Carrhae

Chapter 8

Dura had always been a frontier city. Originally founded by a general named Nicanor, one of Seleucus I’s commanders, it had subsequently passed to Parthian control and became a bulwark against the Agraci on the western bank of the Euphrates. The lords who settled on the strip of land north and south of the city lived in great strongholds and existed in a state of perpetual war with the Agraci tribesmen who inhabited the vast desert to the west. The Agraci raided their lands and they in turn launched reprisals and the desert ran red with blood. And then a great and terrible king called Haytham became the ruler of the Agraci tribes and all the lands between Emesa in the west, Dura in the east and the vast expanse of desert to the south. He inspired fear and loathing and his cruelty sent a shiver down the spine of the hardiest warrior. Dressed entirely in black and riding a black stallion that legend told had been sent from the underworld to bear this scourge of civilisation, Haytham led a host of black-clad devils that plundered and killed without mercy. And nowhere had Haytham been more feared and despised than in Dura.

Eszter giggled, tugged on Haytham’s sleeve and then ran away. Now five years old, she had inherited a mischievous streak from somewhere and wore a permanent smile on her round face.

Haytham jumped out of his chair and growled at her, causing her to scream with delight and race round the terrace. Gallia told her to be quiet and sit back in her chair. Isabella giggled and Claudia frowned and looked away. Dear Claudia. Now eleven, she was old and serious beyond her tender years as a consequence of spending so much time in Dobbai’s company, not that the old woman had corrupted her in any way. Rather, she had taught our daughter about the gods, the signs they gave mankind, the plants that could heal and harm and how to ask for divine assistance. She largely ignored our other two daughters and apart from periods spent with her tutors she devoted the rest of her time to the company of Dobbai. Now she sat beside her on the palace terrace as we entertained Haytham and Rasha.

‘Cannot a man get any peace in this world?’ opined Haytham, screwing up his face at Eszter who giggled and stuck out her tongue at him. Gallia told her not to be so rude.

‘Malik would have come,’ said Haytham, retaking his seat, ‘but Jamal insisted he stayed at Palmyra. Ever since the death of her father she is worried that the Romans will assault Palmyra again. She nags him incessantly.’

Jamal was Malik’s wife and a beautiful woman who would one day be queen of the Agraci.

‘Aaron’s religion,’ I said, ‘states that his god created the world in seven days and rested, and then he created man and rested. But what it does not teach is that after he created woman no one has rested.’

The eyes of my wife, Claudia, Rasha and Dobbai bored into me to indicate that my attempt at levity had failed miserably.

Haytham laughed. ‘You are a brave man, Pacorus, to make such a statement in front of so many women.’

‘Foolish is a word that would be more suitable,’ growled Gallia.

I had asked Spartacus and Scarab to be present so they could both meet Haytham, which for the young prince was at first difficult. He had been brought up in Hatra where the Agraci were looked upon as little more than pests to be exterminated. It was well known that I had forged an alliance and friendship with the Agraci ruler but this had resulted in Hatran opinion of me being lowered. To most Parthians the Euphrates marked the boundary where civilisation ended and barbarity began. Spartacus had been surprised when I had informed him that Haytham was visiting the palace and astounded when I told him that Rasha had her own room there.

Rasha was now a stunning young woman with hair as black as the night, flawless skin and the most beautiful brown eyes. When she had arrived, those eyes lingered upon the handsome face of the young prince who was introduced to her. He in turn had bowed most graciously to her and had insisted on escorting her into the palace. I had been worried that he might be aloof with Haytham and Rasha but her striking looks were enough to make him forget her race easily enough.

‘How is Byrd?’ enquired Gallia.

‘Rich and growing richer,’ replied Haytham. ‘Perhaps one day he will be able to purchase a new robe. He has gone to Antioch to inspect his offices there.’

‘I hope he will be safe,’ I said with alarm.

Haytham laughed. ‘They will think that he is desert lord, nothing more. No one will know that he is the chief scout and close friend of King Pacorus, lord high general of Parthia. He will outlive us all, of that I am sure.’

‘Hopefully he will learn more about the arrival of Crassus,’ I said.

‘I remember that name,’ reflected Haytham. ‘He once tried to bribe me to permit a Roman army to march through my territory to attack Dura. And now he comes himself.’

‘It is the will of the gods,’ announced Dobbai, ‘that the son of Hatra and Crassus should battle each other to determine the fate of the empire. The forthcoming clash between these two great warlords will be watched by the divine ones and the victor will be granted his wish.’

‘Surely the victor will have already been granted his wish,’ I said, ‘for he will have vanquished his foes.’

She threw back her head and cackled. ‘And after the slaughter; what then? It is your destiny, your fate to fight Crassus, son of Hatra, but what do you wish for in the next life?’

I was confused. ‘The next life?’

She beckoned Claudia to help her get out of her chair. ‘When all of us are ashes and dust, when we are not even someone’s memories, where would you be then, wandering alone for all eternity or with your friends and loved ones?’

‘With my friends and loved ones, of course.’

She took Claudia’s arm and then shuffled from the terrace. ‘Exactly. So fight well, son of Hatra, and the gods will reward you.’

Haytham looked contemplative and Gallia confused, while Spartacus and Rasha glanced at each other furtively and thought of nothing but their attraction to each other.

‘You must kill this Crassus when he arrives,’ declared Haytham after a long silence.

‘I would rather destroy his army, lord,’ I replied. ‘Besides, I have to say that I quite like him.’

Haytham was shocked. ‘A great warlord shows his enemies no mercy.’

I smiled at him. ‘I remember a time when a small group rode into the desert and returned a daughter to the King of Agraci. He did not kill them.’

