently absorbed by Narses. Now those two cities were garrisoned by troops taken from Babylonia and Susiana. It made sense for them to be replaced with loyal troops so that they could be sent back to their respective kingdoms, especially Babylon, which had recently lost its garrison at Seleucia.

Phriapatius was surprised. ‘A most generous offer, King Pacorus,’ he looked at Nergal, ‘but there may be those who would object to such an appointment. It was not long ago that we were at war and now you wish me to keep watch over the lands east of the Tigris.’

‘I know that you were an unwilling participant in the alliance of Narses and Mithridates,’ I said, ‘but I leave it to King Nergal to have the final say in the matter. It was, after all, his kingdom your army marched into during the recent civil war.’

Everyone shifted uncomfortably in his or her chairs but Nergal bore no grudges. The fact was that he had confined the Carmanian Army into a narrow corridor and had forced it to retreat back across the Tigris before it could do any major damage to his kingdom, and Phriapatius to his credit had kept his men under tight control and had not allowed them to rape or plunder.

‘Mesene has lost sons and so has Carmania,’ said Nergal. ‘Parthia will not benefit from our continued enmity.’

‘Well said,’ commented Axsen.

‘There is an old saying, lord,’ I said to Phriapatius. ‘Actions speak louder than words. Of all the eastern kings only you have offered aid; only you have marched your army hundreds of miles to stand by our side. Not only that, you handed over Mithridates and in so doing helped to finally put an end to the civil war that had bled the empire white. All these things you have done and asked no reward in return. The truth is that we are in your debt, lord king, and to bestow this position on you is the least I can do.’

Phriapatius seemed very pleased by my words and accepted my proposal while Axsen was most content that her soldiers would be returning to garrison Seleucia, the walls of which would have to be rebuilt.

‘What is left of the royal treasury at Ctesiphon can pay for that,’ said Axsen. ‘If we have time to do so before the Romans and Armenians arrive.’

‘It is my task to ensure that they do not, majesty,’ I said.

After the meeting I was cornered by Phriapatius as the others were leaving.

‘A word, Pacorus.’

‘Problems, lord?’

‘It is my youngest son, Peroz.’

‘A fine young man,’ I said, ‘you must be very proud of him.’

‘He wishes to serve under you.’

‘I am flattered, lord, that he should think so highly of me.’

Phriapatius nodded. ‘So you would not object if he accompanied you north to Hatra?’

I was surprised to say the least by his request. ‘We go to fight, lord. That being the case I cannot guarantee the safety of your son. It would sit heavily with me if he was killed in my service.’

Phriapatius took my elbow. ‘Walk with me.’

We followed the others from the north wing of the palace towards the large open courtyard.

‘Peroz has talked incessantly of Pacorus of Dura ever since he heard about you defeating the elephants of King Porus. He is brave if a little headstrong and yearns to prove himself in battle. Phanes, my eldest son, is the heir to my throne and the star of Carmania, but Peroz grows restless in his shadow. Alas there is little love between them and I fear that soon their mutual animosity may erupt into open hostility. Peroz is popular among the people and there are many who would rally to his side if, after I have left this world, hostilities break out. It would suit me and my kingdom if they could be kept apart.’

‘If he came with me he would be very far from home, lord.’

The king put his arm round my shoulder. ‘But in excellent company. What do you say?’

‘I repeat: I would not be able to guarantee his safety.’

He smiled. ‘Tell you what, if I allocated five thousand of my soldiers to take care of him would you be more amenable to him joining you?’

Five thousand horsemen would indeed be a welcome addition to the army that would be marching north to face the Armenians.

‘Very well, lord,’ I answered. ‘And you say Peroz is happy to join me?’

‘He will be ecstatic,’ beamed Phriapatius.

And so he was. The next day the army marched north back to Hatra along with Nergal’s men and five thousand Carmanian horse archers. Phriapatius headed back to his homeland via Persepolis and Sigal where he would leave garrisons to ensure the continued loyalty of those kingdoms. I had to admit that I was most satisfied by the turn of events. Not only did Musa and Khosrou safeguard the northeast corner of the empire but now the southeast of Parthia was also secure. These two bastions of loyalty would at the very least ensure that the eastern part of the empire remained at peace for the foreseeable future.

Like Nergal’s troops the Carmanians also wore red tops, though long-sleeved shirts rather than woollen kaftans, but Peroz himself wore a blue silk shirt with gold stitched to the arms. Like his father he was of medium height though he was more handsome, with a square jaw, light brown eyes and a clean-shaven face. He did not seem concerned in the slightest that his father had left him behind. In fact he seemed positively relieved to be away from his brother.

‘In my homeland he is called the “gilded peacock” because he spends all his time strutting around in his bronze and silver armour.’

