Carrhae

Chapter 7

I held the letter from Gafarn in my hand as the son of the man I had revered stood in front of me in the throne room. Gallia, having changed after her morning on the shooting ranges, had taken her seat beside me after learning that Hatra’s prince had arrived at Dura. Orodes had taken Axsen to see Spandarat in his stronghold where they would spend the night, leaving me to deal with this unexpected problem. Gafarn had entrusted the officer of his escort with the letter, which I read and handed to Gallia. She shook her head after perusing its contents and handed it back to me.

The prince had not known of the letter’s existence until now and though his curiosity was aroused when he saw it he feigned indifference, maintaining an air of brashness bordering on insolence as he folded his arms across his chest.

I held the letter up to him. ‘It does not make for pleasant reading and is hardly the conduct becoming of a prince of Hatra. Your parents must be very disappointed in you. If you had committed these offences in Dura you would have been flogged.’

At that moment Zenobia entered the chamber and Gallia beckoned her over. My wife’s second-in-command wore a tight-fitting white shirt that clung to her ample breasts while her leggings accentuated her shapely behind and womanly hips. She bowed her head to me and then spoke softly to Gallia, who smiled and nodded before Zenobia turned on her heels and left our presence. The eyes of the young prince were glued to her body as she walked past him.

‘He might get flogged today for his disrespectful attitude,’ remarked Gallia casually when she noted his leering.

‘How old are you, Spartacus?’ I asked.

‘Sixteen,’ he replied proudly.

‘Sixteen. And in the last twelve months you have broken the nose of a fellow squire, beat another senseless, had numerous fights with Lord Kogan’s guards, insulted the priests of the Great Temple, had too much to drink at a royal banquet and tried to ravish a nobleman’s daughter. Finally, and perhaps most seriously, you attempted to seduce a novice of the Sisters of Shamash. More mischief than most men achieve in a lifetime.

‘Have you anything to say?’

He held my stare. ‘I was provoked.’

Gallia stifled a laugh.

‘I see. And how does an innocent young female novice of a religious order provoke a young prince?’

He shrugged.

‘Your father believes that a period away from the pampered surroundings of Hatra will do you good, and it just so happens that there is a position here that is suitable for you.’

‘What happened to your master?’ asked Gallia.

‘He was killed fighting the Armenians,’ Spartacus replied.

I could see that he bristled with anger and resentment. ‘Well, you will be my squire until you have finished your training.’

‘What happened to your master’s other squire?’ asked Gallia, for every cataphract had two squires to attend him and care for his weapons and armour.

‘I broke his nose,’ came the reply.

I ordered a guard to go to the stables and fetch Scarab who was already my squire. When he returned Spartacus looked in horror at the black-skinned man with his sweat-soaked shirt and dirt-smeared face. Scarab bowed his head to Gallia and me and smiled at Spartacus.

‘Scarab,’ I said, ‘this is Spartacus who will assist you in your duties of being my squire. Take him to the barracks and find him a place to sleep. Inform the duty officer who he is.’

Spartacus looked at me in surprise. ‘Barracks?’

He was expecting to be lodged in the palace, of course, and normally he would have been out of respect for his princely status. But it was obvious that he had been indulged and spoilt and needed to learn the virtues of humility. His education would begin immediately.

‘That is correct,’ I answered slowly and sternly. ‘You will sleep in the barracks, though you may be comforted to know that your duties will require you to be away from your bed for long periods to spare you the indignity of enduring your meagre accommodation. You may go.’

He nodded curtly to Gallia and then me and then turned on his heels and marched from the hall, Scarab trailing after him.

‘And Spartacus,’ I called after him.

He halted and looked back at me.

‘You will find that Dura is not Hatra.’

Three days after the arrival of my nephew Orodes and Axsen departed Dura.

Spartacus was given no special treatment, shown no favouritism and no allowances were made for him because he was a prince. He slept in a bed next to Scarab in the barracks inside the Citadel; rose before dawn; cleaned out his horse’s stall; and groomed and fed his mount before he ate his own breakfast. After eating he rode out of the Citadel with the other squires and their cataphracts to the training fields outside the city. The cataphracts, equipped in full armour, would practice battle tactics and the squires would also take part. In this way they would become intimately familiar with the drills and procedures of the heavy cavalry for when they made the transition from squire to cataphract.

I always tried to take part in these training sessions as I enjoyed them immensely and believed that a king should always be in the company of his soldiers rather than sitting on his throne in his great hall listening to whingeing petitioners.

Scarab had previously been a slave and although he could ride a horse when he first came to Dura he was ignorant in the ways of mounted warfare, and neither could he shoot a bow. So having Spartacus present meant that not only could he explain to the Nubian the nuances of the tactics of armoured horsemen, he could also teach Scarab to shoot a bow. Spartacus thought it an outrage that he should demean himself by teaching a former slave to shoot, something that he had learnt to do from before he could walk. In reply to his protests I informed him that he would do as he was told.