He winked at Gallia. ‘That is because the beauty of your wife intoxicated me and made me forget that we were enemies.’

Gallia blushed and looked away and Isabella and Eszter pointed at her and laughed.

‘And yet we are friends now, lord, and the ancient enmity between Parthian and Agraci is no more,’ I said.

He shook his head at me. ‘We are friends, Pacorus, but you delude yourself in thinking that our two peoples can ever live in friendship. Hatreds can be difficult to forget.’

‘Not for the saviour of Dura,’ said Gallia, her face no longer flushed. ‘How is the fat King of Emesa?’

Following the defeat of the army sent from Emesa to capture Palmyra, Haytham had come to be regarded by the citizens of Dura as a hero who had turned back a foreign army intent on seizing their city and reducing them to slavery. The gossip carried by the caravans on the road had reported great Agraci casualties, which had perversely been interpreted as a sign that Haytham and his people had fought desperately to save Dura — no thought had been given to the idea that the Agraci might have actually been fighting for their own land and people. As a consequence, when Haytham and Rasha had arrived in the city a grateful populace had mobbed them.

Scarab looked at Haytham with interest. ‘Sampsiceramus does not want war. He desires only to live in opulence surrounded by an army of slaves satisfying his every need. Is that not so, Nubian?’

Scarab bowed his head at Haytham. ‘It is as you say, great king.’

‘He is not the problem,’ continued Haytham. ‘If only the same could be said of his Roman overlords.’

The next day we went hunting south of the city. Along the riverbank the land was irrigated and filled with fields and villages, plus the royal tanneries that were situated far enough away so their stench would not disturb the city’s residents, including those who lived in the palace. Away from the irrigated strip, however, the land was desert and largely uninhabited. It was also mostly flat aside from a few wadis that cut deep into the earth. The old year was failing fast as I rode with Haytham, Gallia, Rasha and a score of Haytham’s warriors and my own squires into the arid land of shrubs, grasses and desert lichens. It may have appeared empty but this land was teeming with snakes, lizards, hares and rabbits. Today, though, we were hunting gazelle.

The women were bare headed with their hair free as the day was mild but not hot and was unlikely to get so with a sky filled with white clouds. Spartacus and Scarab fell in behind us as we headed in a southwesterly direction.

‘When this Crassus arrives the Romans may attempt to assault Palmyra once more,’ said Haytham to me. ‘If Dura’s army is in the north fighting him I may not be able to hold off another Roman army, Pacorus. We can melt into the desert but your city cannot do the same.’

‘I appreciate your warning, lord king, but Dura’s walls are strong and will resist any assault until I return with the army.’

He frowned. ‘It might be wise to leave some of your army behind to safeguard your city.’

He obviously did not realise how weakened Parthia was at this present juncture.

‘Alas, the empire will need every man to face the Armenians and Romans.’

He looked more serious. ‘We hear that the Romans have settled affairs in Egypt to their advantage and Prince Alexander, the man you furnished with weapons, has suffered more defeats in Judea. He and his men still fight but they have been reduced to holding a few isolated strongholds.’

I had hoped that Alexander Maccabeus, a Jewish prince who had paid me in gold for a great many weapons produced in Dura’s armouries, would keep the Romans occupied in Judea and may even eject them from the country altogether. But his army had been defeated and my hopes had been dashed.

‘Soon they will once again turn their attention to the east, towards Palmyra and Dura,’ he continued.

‘Dura will not forget its friendship with the Agraci people,’ I declared grandly, not knowing how I would be able to help him if the Romans decided to once more strike from Emesa.

‘And the Agraci will not abandon you, my friend.’

‘I see a group ahead,’ said Rasha suddenly.

I had not been paying attention to the terrain in front of us but I did so now and peered directly ahead to where Rasha was pointing. I saw shapes in the distance but they were not moving.

‘Your eyes are keen,’ said Gallia.

We halted to take stock of the situation. We had been moving slowly so as not to kick up any dust that would betray our presence and as the wind was blowing from the west we were downwind of our quarry. But gazelles are intelligent, nervous beasts and require patience and excellent horsemanship to bring down.

Rasha wrapped her reins around her left wrist and pulled the bow that had been a gift from Gallia from its case; young Spartacus did the same.

‘Come Gallia,’ said Haytham, ‘let us show these youngsters how it should be done.’

She grinned and followed him as he walked his horse left.

‘You are with me, young prince,’ Rasha said to Spartacus, urging Asad to the right. He moved his horse forward to be adjacent to me and stopped, his face pleading with me for permission to join the desert princess.

‘Off you go, then,’ I told him, ‘and make sure she does not come to any harm.’

He flashed a smile and followed Rasha. I turned to Scarab.

‘That leaves just you and me.’

Our escort waited in their saddles as we walked our horses forward to form a wide circle around our prey. In such a hunt there are never more than two riders together so as not to alarm the gazelles.

Gallia and Haytham and Rasha and Spartacus walked their horses to each flank and then began to slowly decrease the circle as Scarab rode parallel to me as we moved forward.

I could see the gazelles clearly now — four of them — and they had spotted us. As one they bolted a short distance, stopped, changed direction, darted forward again and eventually broke into a canter.

‘Keep by me, Scarab,’ I said as Haytham and Gallia urged their horses into a fast walk.

As we closed in on the gazelles we resisted the urge of our horses to break into a canter until our prey decided on the direction of their escape route. I pulled my bow from its case and strung an arrow in the bowstring as the other two groups continued to close in on the gazelles. The latter then broke into a fast run and raced right, towards Rasha and Spartacus who screamed at their horses and dug their knees into their flanks to intercept the prey. Their horses bolted and both riders leaned forward in the saddles with their bowstrings drawn back. As the gazelles ran across the front of them they released their arrows.

