Parthian Vengeance

Chapter 6

My father, his red banner with its white horse motif carried behind him, arrived two hours later with Gafarn in tow. He was accompanied by his five-hundred-strong bodyguard, a thousand other armoured riders, five thousand horse archers, three thousand squires in full war gear leading the same number of camels and a further thousand camels carrying spare arrows, tents, food and waterskins. My two legions had been drawn up in battle order to salute their arrival.

The army of Hatra was a sight to behold. Each cataphract was encased in scale armour, legs and arms in steel circular armour similar to that worn by my own heavy horsemen. White plumes were fixed to the top of every helmet and white pennants fluttered from every kontus. The horses wore armour from head to thigh, their eyes covered by metal grills to protect them from sword and spear thrusts and missiles.

My father’s bodyguard, recruited from the sons of the kingdom’s nobles, were the finest of all, each man wearing scale armour of overlapping polished steel plates riveted onto the thick hide undercoat. The sun glinted off their armour and whetted kontus points. For additional armament each man carried a sword, mace, axe and dagger — they were truly fearsome killing machines.

Only Hatran nobility could serve in the ranks of the royal bodyguard, a notion that I scoffed at. But I had to admit as they halted behind my father and Vistaspa they presented a magnificent sight.

The same could not be said for the horse archers brought by Dura’s lords: men in varying shades of brown, yellow and white shirts and leggings, wearing no armour and riding horses of different colours. Every horse in my father’s bodyguard was a pure white to complement each rider’s white shirt and leggings. But to amass such a contingent took time and a great deal of wealth, attributes that Hatra had in abundance. Dura’s lords, though men of some wealth in their own right, did not have the means to raise and equip such immaculately attired soldiers. But my lords had carved out their lands with blood and hard graft, often fighting the Agraci in the process before the time of peace between our two peoples. The farmers who worked their lands were also hardy individuals who knew how to fight their way out of a tight spot if need be. Gallia had brought twenty thousand of them. The lords had elected Spandarat to be their commander for the duration of the campaign. One-eyed, brusque and having the appearance of a shabby carpet salesman, he had been the one who had escorted the queen back to Dura when she had been pregnant with Claudia when I had marched to fight King Porus of Sakastan and his elephants. How long ago that seemed now!

Trumpets and horns blasted as the legions stood to attention and I walked to greet my father from where Gallia, Orodes, Malik, Domitus and Kronos were standing beyond the front rank of legionaries. Vistaspa held the reins of his horse as he dismounted and paced towards me, Gafarn next to him. We embraced and he stepped back to examine me. He wore a sleeveless leather cuirass overlaid with silver scales and a gold crown atop his silver-inlaid helmet. His spotless long-sleeved white shirt contrasted sharply with my own filthy shirt and leggings. Gafarn was similarly dressed but wore no crown on his helmet.

‘It would appear that we have arrived just in time, my son.’

‘It would appear so, father.’

He looked at the lines of filthy, tired men drawn up behind me.

‘Your soldiers look as though they have taken a battering. It is fortunate for you that you have allies to come to your aid, for otherwise the buzzards would have been picking at your bones by now.’

‘There are worse ways to die,’ I replied casually.

His brow furrowed. ‘Are there?’

‘Better not to die at all,’ suggested Gafarn. ‘You and Mithridates didn’t kiss and make up then?’

‘Grovelling to snakes has little appeal, brother,’ I said.

My father was going to say more but at that moment a great rumbling noise heralded the arrival of more reinforcements — Haytham’s warriors. Like a great cloud of locusts the black-clad Agraci warriors filled the horizon, and my father kept his council as Haytham and his desert lords rode up to where we stood. I smiled as the Agraci king dismounted from his shining black stallion and strode over to me. He nodded curtly at my father who nodded back but said nothing. I bowed my head to Haytham.

‘Welcome, lord,’ I said. ‘I am in your debt.’

My father folded his arms and glanced at the long line of Agraci warriors who now waited on their horses and camels on the right flank of Hatra’s army — a stark contrast to the white-uniformed Parthian riders.

‘I had no say in the matter,’ replied Haytham, his black eyes studying my father. ‘Your queen sent for me and told me to bring my warriors.’