He hardly spoke to me during the first two weeks he was at Dura. He was angry with me, angry with Scarab, angry with everyone. He thought it an insult that he was partnered with Scarab who was the oldest squire in the army. Squires began their training at the age of fourteen and finished it at eighteen, those that had lasted the course that is. Not every boy who began to train to be a cataphract was found to be suitable. So the angry young prince from Hatra spent his days in sullen silence, except when he was shouting at Scarab during archery practice.

‘Let the bowstring slip out of your fingers, do not close your eyes when you shoot, gently exhale when you release the string. Think about what you are doing you stupid Nubian.’

He quickly became exasperated with Scarab and with his duties in general and a month after he had arrived I saw him storm out of the barracks building one afternoon and stride across the courtyard. I was standing at the top of the palace steps passing the time with the newly arrived Malik and Byrd, Peroz and Domitus and saw him approach, rage etched on his face. Domitus, dressed in a white tunic, black leather belt and sandals, stood facing me as Spartacus bounded up the steps and shoved him aside.

‘Out of the way, old man.’

Malik looked in disbelief at what had just happened while Byrd shot an angry look at Spartacus.

‘Uncle, I demand to be allowed to live in the palace. That black slave is an imbecile who is fit only for shovelling dung.’

I was not listening to him but rather looking at Domitus who tapped the youth on the shoulder with his cane.

‘Your father would be disappointed in you.’

Spartacus could scarcely believe that his royal person could be violated so. He spun round to face Domitus.

‘You will be flogged for daring to touch me.’

Around us men stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfolding before their eyes. Surely this was a joke, or at the very least a mistake? Did this boy know whom he was talking to? I doubted whether my nephew recognised Domitus, for he had probably never seen him, and even if he had it would have been when he was dressed in full armour and headdress.

‘Flogged will I?’ said Domitus calmly. ‘Well I might as well be flogged for a major offence rather than a minor one.’

He then lashed Spartacus across the face with his cane.

‘How many lashes does that deserve?’

For a few seconds my nephew did nothing but clutch the side of his face. His body started to shake and I thought he was sobbing, but realised that his quivering was rage because he faced Domitus and drew his sword; his jaw tensed and pushed forward, his teeth bared.

The guards standing by the stone pillars of the porch moved towards the pair but I waved them back. This would be a useful lesson for young Spartacus. At that moment Gallia and the Amazons rode into the courtyard after an inspection some of the royal estates south of the city. The queen and her warriors halted to stare at the boy who stood with a drawn sword facing the general of the army.

‘Arrest him, uncle,’ shouted Spartacus, ‘so he can be punished.’

More and more individuals began to gather around the edges of the courtyard to stare at the scene, and on the walls groups of sentries were talking to each other and pointing at the spectacle below.

As quick as a striking cobra Domitus swung his cane to strike the other side of my nephew’s face, before calmly walking down the steps and heading towards the headquarters building. Spartacus screamed with rage, his face red as he ran after him and drew back his sword ready to cut Domitus in two. But Domitus spun round, saw the blow coming and deftly moved aside so my nephew sliced only air with his blade. His sword skills were finely honed, even at this early age, and he instantly repositioned himself to face Domitus and then thrust his sword forward, aiming at the older man’s stomach. Perhaps he believed that the shorter, crop-haired middle-aged man who stood in front of him, armed only with a vine cane, would just stand still and allow himself to be run through. More likely he was not thinking at all, so possessed by wrath as he was. The strike was lightning fast but Domitus, who had spent his whole life fighting, saw it coming before it was launched and hopped to one side, transferred the cane to his left hand and again struck Spartacus across the face. This time, though, he did not allow his young opponent to wield his sword again: he grabbed his right wrist and kicked the back of the knee of my nephew’s extended right leg, knocking him to the ground. In a flash Domitus kicked the sword out of his hand and placed his right foot on my nephew’s neck, pressing down hard to pin him to the ground.

Domitus gestured to two guards standing outside the headquarters building who ran forward.

‘Lock him in the armoury,’ he ordered them.

They yanked my nephew to his feet and hauled him to the stout building with iron grills over its windows next to the headquarters building.

‘My sword,’ cried Spartacus, looking back at his blade lying on the flagstones.

Domitus walked over and picked it up.

‘A fine weapon. You can have it back when you have learned to use it properly.’

He looked around and saw the crowd of spectators.

‘Show’s over!’ he bellowed and then calmly walked back up the palace steps. He handed me the sword.

‘Let him stew for a few hours and then let him out.’

‘He is proving somewhat of a problem,’ I said.

‘You could always flog him,’ suggested Domitus.

‘That would only make him angrier and having been flogged myself I am reluctant to subject him to such humiliation. I apologise on his behalf, Domitus.’