Two of the gazelles immediately collapsed in a cloud of dust as the missiles found their mark. Rasha then whipped another arrow from her quiver, nocked it and released it, the missile hitting the hindquarters of a third beast and sending it crashing to the ground. The fourth gazelle raced away as Spartacus put more arrows into the wounded prey to kill them. Haytham looked pained as he and Gallia came alongside me and shoved his bow back in its case, while the youngsters whooped with joy and grinned at each other like idiots.

That night I gave a feast in honour of Haytham and his daughter at which the gazelles were roasted and served to the guests. The king returned to Palmyra the next morning but his daughter remained at Dura for another week. During this time she spent the mornings training with the Amazons and the afternoons in the company of Spartacus, Scarab and Peroz. Because Dura was her second home Haytham did not feel compelled to leave a bodyguard behind, as he knew she would be safe and I would give her an escort back to Palmyra, though usually Gallia and the Amazons took her back.

On the third day of her stay, in the early afternoon after I had spent a tedious two hours in the weekly council meeting, I saw Rasha and Spartacus leading their horses from the stables, Scarab and Peroz following behind. They were holding hands and looked like two young doves, gazing into each other’s eyes. Domitus and Gallia were chatting behind me when I stopped and bellowed across the courtyard.

‘Spartacus! Come here at once.’

Stable hands, servants and guards all turned to look at me as Spartacus stared in bewilderment, then at Rasha.

‘Now!’ I ordered.

Domitus and Gallia came to my side as Spartacus ran over while Rasha held the reins of his horse and her own. Peroz followed him. Spartacus halted in front of me.

‘Uncle?’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Going to the archery ranges to train with Scarab and Peroz,’ he replied, smiling at Gallia, who smiled back and shook her head.

‘Not that,’ I snapped. ‘You must not touch Rasha.’

‘We were only holding hands, uncle.’

‘She is a princess of the Agraci,’ I told him, ‘not some servant girl to be seduced and tossed aside. You are not to see her anymore.’

My nephew looked most upset at this command and just stared at me.

‘A little harsh, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.

‘Is it?’ I hissed. ‘Every time Rasha comes to Dura Haytham entrusts her wellbeing and safety to us. Imagine what he would think if he learned that his daughter had been pawed by a squire.’

‘He would not like it at all,’ gloated Domitus, smirking at Spartacus.

My nephew bristled at Domitus’ words but did not respond. He may have been at least six inches taller than my general and almost as broad, but he had learned the hard way that Lucius Domitus was not a man to be tangled with lightly.

‘I am a prince,’ he corrected me.

‘Well, prince,’ I said slowly, ‘I am a king and I order you to report to the commander of the guard in the headquarters building. I am sure he can find you some floors to clean.’

Spartacus was going to protest but gave me a surly bow of the head, turned around and with sunken shoulders walked back to Rasha. He spoke a few words to her, kissed her on the cheek, took the reins of his horse and trudged back to the stables.

‘It is entirely my fault, majesty,’ apologised Peroz.

‘It is not your fault at all,’ I assured him.

‘It is no one’s fault,’ said Gallia, looking at me. ‘Spartacus is a handsome young man and Rasha is a beautiful young woman. It is obvious that they would find each other attractive. Sometimes Pacorus you are such a fool.’

‘I do not want to be standing before Haytham in his tent explaining why his daughter is carrying the child of a Parthian,’ I replied.

‘I do not think anything untoward has happened, majesty,’ said Peroz gravely.

I looked at him. ‘What? No, of course not. But we must take precautions to see that nothing does happen, lord prince.’

‘Agraci war party approaching,’ said Domitus, nodding at Rasha striding across the flagstones. Behind her Scarab was now holding the reins of three horses and finding it difficult to control them. ‘Do you want me to form a testudo you can hide in?’

‘Back me up on this matter,’ I pleaded with Gallia.

‘You are on your own,’ she replied flatly.

Domitus was chuckling. ‘It is so hurtful when allies desert you on the eve of battle.’

Rasha halted before me, her brown eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.

‘Why have you forbidden Spartacus to see me?’

I sometimes forgot that she was Agraci, a people noted for their bluntness as well as their savagery. I placed my hands on her arms and smiled.

‘When you are at Dura you are my responsibility, Rasha. I am sure that your father would not approve of such familiarity with a Parthian.’

She fixed me with her eyes. ‘You have forbidden him to see me but am I allowed to go where I wish within these walls?’

I smiled again. ‘Of course, this is your home.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw my nephew walking towards the headquarters building. She smiled back at me disarmingly, and then turned to Peroz.

‘I would like to stay here in the Citadel, lord prince.’

Peroz stepped back and bowed to her. ‘As you wish, princess.’

He really was getting more like Orodes every day.

Rasha kissed me on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Pacorus.’

I let go of her arms and looked smugly at Gallia.

‘Would you ask Scarab to take Asad back to the stables, lord prince?’ she said to Peroz, who bowed his head once more to her and us and then returned to where Scarab was struggling to retain control of the horses. Rasha walked past us towards the headquarters building.

‘Where are you going?’ I called after her.

She turned and smiled. ‘You did not say that I was forbidden to see him.’

Domitus slapped me on the arm. ‘Ha! Out-foxed by a girl.’

Gallia shook her head at me and walked back to the palace with Domitus in tow as Rasha disappeared into the headquarters building.