‘He will be king one day, Peroz,’ I said.

‘As he never fails to remind me,’ replied the prince dryly.

‘You should try to get on with your brother,’ I told him, ‘he is family after all.’

‘A man can choose his friends, majesty,’ he replied, ‘but he has to put up with his family.’

Gallia and Praxima laughed and he smiled at them. He was an agreeable individual who was fascinated by Dura’s army, particularly the Durans and Exiles and Marcus’ machines, which were now disassembled and loaded back on their ox carts. These beasts limited our progress to between fifteen and twenty miles each day and so it took us fourteen days to reach Hatra. Each night we slept in a camp surrounded by a ditch and palisade despite being in friendly territory. Peroz thought this highly amusing.

‘Parthians do not fight at night, majesty,’ he informed us all on the first night as we dined in my tent.

‘The Romans do,’ replied Domitus curtly.

‘But surely the Romans are many miles away in Syria?’ he said.

A wicked grin spread across Domitus’ face. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘What my general is saying, Peroz, is that the army is more secure behind defences rather than having hundreds of tents, horses and wagons exposed in the open.’

Marcus complained about the extra food and fodder required to support the Carmanians and their horses but I told him that we would need all the troops we could muster when we fought the Armenians.

‘You reckon we will be fighting them, then?’ queried Domitus as he walked alongside our horses the next day, the usual dust cloud hanging over the army like a huge yellow desert phantom.

‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘With Tigranes dead they have lost their most able commander and their morale will be low. It is the perfect time to fight them. We also need to deal with them before Crassus arrives.’

He nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

‘We also need to retake Nisibus,’ I added. ‘It is an affront to my father’s memory that the second city in his kingdom is in the hands of the enemy.’

He raised his vine cane in acknowledgement and then headed towards the rear to inspect the Durans and Exiles in their marching order.

‘Majesty,’ Peroz said to Gallia, ‘Domitus is the general of your army?’

Gallia nodded.

‘Why then does he have no horse?’

‘He prefers to walk,’ she answered.

‘What happens to him if your army is forced to make a hasty retreat?’ he asked.

‘Dura’s army never makes a hasty retreat,’ I said. ‘Sometimes a slow and methodical tactical withdrawal but never a hasty retreat.’

‘I will have my father send General Domitus one of his largest elephants,’ said Peroz, ‘and then he will be able to sit on a throne on its back so he can look down on his foot soldiers.’

Gallia, Nergal and Praxima burst out laughing and even Vagharsh riding behind us chuckled.

‘I think Domitus is happier on his own two feet, Peroz,’ I said.

‘General Domitus does not like elephants?’ enquired Peroz.

‘He is a Roman, Peroz,’ said Gallia, ‘so he dislikes thrones. The Romans have no kings.’

Peroz looked horrified. ‘No kings? Then who rules them?’

‘They have what is called a republic,’ I answered, ‘in which the people elect their rulers.’

Peroz shook his head. ‘Most odd.’

Gafarn and Orodes met us five miles from Hatra’s eastern gates accompanied by the whole of Hatra’s royal bodyguard, which I was delighted to discover was led by Vistaspa. Looking a little gaunt and somewhat awkward in the saddle he was still an imposing figure.

‘It is good to see you on a horse again,’ I told him.

‘The leg has never healed properly,’ he replied, ‘but at least I can still ride.’

‘We will need you when we fight the Armenians,’ I said.

‘Yes, majesty,’ he replied flatly.

Gafarn seemed much happier than when I had left him and Orodes was his usual correct and charming self, making a great fuss of Peroz and enquiring after his father and brothers and making no mention of Carmania’s former hostility.

When we reached Hatra there was no longer a pall of despondency hanging over it. The streets were bustling, the markets busy and there were caravans on the roads both entering and leaving the city. People cheered our party as it wound its way towards the palace where it was met by a beaming Diana dressed in a long white gown, a glittering golden crown on her head. My mother, similarly attired in white, sported a diadem. In addition to Assur, Addu and Kogan, a small army of priests, lords, their wives and palace officials were standing to one side.

As stable hands took our horses I walked forward to embrace Diana and then my mother, who had regained some of her former vim but still looked a little drawn. I was pleased to discover that neither of my sisters was present but slightly surprised that Atrax was also not in attendance.

That night we were treated to a lavish feast at which I was introduced to an Armenian envoy! I initially thought it was one of Gafarn’s jokes but Orodes informed me that the man had been given a house in the city to facilitate negotiations between Parthia and Armenia.

‘We have agreed a fledgling peace treaty with Artavasdes,’ he replied.

I was dumbfounded. ‘Peace treaty?’

‘Yes, Pacorus, we are no longer at war with Armenia.’