‘You were flogged, majesty?’ said a shocked Peroz.

‘It was a long time ago, prince,’ I answered.

‘On board a boat,’ added Byrd, ‘I remember it well.’

‘As do I, Byrd. I still carry the scars.’

That night I had my nephew brought to me as I relaxed on the palace terrace in the company of Gallia. My daughters had been put to sleep and Dobbai had retired to her room so we sat sipping wine while small boats with lanterns at their bows cast their fishing nets on the marble-smooth waters of the Euphrates below us. The night was warm and still but not unpleasant. Gallia, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, stretched out her arms as a dejected Spartacus was escorted into our presence. I dismissed the guards and gestured to an empty chair nearby. He saw his sword leaning against my chair but said nothing as he nodded to Gallia and slowly eased himself into the wicker chair.

A servant, a beautiful young girl with almond-shaped eyes and a lithe figure, walked over to him and offered him a cup from the tray she was holding, dazzling him with a smile, while another daughter of Ishtar filled it from a jug. He once again glanced at his sword.

‘The man you attacked today was the commander of Dura’s army,’ I said. He looked surprised. ‘Just because a man is not dressed in silver and bronze and does not have a plume in his helmet does not mean he is not important. As I told you, this is not Hatra.

‘You must learn to control your temper.’

I sipped at my wine and he did the same. ‘Lucius Domitus, my commander, was perfectly within his rights to slay you today. Lucky for you that he was only carrying his cane.’

‘He could still have you flogged,’ added Gallia, flashing me a mischievous grin.

‘You cannot fight the whole world, Spartacus,’ I said. ‘You must learn to be more tolerant, especially with regard to Scarab.’

‘He torments me with infantile questions,’ he replied.

‘He wishes to learn, that is all,’ Gallia rebuked him.

‘He was a slave until recently and has not had your privileged upbringing,’ I said. ‘He is my squire and so are you, unless you would rather be an orderly for my general?’

A look of alarm spread across his bruised face. I smiled.

‘I thought not.’

I stood up, picked up his sword and walked to the balustrade and peered at the boats on the river.

‘Soon the empire will be at war with the Romans, Spartacus, and the Armenians as well, probably. In that war we will need all the soldiers we can mobilise. So you can appreciate the importance of teaching Scarab the use of the bow and other weapons.’

I held out the sword to him.

‘You can help us win this war or you can wage your own private conflict against us all while Parthia is destroyed. It is up to you.’

He walked forward and took his sword from my hand.

‘I did not mean to disrespect you, uncle.’

‘We will say no more on the matter, Spartacus. But try to think before you assault anyone in future, especially crop-haired men shorter than you.’

He bowed his head to Gallia who smiled at him and then walked quietly from the terrace. I dismissed the servants and told them to leave the wine. I refilled Gallia’s cup and then my own and retook my seat.

‘It is hard to believe that it was sixteen years ago when we rode from the Silarus Valley with Diana cradling him in her arms,’ she reflected.

I rubbed my eyes. ‘They have passed in an instant, and once again we find ourselves about to fight Marcus Licinius Crassus.’

‘This time he will be the one fighting far from home,’ she said defiantly.

‘I wish I shared your optimism. The reality is that he will have many legions plus horsemen and auxiliaries, and to the north we will face the Armenians who will add their great numbers to his own.’

She looked surprised. ‘You think we cannot win?’

I emptied my cup. ‘I think, my love, that when war comes it may last a long time. Parthia has been weakened after many years of civil strife and the last thing it needs is more war.’

‘Perhaps Crassus will suddenly die as Tigranes did,’ she said.

‘Perhaps,’ I replied. I hoped that the magic of Dobbai would indeed cause him to drop down dead, for without a miracle I had grave doubts as to whether we would be able to defeat him when he came.

At least the next few weeks passed without incident as far as young Spartacus was concerned. He was still prickly and prone to angry outbursts, especially towards Scarab. But his mornings were filled with onerous duties and his afternoons were spent teaching my Nubian squire archery and swordsmanship. So his time was filled and his apparently limitless reserves of energy were expended. The situation was helped greatly by Peroz taking them both under his wing and spending most afternoons with them to act as a mediator between the two, patiently teaching the Nubian how to use a bow and proving himself a better shot than Hatra’s prince.

I had quartered the Carmanian horse archers in the ruins of Mari. Once, seventeen hundred years ago, it was a great city but had now become a collection of mud-brick ruins converted into stables for horses and barracks for their riders. Located south of Dura it had originally housed Silaces’ eight thousand horse archers from Elymais when that kingdom had fallen to Narses and Mithridates. Now Silaces and his men were in Gordyene assisting Surena. Strabo, the quartermaster responsible for the health and feeding of Dura’s horses, camels and mules, organised weekly deliveries of fodder from the royal granaries and Marcus, the army’s quartermaster general, supplied the Carmanians with food, clothing and horse furniture. Happily neither Aaron nor Rsan complained about their presence at the weekly council meetings because Phriapatius sent regular payments of gold to reimburse Dura’s treasury for the upkeep of his son’s soldiers.