Later in the throne room the duty officer reported to me after I had been bored rigid for an hour by Rsan, who as the city governor was responsible for the smooth day-to-day running of Dura’s affairs. He took his duties extremely seriously to the point of obsession. Today’s topic was the programme for the paving of all the major streets in the city, which had been temporarily suspended on account of Aaron not issuing funds for the purchase of paving stones.

‘Why not?’ I asked.

‘Because of the yearly tribute.’

‘Yearly tribute?’

Rsan nodded. ‘When Mithridates, that is King Mithridates, sat on the high throne Dura did not pay any tribute, as you are aware, majesty.’

I smiled to myself. In theory every Parthian king paid a yearly tribute to Ctesiphon according to how many soldiers he could put into the field. Usually paid in gold, I had always refused to pay any tribute to Mithridates at the start of a new year, sending a letter to him instead saying that if he wanted tribute he should come to Dura and take it by force. He never did, of course, but it was an opportunity to insult him and show Dura’s defiance. But now Orodes was high king I paid the yearly tribute, as did all the other kings of the empire.

‘We have to pay the annual tribute, Rsan,’ I told him.

‘Indeed, majesty, but Aaron has informed me that because of the purchase of the Indus metal to make swords for your horsemen there is not enough money for the road-paving programme.

‘The roads will just have to wait,’ I said.

He pursed his lips. ‘We could always raise taxes, majesty.’

‘No, Rsan, we are not raising taxes. The people and the caravans are taxed enough. If they are raised the caravans might decide to travel to Syria via Hatra instead of Dura, then the treasury will be in a parlous state.’

After he had departed mumbling to himself the Citadel’s duty officer updated me concerning the activities of my nephew and Rasha.

‘They are both cleaning up in the granary, majesty.’

‘The princess should not be given any duties.’

‘She insisted, majesty,’ he said. ‘She is very tenacious.’

‘Indeed. Well, just make sure they are accompanied at all times. On no account are they to be left alone for long periods.’

‘Majesty?’

‘Just keep an eye on them.’

I was glad when Rasha returned to Palmyra but I did allow her and Spartacus to say goodbye to each other in the courtyard before she rode back to her father with Gallia and two score Amazons for company. My wife wanted to see Byrd and Noora and would escort them both back to Dura for the annual gathering of the Companions, which would take place at the start of the new year.

Rasha threw her arms around my nephew and kissed him on the cheek before vaulting onto Asad’s back. She waved at me and then Peroz and Scarab and looked longingly at Spartacus as she rode from the Citadel. For his part my nephew looked a little forlorn and I realised that Rasha was no longer a bright little girl but a young woman and I felt sad. It seemed only yesterday when we had taken her back to her father. Where do the years go?

My spirits were further dampened at the gathering of the Companions, not because it was not good to see them all; it was. But now half of them were dead and existed only as names carved on a memorial. But at least it was good to see Diana, Gafarn and their young son Pacorus, who was now a teenager. He had inherited his parent’s cheerful disposition and Diana’s charm, which made him very popular among the Companions. Spartacus welcomed his parents warmly and was perhaps appreciating what a privileged life he had been living at Hatra. After my annual humiliation at the hands of Thumelicus in arm wrestling I sat with the rulers of Hatra and discussed their eldest son while the Companions made a fuss of him. All of them had ridden from the Silarus Valley all those years ago when he had been a new-born child. Now they regaled him with tales of themselves and the man he was named after.

‘He looks happy,’ said a smiling Diana. ‘We thank you.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gafarn. ‘Dura obviously suits him.’

‘His temper has improved,’ I said, ‘but it can still flare up when provoked.’

‘Just like his father,’ smiled Nergal.

‘He looks just like him,’ added Praxima.

‘He is in love,’ said Gallia.

Diana and Gafarn looked at her in amazement.

‘It is true,’ she insisted. ‘A young woman has stolen his heart.’

‘That is welcome news,’ said a happy Diana. ‘He needs someone to temper his anger.’

‘It is not a straightforward matter,’ I said. ‘The young woman who Gallia alludes to is the daughter of King Haytham.’

‘She is Agraci?’ said Gafarn with concern. I nodded.

‘What does that matter?’ remarked Diana.

I smiled at her. ‘To you, my friend, nothing at all. But to Hatra’s lords and ladies and the kingdom’s people a great deal. However, you will be relieved to know that I have put a stop to it.’

‘Pacorus believes that he can control affairs of the heart by barking a few commands,’ sniffed Gallia derisively. ‘He has as much chance of that as ordering the sun not to rise each morning.’

Nergal and Praxima burst into laughter and Diana grinned at them. As always they had made the trip from Uruk to be with the Companions, and as the years passed it had become obvious that they would not have children themselves. They were now both in their forties and Praxima’s child-bearing years were behind her, though Dobbai had foretold long ago that Praxima would never give birth due to the abuse her body had suffered at the hands of the Romans. And I reflected that Axsen, who was the same age as me, would also probably never have children and that saddened me — she and Orodes would have made excellent parents.

‘How is mother?’ I asked.

Diana looked at me with sympathy. ‘Still a lost soul, I am afraid to say. She seems happy enough in her garden and Vistaspa is a great source of comfort to her, but I often catch her crying at night before she sleeps. She misses your father terribly.’

‘We all do,’ said Gafarn.

‘All Parthia misses him,’ remarked Nergal glumly.

Spartacus stayed with me at Dura when his parents returned to Hatra with their bodyguard a week later. Gafarn had told me that all was quiet with regard to the Armenians though they still occupied Nisibus and the north of his kingdom. That obviously pained him but I said there was nothing to be done about it at the present. Everything hinged upon us defeating the Romans, after which we could turn the full might of the empire against the Armenians. Though ‘might’ was an inappropriate word to use.