This was nonsense, of course, but Haytham was obviously at ease and enjoying himself. No wonder, for no Agraci king had ever crossed the Euphrates to venture into the empire. I could see that my father was most uncomfortable by the presence of both him and his warriors. But I gave thanks to Shamash that they had come for it signalled that Haytham valued our alliance and my friendship.

The awkwardness was shattered by the appearance of Spandarat, who walked over to us. He bowed to my father and Haytham, muttering ‘majesty’ as he did so, then slapped me on the arm.

‘Nearly got your arse kicked, then? I reckon that sorceress of yours must have been working flat-out weaving spells to protect you.’

My father was appalled at his behaviour but I had never insisted on a strict adherence to protocol at Dura, preferring loyalty and honesty to sycophancy and faithlessness.

‘Perhaps we should make camp,’ said my father brusquely, ‘then we can discuss matters more fully and Pacorus can change his clothes to look more like a Parthian king.’

He nodded stiffly to Haytham and then went back to his bodyguard.

Gafarn smiled and bowed his head to Haytham. ‘Until later, lord king. Diana sends her love, Pacorus.’

He walked back to his officers assembled on their horses before Dura’s horse archers. It was appropriate that Gafarn, one of the finest bowmen in the Parthian Empire, commanded some of the empire’s finest horse archers.

Malik came forward to speak to his father while Gallia told Spandarat to distribute the extra full waterskins that had been brought by each of his riders. At least the legionaries would be thirsty no more.

Domitus stood the men down as a multitude of tents sprang up around the hastily erected royal tent of my father. Domitus ordered that the legions dig a ditch and rampart to surround their camp, in which the lords would also shelter. The men grumbled but to no avail. We may have lost our wooden stakes and most of our tents but Domitus was determined to maintain proper procedures.

‘The enemy might come back,’ he growled as hundreds of men sweated and cursed as they wielded entrenching tools to dig the ditch and erect the rampart.

When they had finished both legions were allowed to rest for the night, security provided by a screen of horse archers five miles away in all directions from the camps of the allied armies. Malik threw parties of Agraci scouts out even further. In the late afternoon he himself rode east with a large group towards the Tigris. My father camped his army to the north of our own tents and east of Haytham’s warriors. As dusk was enveloping the land he sent a rider to my tent inviting me to dine with him. But I sent a message back that I was too exhausted to be good company and if I did attend him would probably fall asleep at his table. No doubt my absence fuelled his ill ease further. Domitus and Kronos were also listless as they sat down with me at the table in my tent. Orodes and Gallia tried in vain to engage us in conversation. After we had eaten a meal of salted Hatran mutton and dried biscuit washed down with tepid water, Orodes, Domitus and Kronos made their excuses and left to get some sleep. Fortunately we had managed to save the blankets in our flight from Mithridates, and in the darkness row upon row of legionaries lay on the ground wrapped in them as they slept like the dead, the Amazons and the lords’ horse archers standing guard over them.

In my sleeping quarters I lay next to Gallia, her head on my chest, her hand caressing my scalp. It was sheer heaven. Her voice was soft and soothing.

‘Soon after you left Dura Dobbai had a dream in which she saw a griffin with one of its wings pinned to the ground. It was all alone and squealing in agony and she knew that you were in danger. So I mustered the lords and sent a message to Haytham, asking for his help.’

‘So Orodes never made it back to Dura.’

‘No, we met him and his horsemen on the east bank of the Euphrates.’

‘And my father?’ I asked, finding it difficult to stay awake.

‘I sent a message to Hatra at the same time as the request to Haytham, saying that you faced defeat if your father did not bring his army south.’

‘Perhaps you should command the army and I will stay at Dura to raise our daughters.’ I never heard her answer as I drifted off into a deep sleep, my beloved wife beside me.

The morning came soon enough. When I awoke I found Gallia gone. I dressed and donned my cuirass and left my bedchamber, buckling my sword belt as I walked into the tent’s main area to find Byrd pacing up and down while Domitus and Orodes were seated at the table.

‘Ah, the sleeping hero comes at last,’ remarked Domitus sarcastically.

I ignored him. ‘Byrd, you are a sight for sore eyes.’