I liked Peroz. He had an amiable, thoughtful nature and a mind with a thirst for knowledge. In fact he reminded me greatly of Orodes. By the autumn he had been accepted by the officers of the army as a valued ally and had seemingly managed to tame Spartacus and turn Scarab into a decent archer to boot.

During this time an eerie quiet descended over the empire as we waited for Crassus and his army. Byrd provided me with regular reports concerning the Roman governor of Syria who was still embroiled in Egypt’s affairs and enriching himself greatly in the process, while in the north Artavasdes stuck to the terms of the peace treaty. Orodes wrote that this was because he did not feel confident of launching a war against Parthia without the towering presence of his father by his side. But when Byrd came to Dura he reported that Artavasdes was recruiting great numbers of mercenaries in preparation for the final war against the Parthian Empire.

In Gordyene, meanwhile, Surena strained at the leash to attack Armenia from his kingdom. So concerned was Orodes that my protégé would initiate a war against Armenia that he asked me to go to Gordyene to reason with Surena.

I took Scarab and Spartacus with me in addition to a hundred horse archers and a hundred mules loaded with fodder, food and spare clothing. Because the year was drawing to a close the latter included woollen mittens, thick woollen tunics and heavy cloaks complete with hoods for the mountains and valleys of Gordyene are cold in winter. The high peaks were already blanketed with snow and a cruel wind blew from the north.

We rode east to the city of Assur, across the Tigris and then struck north along the eastern bank of the river before heading northeast towards the Shahar Chay River that marked the border between Media to the south and Gordyene to the north. Ordinarily I would have visited Atrax in Irbil, the capital of Media, but I was in a hurry and had no wish to see my sister Aliyeh, whose infantile hostility towards me was beginning to test my patience. We made the three-hundred mile journey in twelve days and arrived at the river to find the far bank lined with five hundred horse archers commanded by Silaces.

There was a bitter northerly wind blowing that swelled the huge white banner of Elymais sporting a four-pointed star so it resembled a great sail. A frozen Vagharsh, hood over his head and a scarf shielding the lower half of his face, held my fluttering griffin banner as I edged Remus into the grey, wind-ruffled icy water and led my horsemen across. Opposite the horse archers raised their bows in salute and Silaces walked his horse forward towards me, bowing his head as Remus trotted from the water.

‘Greetings, Silaces,’ I said, ‘I had forgotten how cold this kingdom could be.’

He looked into the leaden sky heaped with dark grey clouds.

‘Indeed majesty, some of the high passes are already blocked by snow.’

‘Well, at least that will stop Surena from waging war against the Armenians, then. How is he?’

He fell in beside me as we rode north to join the main road leading to Vanadzor, the kingdom’s capital, the rider carrying his banner falling in behind us.

‘He is a king with a mission, majesty,’ he replied flatly.

‘And what would that be?’

He smiled to himself. ‘To emasculate the Armenians.’

‘I am here to persuade him to delay his neutering,’ I replied.

The first night, we camped by the side of a luxuriant forest of oak and roasted the meat of two huge stags that Silaces’ men had shot that afternoon. On the second day we reached the town of Khoy, around which were several salt mines whose produce Silaces told me was traded with the kingdoms of Media, Atropaiene and Hyrcania for iron and bronze to make weapons and armour. In addition to salt Gordyene was abundant in cattle, sheep, horses and camels, which were also exported to nearby kingdoms.

‘Surena means to make Gordyene another Dura, majesty,’ said Silaces as we rode north towards Vanadzor, the wind having abated somewhat and a clear sky bathing the landscape in bright winter sunshine. Overhead a snowcock showed us its white flight feathers as it passed over our column.

‘He has turned Vanadzor into a giant armoury to equip his army.’

I had to admit that I was filled with pride at his words. Surena had once been nothing more than a wild boy who lived in the great marshes south of the city of Uruk, an uneducated half-savage of the Ma’adan.

Our paths had crossed when I had been captured by soldiers of the treacherous King Chosroes, at the time the ruler of Mesene. Surena and his band of young mavericks had fortuitously ambushed the column in which I had been a captive and had freed me. I had subsequently fled with them into the marshlands and afterwards Surena had joined me on my journey back to Dura. He had become my squire, had again saved my life in the battle against Narses and Chosroes before the walls of Dura and had then entered the ranks of the army’s cataphracts. He had been enrolled in the Sons of the Citadel scheme whereby the most promising individuals were groomed for command and had graduated to become an officer in the heavy cavalry.