In the month after the turn of the new year I became a scribe rather than a general, sending letters to and receiving them from all four corners of the empire. Parthia may not have had paved roads such as the Romans enjoyed but it was fortunate in possessing an excellent postal system. Post stations established every thirty miles or so along major roads, at which couriers could pick up fresh horses, ensured that messages traversed the empire speedily enough.

I received word from Phriapatius at Persepolis that his eldest son had returned to Carmania to rule in his place while he organised an eastern army. He told me that progress was slow on account of the other eastern kings having few troops to spare due to their great losses in the recent civil war. He tactfully did not mention that I had been responsible for a great number of those losses but assured me that the army would be assembled in time. He asked about his son and I wrote back that Peroz was a fine young man who was well liked at Dura, and that his horsemen were a valuable addition to the army. I broached the subject of Peroz being sent back to him but his father replied that as long as I was satisfied with his son’s conduct then he saw no reason for him to leave Dura.

Less welcome news came from King Khosrou of Margiana and King Musa of Hyrcania. These two rulers held the northeast frontier of the empire and could field great numbers of troops; soldiers that I had hoped could be brought west to fight the Romans and Armenians. But Khosrou informed me that the nomads who lived in the land between the Caspian and Aral seas were still raiding his northern frontier. These tribes had originally been bribed with gold by Mithridates to raid Margiana and Hyrcania so Khosrou and Musa would be fully occupied and thus not able to assist Orodes and me, but now they wished to invade Parthia and settle there. These peoples, the Saka and Huns, were wild, fierce warriors that were causing Khosrou and Musa great difficulties. As a consequence they would be able to contribute few if any troops to the army that Phriapatius was assembling.

At the end of the month I rode to Ctesiphon to see Orodes. I took Spartacus and Scarab with me as well as Peroz, who provided an escort of a hundred of his Carmanians. The whole of the empire’s western border from Dura north to Hatra and Gordyene was very quiet, though I had received letters from Byrd at Palmyra telling me that his sources reported that the Armenians were still being reinforced with mercenaries from Galatia, Cilicia, Cappadocia and Pontus. And Sarmatia, no doubt. Like us the Armenians were awaiting the arrival of Crassus before opening hostilities.

Orodes and Axsen had made the massive, ramshackle palace complex their official home now that he was king of kings and the empire’s treasury was once again located there.

A vast, sprawling edifice filled with several palaces, Ctesiphon’s walls were covered with wooden scaffolding when we rode through the main gates. Banners showing the horned bull of Babylon and the symbol of Susiana — an eagle clutching a snake in its talons — hung from the gatehouse and from flagpoles along the central avenue leading to a second gatehouse that gave access to the walled grounds of the complex’s main royal enclosure. In between these walls and the outer perimeter were barracks, stable blocks, granaries, storerooms, temples to Shamash, Ishtar and half a dozen other deities, and spacious ornamental gardens.

We left our escort to be shown to their barracks and made our way through the second gatehouse and into Ctesiphon’s inner sanctum of palaces, gardens, ornamental pools and stucco statues. We trotted along the paved road that led to the courtyard fronting a huge open-ended vaulted reception hall. Before this Demaratus and four of his Babylonian officers were standing. Dressed in scale armour cuirasses of overlapping silver scales, they wore purple long-sleeved shirts and baggy purple leggings. As I slid off Remus’ back and a stable hand took his reins, Demaratus walked over and bowed his head.

‘Greetings, majesty, welcome to Ctesiphon.’

I had been here before, once when Sinatruces had lured me here in an effort to steal Gallia from me, other times when Phraates had been high king, and none of those visits was particularly rewarding. I found it a nest of vipers and intrigue that dripped with treachery. Hopefully it would change now Orodes was high king.

‘I see the defences are being strengthened,’ I said.

‘The walls have been much neglected, majesty. It will take at least a year to finish the restoration work.’

I hoped we had that long before Roman sandals were tramping across the Mesopotamian desert. I held out a palm to Peroz.

‘This is Prince Peroz from Carmania who has brought horsemen to fight by my side.’

Peroz smiled at Demaratus who stood to attention and bowed his head. ‘Highness.’

I unstrapped my helmet and took it off as Demaratus escorted us into the reception hall towards the great red doors that led to the main throne room. Babylonian guards armed with short spears and shields stood either side of these doors and others stood along the walls.

‘The walls of Seleucia are also being repaired, majesty,’ remarked Demaratus, ‘though it will take years to restore them to their former strength.’

Spartacus and Scarab followed behind in silence and behind them walked Demaratus’ officers. The guards opened the doors to allow us to enter as we walked towards the dais at the far end of the hall where Orodes and Axsen awaited us. White marble tiles and white-painted walls and ceiling made the chamber look cavernous and the sound of our boots on the tiles echoed around the room.

I halted before my friends and bowed my head while Peroz, Spartacus and Scarab went down on one knee before Parthia’s king of kings and his wife. Near the walls stood nobles and their wives dressed in rich robes, the ladies adorned with fine jewellery. Around the dais itself were stewards and scribes, and dressed in red robes bearded priests from the Temple of Marduk in Babylon. Axsen had obviously brought her nobles and spiritual advisors from her city to Ctesiphon. Demaratus bowed to them both and then took his place beside the dais on Orodes’ right side.

‘Welcome, King Pacorus,’ said Orodes formally, ‘Lord High General of Parthia and victor of many battles.’

There was polite applause at his declaration.

‘Welcome Prince Peroz, son of King Phriapatius and our valuable ally, please rise.’