He stopped pacing and nodded at me. ‘I ride in earlier. Vardan comes with his horsemen.’

I picked up the jug of water on the table and poured myself a cup.

‘That is excellent news. We may yet bring this campaign to a happy end.’

‘Vardan also sent a message to Nergal at Uruk to let him know situation,’ continued Byrd.

‘It will take him a few days to get to us,’ said Orodes.

He was right about that. Uruk was over a hundred miles south of Babylon and Babylon lay eighty miles at least south of where we were camped. Still, I knew that if Nergal learned that we were in peril he would also bring his army to support me. Except that we were no longer in peril.

When Vardan and his horsemen arrived two hours later a council of kings was held in my father’s camp. Gallia returned from her early morning ride with her Amazons as did Malik and his men, and she and Orodes joined me as I journeyed to the tent of my father in the middle of the Hatran army’s camp. Gallia had brought Remus back with her and it was good to be in the saddle again, albeit only for a short time as I rode with them through my father’s camp to his pavilion. As is the Parthian custom the king’s marquee was located in the centre of the camp, with the king’s horse and those of his bodyguard stabled immediately behind it. The tents of the royal bodyguard’s officers were pitched around the royal pavilion, the smaller tents of the rest of the royal bodyguard positioned beyond them in an outer circle. Further out still were the tents of the horse archers, with stable areas for their horses dotted among the tents. The camel park was usually located anywhere as long as it was downwind and far away from the royal pavilion. The banners of Dura and Susiana fluttered in the light breeze behind us as we rode. At my father’s tent our horses were taken from us and we were escorted inside.

Already the legions were marching west to the Euphrates. I had told Domitus that he was to take them to the river and then north back to Dura. They would be of no further use here and it was imperative that the wounded were taken back to the city where they could be properly cared for. In the fighting with the enemy we had lost only one hundred and fifty killed but over four hundred more had been wounded, mostly by arrows. Of those fifty were expected to die before they reached Dura. We had also lost four Companions killed.

Before the meeting with my father Haytham and Malik had ridden over to my tent to tell me that the King of the Agraci was going back to his lands.

‘My presence within the Parthian Empire is not welcome, I think,’ King Haytham explained.

‘Your presence is very welcome, lord,’ I reassured him.

‘To you, perhaps. But you are different from other Parthian kings. I will accompany your foot soldiers back to Dura.’

‘I am in your debt, lord.’

He smiled. ‘When I am in danger, then perhaps you will bring your army to assist me.’

‘You have only to ask,’ I said.

He walked over to Gallia who bowed her head to him. He then leant forward and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Do not leave it too long before you visit Palmyra, Gallia.’

She dazzled him with her smile. ‘Tell Rasha I will see her soon.’

Malik embraced us both and then we all followed Haytham outside where a score of his mounted warriors waited for him.

When he was in the saddle he raised his hand to us and then departed.

‘He is a good man,’ I said.

‘Yes he is,’ agreed Gallia. She turned to look at me. ‘You may find that your father is not as agreeable.’

She was right about that. The reception I received from him was icy to say the least. When we were shown into his marquee my father was seated on a great couch discussing matters with Vistaspa. Both of them were dressed in white flowing robes, not their war gear. When we entered Gafarn rose from the couch next to my father and embraced Gallia and then me. He too was dressed casually.

‘Our father is spitting blood,’ he whispered to me.

Vistaspa also rose when I entered with Gallia and Orodes and bowed his head to us. My father raised his hand to me and smiled at Gallia, who stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. On another couch, dressed in a rich purple tunic and yellow silk leggings, his feet encased in red slippers studded with silver, sat King Vardan of Babylon. I bowed my head to him, as did Gallia, while Orodes, being a prince, went down on one knee before him and my father.

Vardan had not changed much in the years since I had last seen him. A short, broad-shouldered man, he had a round face and a long nose. His full beard and moustache were brown, though I noticed that, like my father’s hair, they now had flecks of grey in them.

‘Greetings father, lord king,’ I said to them.

Gallia walked over to Vardan and likewise kissed him on the cheek.

‘Greetings, lord king. I hope Axsen prospers.’

Princess Axsen was Vardan’s daughter. Unfortunately she had inherited her father’s physical attributes and was a rather short, stocky woman, though possessed of an agreeable nature and great charm.