Surena’s meteoric career had continued when I had given him command of half of my cataphracts at the battle near the Tigris against Mithridates and then command of a dragon of horse archers — a thousand men — in the subsequent retreat from the army of Narses. Surena never knew it but he was given command of an expeditionary force into Gordyene because Claudia, the dead wife of Spartacus, had talked of him in oblique terms when she spoke to me in the Temple of Ishtar at Babylon. I had expected him to be an irritant to the Armenians, who at the time were occupying Gordyene, but nothing more. But his leadership and courage had resulted in him liberating the kingdom and returning it to the Parthian Empire. A grateful Orodes had rewarded him with Gordyene’s crown and I felt very satisfied with myself for finding him.

Peroz was most intrigued by this grey, cold land filled with high, snow-clad mountains, rivers bloated with raging waters and seemingly endless forests of beech and oak and wind-swept mountain steppes. He rode on my right side with Silaces on my left; the banners of Dura, Carmania and Elymais fluttering behind us as we entered the wide, long valley before Vanadzor and saw a most wondrous sight.

Before us was arrayed the army of Gordyene: rank upon rank of foot soldiers in front of companies of horsemen, and before them all, mounted on a grey horse and surrounded by his senior officers, framed against a huge banner sporting a silver lion on a blood-red background, was Surena, Lord of all Gordyene.

‘Where is Viper?’ I asked Silaces.

Viper was a former member of the Amazons whom Surena had married and was now Queen of Gordyene.

‘Because she is pregnant, majesty, he has ordered her not to ride until the baby is born. He dotes on her greatly and loves her, too much perhaps.’

Surena urged his horse forward and cantered across the ground to bring it to a halt in front of me, flashing a smile.

‘Greetings, lord. Gordyene’s army stands ready for the inspection of the Lord High General of the Parthian Empire.’

I held out my arm to him and he clasped my forearm. ‘Greetings, Surena, I am here to convey the gratitude of King of Kings Orodes in making Gordyene once again the northern shield of the empire.’

Now nearly thirty, his youthful enthusiasm and arrogance had been replaced by determination combined with common sense and great tactical and strategic awareness. He also looked older and more careworn, but then the responsibility of administering a kingdom bore down heavily on all of us.

His officers, all of them young and very serious, were dressed in conical iron helmets, scale armour cuirasses, red long-sleeved tunics, baggy black leggings and boots. And as I rode slowly up and down the ranks of the assembled army I was struck by the age of the troops. This was a young army. The only middle-aged men I saw were among Silaces’ men from Elymais.

Looking at the army I could see the influence his time at Dura had made upon Surena because he had modelled his forces on my own, tempered by financial practicalities. Gordyene was not as wealthy as Dura. There were no cataphracts present but Surena had raised two dragons of medium horsemen, men in scale armour comprising rows of overlapping iron scales riveted onto thick hide and reinforced with scale armour shoulder guards. They also wore pteruges — strips of leather that hung from the waist and protected their thighs and upper legs.

These horsemen carried spears as their main weapons instead of the longer kontus, axes instead a swords, with daggers in sheaths on their right sides. Their round wooden shields were faced with hide painted red, each embossed with white lion’s head.

Surena’s horse archers wore no armour and had soft pointed hats on their heads, but each one was equipped with two quivers and a short sword for close-quarter fighting. There were eight thousand of them drawn up in their dragons and companies, the standard bearer in each of the latter carrying a lion windsock. The last dragon of horse archers seemed to be composed of particularly fresh-faced youths, as I remarked to Silaces.

‘Take a closer look, majesty,’ he said.

I peered at the front rank. ‘They are women!’

‘The queen’s dragon,’ stated Surena proudly. ‘My wife was in the Amazons and so to make her feel more at home I raised a thousand female horse archers in honour of her and the Amazons. They are called the Lionesses.’

‘They can shoot as well as any man,’ remarked Silaces.

Gordyene’s foot soldiers resembled the legionaries of Dura with their helmets, large oval shields and short swords, though these men also wore greaves on their lower legs and wore leather armour instead of mail. There were five thousand of them and they made for a very impressive sight.

Finally we came to Silace’s horse archers — the exiles from Elymais — who had numbered eight thousand when Surena had led them into Gordyene. Since then a thousand had fallen fighting the Armenians but they were still an impressive body of horsemen and represented the most experienced element of Surena’s forces.

‘It is a fine army,’ I said to Surena.

He beamed with delight and pointed towards his city. ‘Viper is waiting to receive us with warm wine and hot food, lord.’

There were small flecks of snow in the wind and our faces were pinched with cold so I was glad to ride through the thick oak gates and into Vanadzor. The city had never been an attractive or gracious place filled with wide streets, rich buildings and beautiful statues, but rather a dour, bleak stronghold designed to withstand external foes. Its ugliness was due in no small part to the local hard black limestone used in the construction of its walls and buildings. Many of its stone structures were squat and unsightly but their walls were thick and its citizens hardy and strong. Curiously local quarries also produced marble but it was hardly ever used in Gordyene; instead, it was exported to neighbouring kingdoms for profit.