Peroz rose to his feet, leaving Spartacus and Scarab kneeling with heads bowed.

‘Rise all of you,’ commanded Orodes.

‘We are glad to see you, Pacorus,’ said Axsen who was wearing a rich purple robe with gold edging, a jewel-encrusted crown on her head and a gold necklace at her throat.

‘And I you, highness,’ I replied, causing her to smile.

The formalities out of the way, Orodes dismissed everyone in the throne room and asked to see me in his study in the palace’s private quarters to the rear of this chamber. Axsen asked Peroz, Spartacus and Scarab to escort her on a tour of the palace while I walked with Orodes along a corridor with walls decorated with paintings of animal hunts.

‘Axsen does not like it here,’ he complained. ‘She would rather be at Babylon.’

I could understand that. Babylon was where she grew up and its palace was just as splendid as Ctesiphon’s, perhaps more so.

‘Do you have to live here?’

He frowned. ‘The high king of the empire should live in its capital, inconvenient though it may be. Besides I am having it renovated, at considerable cost I may add.’

‘I noticed,’ I replied.

We arrived at his study, a slightly austere room with pigeonholes along one wall filled with old documents. I had visited it many years ago just prior to the Battle of Surkh when I had helped to defeat Narses, and afterwards had been rewarded with a great quantity of gold by a grateful Phraates. The large desk was in exactly the same position in front of wood panelling that was decorated with a beautifully painted map of the Parthian Empire. Orodes sank into the ornate chair behind the desk and pointed at another in front of it, in which I sat.

Orodes looked deflated as slaves offered us wine, pastries, wafers, fruit and yogurt. He took a rhyton of wine but waved away the offer of food. I helped myself to both wine and food as he ran a finger around the rim of his rhyton and then dismissed the slaves and ordered the two guards in the corridor to close the door.

‘The Armenians have refused my overtures to extend the peace treaty,’ he muttered.

‘Hardly a surprise,’ I replied, taking a mouthful of what was excellent wine. ‘Crassus and his army will be arriving soon. Artavasdes no doubt sees little merit in peace with the prospect of conquest dangling before his eyes. But he will not make any hostile moves before Crassus arrives.’

He looked up at me. ‘Perhaps we might think of striking at the Armenians before he does so.’

I rose from the chair and walked over to the map of the empire on the wall behind him.

‘Unfortunately, geography does not favour such a move.’ I pointed at Nisibus, which was occupied by the Armenians. ‘If we muster our forces at Hatra for a strike against Nisibus it will take around a month before the troops of Dura, Babylon, Media, Hatra, Mesene and Atropaiene are gathered together. Before that happens the Armenians will themselves muster over one hundred thousand troops and march them south to seize the city of Assur and the crossing point over the Tigris. If they hold that place then they can prevent troops from Media and Atropaiene to the east from reinforcing us.’

He too rose and stood next to me, tracing a finger from Nisibus down to Assur. ‘There is nothing to prevent them doing so now, Pacorus.’

I smiled. ‘I have reinforced Assur’s garrison with Silaces and seven thousand horse archers. The Armenians have no siege engines and so it is too hard a nut for them to crack.’

‘How many soldiers can be raised to fight the Armenians and Crassus?’ he asked.

‘Just over one hundred thousand in total, not including Surena’s forces in Gordyene.’

He raised an eyebrow at this.

‘To call upon Surena will leave Gordyene exposed to another Armenian invasion,’ I said.

‘A pity, Pacorus, he is an excellent commander.’

‘He is,’ I agreed, ‘but at the start of the war we need him in the north to stop Gordyene falling and then, after we have hopefully dealt with Crassus, reinforcing our efforts against the Armenians.

‘We are fortunate that Artavasdes is the Armenian king and not his father. He would not have waited until Crassus arrived before striking south.’

‘It was a greater stroke of luck the Romans diverting their attention to Egypt when they did,’ added Orodes, who retook his seat and gestured for me to do the same.

‘I have to tell you, my friend,’ I said, ‘that even if we manage to defeat Crassus there is no guarantee that we can also stop the Armenians. I have heard reports that they are recruiting great numbers of mercenaries to swell their army. You may wish to consider relocating your court to Esfahan or another eastern city.’

He looked aghast at my suggestion. ‘To do so would in an instant destroy any authority I might have. The king of kings of the empire does not flee from his enemies, Pacorus.’

‘At least consider moving to Babylon, then,’ I suggested. ‘Its walls are at least strong and sit behind a moat. The defences here are derisory.’

‘I have every confidence in you, Pacorus,’ he smiled, ‘to prevent the enemy reaching these parts.’

Unfortunately I did not share his confidence though I did not tell him so. The army of Hatra had formerly been the western shield of the empire, a highly trained force of professionals who were the envy of other kings. But now that army had suffered great losses at the Battle of Susa and subsequently at Nisibus and north of Hatra. It had lost its commander, my father, and its morale was low. Of the armies of the other kingdoms that would be called upon to fight Crassus, Media and Babylon had lost many sons at Susa and the soldiers of Atropaiene were average at best. That left only Nergal’s horse archers from Mesene and my own army as a match for the Romans but they would be heavily outnumbered. How I wished my father was still alive.

I looked round the room and saw the empty chairs and thought of another time when I was in this study.

‘Is something troubling you, Pacorus?’

‘I was just thinking of when I was in this study with your father, just before the Battle of Surkh where we defeated Narses. He was sitting where you are now. Across the table were my father, Gotarzes, Vardan and that snake Chosroes, and myself of course. Of all of them I am the only one left alive. It seems an age ago.’

He looked at me with sympathetic eyes.