Vardan smiled at Gallia. ‘She sends her love to you both and wonders why you have not visited her at Babylon.’

‘We have been remiss, lord,’ she said. ‘I promise that we will visit her soon. Is that not so, Pacorus?’

‘Mm, yes, of course.’ I was watching my father during this interlude between my wife and Vardan. He had a face like thunder and clearly wanted to get something off his chest.

‘Be seated, all of you,’ he snapped. ‘And get off your knees, Orodes.’

I unbuckled my sword belt and rested it against the couch opposite my father that Gallia and I sat down on. His servants offered us wine and pastries. Orodes reclined on another couch opposite to Vardan, the King of Babylon smiling at Gallia though ignoring me. I felt like a chastened child.

‘Haytham has left?’ asked my father.

‘Not two hours ago,’ I replied. ‘He and his men escort the legions back to Dura.’

My father turned the silver cup he was holding in his hand, staring at it as he did so.

‘Probably just as well. The presence of a large group of Agraci east of the Euphrates will not sit well with many people.’

‘And what people would they be, father?’

He stopped turning the cup and looked at me with narrow eyes.

‘Most of the Parthian Empire. It was a mistake enlisting Haytham’s help. It is one thing having him as a friend and ally on your western border, quite another inviting him and his army into the empire.’

‘It is my fault, lord,’ said Gallia apologetically. ‘I was the one who requested King Haytham’s aid.’

My father smiled warmly at her. ‘It is not your fault, daughter. You were only trying to save your foolish husband.’

Now we were coming to the kernel of the matter.

‘Foolish, father? Is it foolish to seek justice from those who attempted to murder me, who did succeed in murdering my governor?’ I pointed at Vistaspa. ‘A friend of the commander of your army, no less.’

My father placed his cup on the table beside his couch. ‘Perhaps you mistake revenge for justice.’

I could feel my temper rise within me. ‘Mithridates needs to be punished for his failed assassination attempt.’

Vardan took a sharp intake of breath while my father rose to his feet and began pacing in front of me, turning his head as he spat words in my direction.

‘You take it upon yourself to march against Ctesiphon, in the process violating the territorial integrity of both Hatra and Babylon. You march your army through our kingdoms without even the courtesy of asking for our permission. Then you bite off more than you can chew, nearly get yourself killed and then have to rely on Vardan and me to get you out of trouble. I did think, once, that you would make a good king, but the events of the last few days have disabused me of that notion. With the Armenians raiding my northern territories the last thing I want is a war on my southern border.’

‘I fear Varaz is right,’ added Vardan. ‘The empire needs internal stability in the face of external threats. All of the northern borders are aflame.’

‘You are right, lord king,’ I replied, ignoring my father who had regained his couch. ‘That is why we must grasp the opportunity that has presented itself.’

‘Opportunity?’ Vardan looked at me with a confused expression.

‘Nergal will arrive within the next two days, and with his horsemen combined with our own we may yet strike at Ctesiphon and destroy Mithridates.’

Vardan’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Strike at Ctesiphon?’

‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Mithridates will not be expecting that. And with the horsemen of Babylon, Hatra and Mesene combined with my own we will surely destroy his army.’

Vardan said nothing, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish out of water. Gafarn buried his head in his hands and Orodes and Vistaspa both stared at the red carpets spread on the floor.

‘Hatra’s army will not be marching against Ctesiphon,’ said my father slowly and forcefully. ‘I will not be dragged into your war, Pacorus.’

‘Nor I,’ added Vardan. ‘For good or ill, Mithridates is the king of kings. We cannot have another civil war in the empire, Pacorus, not at all. The Romans, Armenians and the tribes of the northern steppes will take advantage of our weakness.’

‘Exactly,’ said my father. ‘There will be no empire left if we fight among ourselves once more.’

‘And Mithridates and Narses are allowed to go unpunished for their crimes?’ I said.

‘The only proof that it was Mithridates who sent those assassins was the word of the killers themselves,’ replied my father. ‘Perhaps it was someone else who sent them. After all, you have made many enemies since you became King of Dura.’

‘I thought Hatra and Babylon were friends of Dura,’ I said.