The Romans had carried off many into slavery when they had conquered the kingdom but others had escaped to the mountains to eke out an existence and to await deliverance. Surena had proved their deliverer after the Romans had given Gordyene to the Armenians, who had believed that all the flames of resistance had been extinguished. After Surena had taken the city the people had returned from their hovels in the mountains.

When they did they found a very different Vanadzor. As we were riding through the muddy streets of the city Surena proudly informed me that he had increased the number of stables and barracks within its walls to accommodate his new army. While in the hills and mountains detachments of lightly armed scouts, many former members of King Balas’ army, watched for enemy incursions into the kingdom and launched raids against hostile forces entering Gordyene.

‘As well as raiding across the frontier,’ muttered Silaces.

Surena heard him. ‘Our enemies must learn to respect our borders, Lord Silaces. Besides, it is best to have neighbours who fear us rather than regard us as lambs to be slaughtered.’

The palace was surrounded by a high square stonewall with round towers in each corner and an impressive three-storey gatehouse on its south side. Wooden shutters on each storey indicated shooting platforms for archers and spearmen. The gates opening to allow us to enter were, like at the entrance to the city, made from thick oak and reinforced with iron strips and spikes.

Bleak, functional and strong were the qualities that the palace imparted; its stone-paved square surrounded by barracks, stables, armouries and ironworks. The chimneys of the latter were spewing black smoke and the air was heavy with the aroma of burning charcoal and hot metal. As we dismounted from our horses and stable hands took our shivering beasts to warm and cosy stalls I was struck by the high level of activity around me. It was as though we had wandered into a giant colony of ants.

Surena escorted us up the black stone steps, through the porch and into the main hall of the palace, which was well lit and had white marble tiles on the floor to brighten what would otherwise have been a chamber that resembled a cave in the underworld with its black walls, stone pillars and dark ceiling. In front of the wall at the far end stood a stone dais holding the king and queen’s thrones and behind, hanging on the wall, was a massive red banner embossed with a silver lion. The shields of the guards who stood at every pillar also carried lion motifs. The scene projected strength and power and any visitor would be left in no doubt that this was a kingdom organised for war.

We walked across the tiles with helmets in the crooks of our arms to where Viper stood in front of the dais. She still looked like a teenage girl, though because she was pregnant her breasts had swelled and her extended belly made her look a little plumper. She smiled girlishly at me and melted my heart as I stepped forward and embraced her tenderly. I had always been fond of her and though she had been a member of the Amazons and knew how to use a bow and a sword, in this bleak stronghold she looked vulnerable and a little fragile. I could see why Surena was so protective towards her.

‘Welcome, lord,’ she said as I kissed her on the cheek and released her from my arms.

‘Gallia sends you her love and wants to know when you will be visiting Dura.’

Surena also kissed her, took her hand and gently led her to her throne, seating her before taking his seat. Silaces stood on his right side to face us.

‘After the baby is born,’ she grinned, ‘all three of us will pay you a visit.’

‘Orodes and Axsen also send you their love,’ I said, ‘as do the rest of the Amazons.’

Slaves brought cups of heated wine to warm our insides and Surena ordered hot braziers to be fetched to warm the hall, though in truth now we were out of the cold feeling began to return to my hands and feet.

Peroz stood as straight as a spear shaft beside me, much to the amusement of Viper.

‘This is Prince Peroz, the son of King Phriapatius of Carmania,’ I said to her, ‘who has brought troops to fight alongside my own.’

Surena smiled at him. ‘Welcome to Gordyene, lord prince. It is good to see you again.’

Peroz bowed his head to him and Viper in a most punctilious manner, causing Viper to giggle.

I stepped aside and held out a hand to my squires standing behind us. ‘And these two are my squires. Scarab is a Nubian who joined us recently and Prince Spartacus is from Hatra.’

They both bowed to the king and queen.

‘Spartacus?’ said Surena. ‘Is that not the name of the general you fought under in Italy, lord?’

‘It is indeed,’ I answered, ‘and this is his son.’

Surena admired the strapping youth for a few seconds and then pointed at a stout, middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion standing by the wall.

‘Show our guests to their quarters,’ he ordered.

That evening Surena gave a great feast in our honour, his officers placed at tables before us. I informed him of the latest developments in the empire. I told him that Phriapatius had been made my deputy and was responsible for raising a second combined army in the east to act as a reserve in case the army I commanded was destroyed.

‘You think that is likely, lord?’ he asked, ripping at a piece of roasted leg of chamois with his teeth. The chamois was a cross between a goat and an antelope whose meat was extremely tasty.

‘Hopefully not,’ I replied, shoving a strip of piping hot gazelle meat into my mouth.