‘You know,’ I continued, ‘when I escaped from Italy I thought that life would be so simple. I would marry Gallia, inherit my father’s throne and live out the rest of my life as the King of Hatra.’

Orodes nodded thoughtfully. ‘The gods had other plans for you. They decided that you should be a great Parthian warlord.’

‘The next few months may make you re-evaluate that assessment,’ I replied.

The next day we rode back to Dura.

With Byrd’s network of informers in Syria and Cilicia I would know the moment Crassus arrived at Antioch, which would give me time to gather together the armies of Dura, Hatra, Babylon, Media, Atropaiene and Mesene. Garrisons would be left at Hatra and Assur, reinforced by sizeable numbers of horse archers to attack the Armenians should they advance south from Nisibus. Artavasdes would attack Hatra, of course, and I hoped he would because I knew that he would be unable to breach the city’s walls and would be compelled to besiege it. But there were no water supplies near the city and so he would be forced to send detachments to the Tigris sixty miles to the west. There Silaces and his horse archers riding from Assur would assault them. While the Armenians rotted in front of Hatra I would fight an outnumbered Crassus and at least stop him in his tracks. And afterwards I would march east and engage the Armenians before the walls of Hatra and destroy them — a fitting tribute to the memory of my father.

As we rode across the pontoon bridge over the Euphrates towards Dura’s Palmyrene Gate I began to whistle to myself. With luck and the help of the gods we would be able to resist the Roman invasion and throw the Armenians out of my brother’s kingdom. But as I trotted up the city’s main road to the Citadel I was unaware that the death of a young woman would throw my carefully prepared plans into chaos.

The first intimation of the event that was to plunge the empire into turmoil was when I rode through the Citadel’s gates into the courtyard and saw Gallia surrounded by the Amazons at the foot of the palace steps. Many were in tears and others were comforting each other and I felt my stomach tighten. I dismounted, gave Remus’ reins to a stable hand and walked to my wife’s side. She looked pale and shaken and I saw she was clutching a letter in her hand. A disconcerting silence filled the courtyard and I saw that Gallia’s eyes were misting with tears.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

She did not answer but held out the letter to me. She had been holding it so tightly that the words were difficult to read but I straightened it out as the eyes of the Amazons bore down on me. It was from Silaces at Assur, who had been informed by Surena that Viper had died giving birth to his son, who had been delivered stillborn. I closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would welcome them both into heaven. I opened them to find the eyes of my wife’s bodyguard still looking at me. What could I say to assuage their grief? Nothing. I remembered the woman who had looked like a girl, my young squire who had fallen in love with her and who had made her his queen and felt immensely sad.

‘I am sorry,’ was all I could say.

I was also sorry for Surena for now he was alone in his cold, grey palace with nothing to do but brood over his loss. I decided that I would write to Atrax to ask him to visit Surena. They were close friends and the King of Media’s cheerful disposition would hopefully stop Surena sinking into the pit of despair.

‘How little you know him, son of Hatra,’ remarked Dobbai as I sat alone with her that evening on the palace terrace after our daughters had been taken to their bedrooms. Gallia and the Amazons had locked themselves in the banqueting hall where they were holding a farewell meal for Viper and her child. It was a strictly all-female affair and so I was left to reflect on her death alone.

‘I have known him as a boy from the great southern marshes, as a squire, as an officer in my army and as a king,’ I snapped at her. ‘I think I know him very well.’

‘You know part of him. He was a wild creature that you took out of its environment and you sought to tame him like a horse. But a beast that has been taught to perform and dressed in fine clothes is still wild underneath.’

I held my head in my hands in despair. ‘Surena is not a beast; he is a man who has just lost his wife and child.’

She waved a hand at me dismissively. ‘Have it your own way. But I tell you that he will lash out like an enraged demon because of this, disregarding the consequences. You should prepare.’

‘Prepare for what?’

‘The unexpected.’

Knowing that Dobbai’s warnings were not to be dismissed lightly during the next few days there was a permanent knot in my stomach as I expected bad news to arrive at Dura. Perhaps Crassus had speeded up his journey, or maybe Artavasdes had decided to start the war without waiting for the Romans to arrive. But after a week nothing had happened and so I began to relax. The army was up to full strength and ready to march. The cataphracts had received their new swords and production of the new arrows for the horse archers was almost completed. All was quiet along the border with Roman Syria and Haytham’s kingdom was not being troubled.

I visited the Agraci king a week after my return to Dura and took Spartacus and Scarab along with me. As usual the road to Palmyra was thronged with traffic going east and west and the desert oasis itself was filled with caravans. Haytham gave a great feast the night we arrived and I kept a close eye on my nephew and Rasha, but though they exchanged pleasantries and spent some time in each other’s company there was no show of affection between the two, for which I heaved a sigh of relief. Her father had almost certainly earmarked a potential husband for his daughter and it would not be a Parthian, even if he was a prince.

Between the courses of roasted lamb stuffed with rice, nuts and raisins, and dates; platters heaped high with succulent mutton; and great quantities of unleavened bread, Byrd informed me that thus far there was no sign of Crassus but his arrival was eagerly awaited in Antioch.

‘He has boasted that he will conquer all Parthia and reduce its kings to servants of Rome.’

‘Servants?’ I said, scooping up a slice of lamb covered with cooked onion. ‘I think “slaves” is more appropriate. What do you hear of Alexander Maccabeus in Judea?’

Byrd screwed up his face. ‘He still fight but is more the hunted than the hunter. Romani tighten their grip on Judea and Egypt.’

I thought of the thousands of weapons that I had supplied to the Jewish rebels and the high hopes of their leader. ‘Still, at least he is still resisting. Are the Armenians still recruiting mercenaries?’