‘You abuse our friendship, Pacorus,’ replied my father. ‘This is the second time that Vardan and I have brought our armies to help you.’ He was referring to the time when I had faced the Roman Pompey on Dura’s northern border. ‘But instead of being grateful you want to embroil us in another war. Well not this time. This time we are going home.’

‘I have to concur with your father,’ added Vardan. ‘Babylon cannot afford to fight a war against the might of the eastern kings.’

‘Pacorus is grateful for your support,’ said Gallia to my father, ‘to both of you.’ She smiled at Vardan. ‘Is that not correct, Pacorus?’

I said nothing, which earned me a look of fury from my wife. I held my father’s iron gaze, not blinking.

‘I see my words are wasted on you, Pacorus,’ he said at length. ‘I leave for Hatra tomorrow.’

‘I will also be taking my men home,’ said Vardan. ‘I am sorry, Pacorus.’

There was nothing else to say. I bowed my head perfunctorily to my father and Vardan and then left. Gallia took her leave by again kissing the cheeks of the two kings. Orodes was the last to depart, as ever endeavouring to smooth troubled waters with his diplomatic tongue. As I waited impatiently for Remus to be brought to me Gafarn came to my side.

‘Do not be too disappointed, Pacorus. Our father is preoccupied with securing our northern border.’

‘Hatra has enough strength to deal with the Armenians and help me defeat Mithridates.’

A servant, a boy dressed in the white livery of my father’s kingdom, brought Remus to me.

‘I have been remiss,’ I said to Gafarn. ‘How is Diana?’

He smiled. ‘She is well and sends her love.’

‘And your son?’ Diana had given birth to a boy two years ago. They had named the child Varaz after his grandfather.

‘He thrives. Diana and your mother want to know if Hatra will see you and Gallia soon.’

I shrugged. ‘I have to deal with Mithridates and Narses first.’

‘Not for a few years, then,’ he quipped.

I took Remus’ reins and vaulted into the saddle. Epona was brought to Gallia and Orodes was provided with his brown mare.

‘And young Spartacus?’ I asked.

‘Big and strong, just like his father was,’ said Gafarn approvingly.

‘How old is he now?’ asked Gallia.

‘He has seen eleven summers,’ replied Gafarn.

We had brought the infant son of Spartacus back with us from Italy. Eleven years. It had passed in the blink of an eye.

‘Farewell, Gafarn,’ I said. ‘Convey my love to Diana.’

I dug my knees into Remus’ sides, causing him to snort in annoyance before he broke into a canter. I would not be visiting my father again before he took his army north, and with it any chance that I had of seeking a decision against Mithridates. By now he and Narses would be back across the Tigris with their troops. Meanwhile Gotarzes was still besieged in Elymais with no hope of relief. It was obvious to me that Mithridates was intent on destroying Dura and all its allies, and if he did he would have an iron grip over the empire. I shuddered at the thought.

‘There is nothing to be done, Pacorus,’ said Gallia later as we sat at the table in my tent with Orodes for company.

‘Your father is a wise king,’ added Orodes. ‘He knows that there is no willingness to fight a campaign in the east of the empire, beyond the Tigris. For that is where we shall have to go if Mithridates and Narses retreat further east.’

‘But if they do,’ I said, ‘at least we will have saved Gotarzes.’

‘How long can he hold out in his city?’ asked Gallia.

‘Not long, I fear,’ replied Orodes.

‘Perhaps we do not need Hatra and Babylon,’ I mused.

Orodes wore a perplexed expression. ‘I do not understand.’

I smiled at him. ‘Vardan and my father may be hesitant to resolve matters, but Nergal will not be so reticent.’

Gallia raised an eyebrow at me. ‘What plot are you hatching now?’

I clasped her face with my hands and kissed her on the lips.

‘All will be revealed when our friend and ally arrives with his men, my sweet.’

‘Does this mean we are not returning to Dura?’ asked Orodes.

I jumped up and clapped my hands together. ‘Dura will have to wait, my friend, for we have unfinished business across the Tigris.’

Gallia, tired from her rapid journey from Dura, retired soon after, leaving Orodes and me alone. I spread the hide map of the empire that I always took with me on campaign across the table. I took one of the oil lamps hanging on a tent pole and placed it next to the map so we could see its details better. I placed a finger on our present position.