‘It all depends on when we engage the enemy,’ I told him. ‘Timing is of the utmost importance. That being the case, I would emphasise to you the importance of not launching any unprovoked aggression against the Armenians. Orodes thinks the peace will hold and does not want Parthia to break it.’

He continued chewing, not looking at me but admiring his pregnant wife. He did indeed love her greatly. She smiled at him and he smiled back and I decided that now was the time to broach the subject of taking Silaces and his men back with me. They had been an integral part of the campaign that had freed Gordyene and now they provided a seasoned corps of veterans that stiffened Surena’s army. In theory, as I was lord high general of the empire, I could order Silaces to accompany me south when I left Vanadzor, but I had no wish to treat a man who had been of such service to the empire disrespectfully. In addition, I both liked and admired Surena and so had to tread carefully.

‘I have a favour to ask you, Surena.’

He smiled again at Viper. ‘Name it, lord, and it will be done.’

‘You will know that the army of Hatra has suffered a number of reverses in recent months.’

He nodded gravely. ‘Your father’s death was a great blow to the empire, lord.’

‘When Crassus arrives he will cross the Euphrates at Zeugma and then march south along the river, straight through Hatran territory,’ I continued. ‘At the same time the Armenians will advance from Nisibus to strike at the city of Hatra itself.’

He was nodding as I said these words, chewing on more meat as he did so.

‘This being the case, I need all the soldiers I can get my hands on to meet and defeat these threats.’

He wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘The army of Gordyene will be ready to answer your call, lord.’

‘You may be occupied with your own Armenian invasion when fighting recommences,’ I said. ‘Therefore I have to request that Silaces and his men return with me when I leave your city.’

‘You do not need to request such a thing, lord. They are yours to command.’

He did not appear shocked or surprised by my request. Was I so predictable?

‘Nevertheless, Surena, I would have your agreement in this matter, for to lose seven thousand veteran horsemen is no small thing.’

‘Today you saw but part of my army, lord,’ he said. He then spread his arms out wide. ‘These men are the senior commanders who serve Gordyene, including the men from Elymais. As well as the twenty-two thousand soldiers on parade today Gordyene can raise an addition five thousand horse archers and I have allies to supplement my army.’

‘Allies?’

He suddenly stood up and men began to rap tabletops with their knuckles in salute when they saw him. He raised his hands to still the hubbub and then pointed to where a group of men with wild beards and moustaches sat.

‘Lord Diophantes, how many of the brave Aorsi do you bring to fight by our side?’

A tall man with a big round face, long unkempt hair and small eyes stood up. He was wearing a rich red leather jacket with a sheepskin trim fastened at the front by two large silver brooches. He grinned devilishly at Surena.

‘Eight thousand warriors ready to slaughter your enemies, great king,’ he answered in a booming voice.

There were whoops and cheers and more rapping on tables as the big man slapped his companions on their backs and Surena sat down.

‘So you see, lord, I have taken measures to ensure the security of Gordyene for my son when he is born.’

‘Who are the Aorsi?’ I asked.

‘A tribe of the Sarmatians who live north of the great Caucasus Mountains.’

I was horrified. ‘Sarmatians? I had to kill a host of them at Seleucia. They were in the pay of Mithridates.’

He was unconcerned. ‘They are hardy warriors who will fight anyone as long as they are rewarded for doing so. Some of Balas’ old warriors, the wild men who act as guardians of the northern frontier, told me about the famed Sarmatian horsemen from beyond the mountains, so I sent envoys to the tribal chiefs of the Aorsi asking for soldiers to fight for gold and horses. They sent Diophantes and eight thousand men in reply.’

‘They might not be as easy to get rid of,’ I warned him.

He looked and me and smiled. ‘I do not wish them to leave. I have asked them to stay and have promised them rich lands that they can call their home.’

‘In Gordyene?’

He shook his head. ‘In Armenia.’

I was about to remind him that we were currently at peace with Armenia when Viper rose and declared she was tired and would have to retire. Surena immediately took her arm and said he would take her to their bedroom. I rose and embraced her and Peroz bowed, took her hand and kissed it, much to her delight. As Surena led her to their private quarters located to the rear of the banqueting hall everyone rose and began to chant ‘Dasna, Dasna’ as the couple exited the chamber.

I looked at Silaces in puzzlement.

‘It means “short dagger”,’ he replied. ‘The nickname they have given the queen. It is not only the king who adores her in these parts, lord.’

While they were gone slaves brought great platters heaped with the meat of roasted mouflons — sheep that were much larger and bigger than the ordinary variety — plus cooked sturgeon and salmon caught in local rivers. They also served prodigious quantities of dolma, a local dish that consisted of minced lamb mixed with rice and flavoured with mint, fennel and cinnamon.

I watched Spartacus and Scarab at the table in front of me devouring everything put in front of them, even the boiled sheep’s head soup that had been served before the main meal. In these parts it was believed that soups consumed before a feast began had healing powers. They were both tall, sturdy framed individuals and would make fine warriors, if they did not kill each other first. Silaces pointed the mutton and spice kebab he was holding at them.