He nodded. ‘Artavasdes has sworn to make Hatra an Armenian city just like Nisibus. Rumour tell of a great map he has commissioned that shows Kingdoms of Hatra, Gordyene, Media and Atropaiene as provinces of Armenian Empire.’

I nearly choked on my piece of lamb. ‘What?’

‘He thinks he is the new Tigranes,’ said Byrd.

I took a gulp of water. ‘We will have to disabuse him of that notion.’

The next day I spoke with Haytham and told him that everything was in place with regards to dealing with Crassus and the Armenians.

‘What part would you like me to play in this plan?’ he asked me.

‘You may do as you like, lord king.’

We sat alone cross-legged on carpets and among cushions in his great tent. Outside the bustle and noise of Palmyra filled the air. They were the sounds of much activity and indicative of great prosperity, but Haytham seemed concerned.

‘I must wash the swords of my warriors in the blood of my enemies, Pacorus, to avenge the death of Vehrka, else I will appear weak to my people.’

‘When the Romans arrive, lord,’ I said, ‘there will be more than enough enemy blood to go round.’

‘The Romans will again try to take Palmyra. Though we are a nomadic people and can relinquish this place easily enough, I must defend it. To abandon it would be shameful.’

‘The Romans will invade Parthia first, lord,’ I told him.

He looked surprised. ‘It would make more sense to march from Emesa east to Palmyra and then Dura.’

‘The Romans will wish to join with their Armenian allies to the north, lord. They will cross the Euphrates at Zeugma to gain access to the land between that river and the Tigris.’

‘Your squire, the tall one with broad shoulders and black hair,’ he said suddenly. ‘He pays too much attention to Rasha. I saw them exchanging glances last night. Tell him that she is not for his eyes.’

The threatening tone in his voice told me that it had been a mistake to bring Spartacus to Palmyra. I assured Haytham that in future I would leave my squires at Dura.

‘The Nubian you can still bring. He at least knows his place.’

Despite his incurring the animosity of Haytham, which would normally have resulted in his swift execution, Spartacus was in high spirits as we made our way back to Dura. As usual the road was heaving with traffic — mules and camels loaded with goods, carts being pulled by mangy donkeys, travellers on foot, mystics, guards on horseback escorting their masters’ caravans — the air was filled with dust and the aroma of animals and their dung. These sights and smells gladdened my heart for they were a sign of commerce and Dura’s prosperity.

‘These people and their animals stink,’ complained Spartacus behind me.

We were riding by the side of the road, the smell and dust of hundreds of animals and men filling the hot, still air.

‘What you are seeing is the lifeblood of the empire,’ I told him. ‘Without the Silk Road and the caravans that travel along it Parthia would be impoverished. Hatra would be nothing but an outpost in the desert without the Silk Road.’

‘They still stink,’ he mumbled.

‘What do you think of the princess, Scarab?’ I heard him say to my Nubian squire.

‘A jewel of the desert,’ replied Scarab.

‘I like her,’ proclaimed Spartacus.

‘You cannot have her,’ I said to him. ‘Haytham was most displeased by your behaviour at the feast.’

‘I did not touch her,’ he protested.

‘Haytham is no fool. He sees and hears everything. Do you think he did not notice a great strapping oaf leering at his daughter, or catching her eye and eliciting a smile from her? You delude yourself and you would be wise not to get on the wrong side of him.’

‘He does not frighten me,’ he remarked casually.

I halted Remus and wheeled him around. The fifty horse archers of my escort behind also halted.

I jabbed a finger at my cocky nephew. ‘You should fear him. He would slit your throat without a thought if he thought you had dishonoured his daughter.’

He was outraged. ‘I would never dishonour Rasha.’

I let my hand drop. ‘I know that. But you must understand that she is Agraci and will marry an Agraci lord.’

‘I am a prince and higher than a lord,’ he declared proudly.

Scarab grinned at me from under his floppy hat.

‘He does not care if you are a prince. You are Parthian and Rasha is Agraci and the two do not mix.’

‘You are his friend, uncle. In Hatra people say that the Agraci and Parthians are mortal enemies, and yet you and he visit each other and regard yourselves as brothers.’

I shook my head. ‘It is not the same. I am not lusting after his daughter, which by the way is conduct unbecoming of a Parthian prince.’

‘I am only half Parthian,’ he said. ‘I was raised a Parthian but I was born a Thracian.’

I smiled. Gafarn and Diana had promised that he would know of his blood parents and they had kept their word.

‘What is a Thracian?’ asked Scarab as we resumed our journey back to Dura.

‘A native of Thrace,’ I said.

‘And where is Thrace, majesty?’ he enquired further.

‘A land far to the west of here,’ I replied.

‘You were born in this land?’ he asked Spartacus.

‘I did not say that. I said I was born a Thracian,’ he snapped.

Scarab, clearly intrigued, continued to press my nephew for answers. ‘Then where were you born?’

‘Italy if you must know. I was born in Italy and my father and mother were both slaves. Are you satisfied?’

Spartacus’ smile and cheerfulness disappeared as he sat sullenly in his saddle.

Scarab broke the silence. ‘I too was born to slaves. We have no say over the circumstances of our birth, only the life we live afterwards.’

‘Well said,’ I told him. ‘What Spartacus forgot to tell you, Scarab, was that when they died his parents were both free. More than that, his father was also a great warlord, one of the greatest the world has ever known.’

I looked back at them both and saw Scarab slap my nephew on the arm. ‘I had no idea. I thought you were just a rich, pampered prince.’

‘He is that too,’ I said.