‘A curious pair, majesty.’

‘The black one was a slave at Emesa and Spartacus is with me because he needs taming.’

‘Can the son of the slave general be tamed?’

‘I hope so,’ I replied.

Silaces nodded. ‘It is appropriate that he should be by your side when he fights the people who killed his father.’

Before Surena returned I told him that he and his men would be leaving Gordyene with me.

‘Initially you will be quartered at the city of Assur,’ I told him. ‘You will be close to the city of Hatra and can reinforce King Gafarn if he is threatened, but will also be able to return to Gordyene if necessary should Surena get into difficulties with the Armenians.’

‘I do not think you have to worry about Surena, majesty. He is more than capable of holding this kingdom.’

What I did not tell him was that by taking him and his men I hoped it would make Surena more cautious when it came to provoking the Armenians.

The next morning, as snowflakes whirled around the icy courtyard, we said our farewells in the entrance of the palace to Surena and Viper, who was wrapped in a great fur-lined cloak and felt hat, her girlish face barely visible. I shook the hand of Surena and embraced his wife fondly and then took to my saddle. All of my party were wrapped in their thick cloaks, hoods and mittens, especially Scarab who seemed to feel the cold more than most.

I nudged Remus forward and leaned forward to speak to Surena.

‘Remember, do not provoke the Armenians. We want to fight the coming war on our terms, not theirs.’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘And take care of yourself and Viper. I look forward to seeing you both after the baby arrives.’

I raised a hand to Viper, wheeled Remus around and trotted from the courtyard, followed by my horse archers. Outside the city Silaces and his men were waiting for us, all of them with their quiver flaps closed, their bows in their cases. Grey clouds were hanging low and the northern wind stung our faces as we rode from Vanadzor south back to the border.

I sent riders ahead to Irbil to inform Atrax that I was bringing back Silaces and seven thousand horsemen who would be traversing his territory on their way to Assur. Though as lord high general I could go where I wanted within the empire, with or without a small army as an escort, it would have been discourteous not to acquaint him with my movements. I also did not want to give Aliyeh another excuse to criticise me if word reached Irbil that I had marched through her husband’s kingdom without permission.

Happily Atrax himself rode from his capital to meet us at the Shahar Chay River with a thousand of Media’s horse archers in their blue tunics and grey leggings, grey cloaks around their shoulders. Fortunately the wind had abated and sun shone through the breaks in the clouds to bring a degree of light and warmth to the stark winter landscape as we rode our horses through the icy waters.

Despite being married to my sister Atrax had a warm, magnanimous character that everyone warmed to. Quick to laugh and praise and slow to criticise, he was a brave and loyal friend and a good king to his people. I never understood what he saw in my aloof, serious sister but they say that love is blind and he certainly adored her. And, to be fair (loathe though I was to be so), she had borne him two fine sons to secure his dynasty.

That night we camped ten miles inland from the river and warmed ourselves around great fires made from chopped wood Atrax had brought with him from Irbil. As we stood looking into the yellow and red flames I told him that that Crassus would soon be arriving.

‘What is he really like, this Crassus?’ asked Atrax, tossing the thighbone of the roasted chicken he had been gnawing into the fire. ‘You said you met him once.’

‘Many years ago. He invited me to his house in Rome to try to persuade me to leave the army of Spartacus and return to Parthia. He offered me and Gallia safe passage if I would abandon the slave army.’ I smiled to myself. ‘I said no of course.

‘As to what he is really like; he is formal and polite, generous I suppose, very rich and very powerful. He also has that Roman certainty that everything he does will be to his advantage and every decision he takes will be the right one.’

‘He is arrogant?’ suggested Atrax.

I laughed. ‘We are all arrogant to a degree, my friend. We all believe that our abilities are superior to the majority of other men, and that we take the right decisions to ensure the safety of our kingdoms and the empire. But with Roman commanders such as Crassus it is different. They believe that they have a divine right to make the world Roman; that it is not just their duty but the will of their gods that they should conquer the world.’

‘Let us hope, then, that our gods have more power than theirs,’ he replied.

I thought of the ritual that Dobbai had performed; the diversion of Aulus Gabinius to Egypt and the unexpected death of Tigranes. The rational part of me dismissed these things as mere coincidences; after all, if the gods had been summoned then surely they would strike Crassus dead and open the earth to swallow his army. But then I remembered that she also once told me that the gods loved chaos and bloodshed. Perhaps they only helped a little, just enough to ensure Parthia was not destroyed, but not enough to grant us outright victory. Perhaps they wished for war between Parthia and Rome to go on and on for all eternity until every inch of ground between the Himalayas and the Euphrates was soaked in blood. The fire hissed and spat and above us the gods toyed with us mere mortals.