‘We are less than a hundred miles from Babylon,’ I said, moving my finger over the map to take it past Babylon and towards Uruk. ‘Another fifty miles south is the northern border of Mesene.’

Orodes yawned. ‘What of it?’

‘If we accompany Vardan and then continue our journey south, with Nergal’s permission we can strike southeast towards Elymais. We may yet aid Gotarzes.’

He stretched out his arms, clearly thinking about his bed more than my plan.

‘But your father and Vardan have no interest in attempting to help Gotarzes.’

‘We do not need their help, my friend. We have Dura’s horsemen and whatever Nergal can muster. It will be enough.’

I was bluffing, of course. Even with Nergal’s forces — I had no idea how many men he would bring — we would probably be inferior in numbers to the enemy. But the thought of abandoning Gotarzes gnawed at me incessantly like a toothache.

Orodes looked at me and then at the map.

‘Have you thought that laying siege to Elymais might be a ruse to lure you to a place of the enemy’s choosing, Pacorus? Perhaps my stepbrother and Narses know you better than you think.’

In truth I had not thought of that possibility.

‘Gotarzes came to my aid when I faced Pompey, Orodes. For that reason alone I must attempt to aid him.’

I looked into his eyes.

‘I have no right to ask you or your men to hazard such an undertaking.’

A hurt look crept over his face. ‘I would be offended if I was not included in your plan.’

I smiled. ‘Well then, let us await the arrival of our friend, the King of Mesene.’

The new day dawned cool and overcast, grey clouds filling the sky to block out the sun and making everything appear dull and drab. Squires scurried around preparing meals for their masters and providing fodder for the horses. With the legions gone there were no tools to dig a ditch and erect a rampart. In any case we had lost all our wooden stakes that were used to make the rampart, so I commanded that the squires and their masters form a cordon around the camp. They complained that it was not their task to be sentries but to no avail. They may be cataphracts but they enjoyed no special dispensations when it came to the mundane tasks of military life.

It was mid-morning when Byrd, accompanied by two of his Agraci scouts, rode to my tent. He had taken to wearing the clothes of his adopted people: his head was wrapped in a black turban that covered the lower half of his face and he wore black leggings and a long-sleeved black tunic. His horse was also a black beast, its black leather harness, straps and reins giving it a forbidding appearance. The sentries outside had alerted us to his arrival so we were outside the tent as he slid off his horse and bowed his head to me and then Gallia and Orodes.

‘Nergal come,’ he said, handing the reins of his horse to one of the scouts, who then wheeled away to find the field kitchens.

‘And Praxima?’ asked Gallia.

‘She too.’

I put an arm round his shoulder. ‘Come inside and tell us your news.’

As the day was cool I ordered one of the two sentries, both squires, to fetch us some warm wine to drink and hot porridge for Byrd. He had probably been in the saddle since before dawn judging by the black rings round his eyes. He slumped into one of the chairs at the table and stretched out his legs. Byrd was reserved at the best of times, sullen some would say, but this morning he seemed more withdrawn than usual. I caught his eyes and a finger of ice went down my spine.

‘You look troubled. What is the matter?’

He looked at Gallia and then Orodes.

‘Gotarzes is dead,’ he said blankly.

‘What?’ Orodes was appalled.

I closed my eyes. ‘How?’

‘We encountered refugees from Elymais on the road,’ said Byrd. ‘They told of great battle between Gotarzes and the forces of Mithridates and Narses. Gotarzes lost.’

‘I thought he was besieged in his city,’ said Gallia. ‘Was Elymais stormed?’

Byrd shook his head. ‘Gotarzes ride out of city to give battle but underestimate number of his enemies. He heard…’

Byrd halted his words and looked down at his feet.

‘Heard what?’ I pressed him.

He looked up at me. ‘He heard that you were coming to help him. That is what men I speak to on road say.’

I felt sick and held my head in my hands. I had been played by Mithridates and Narses and had danced to their tune like a performing bear. I had walked into their trap and now because of me, Gotarzes was dead and his kingdom lost.

‘It’s not your fault, Pacorus,’ said Orodes.

‘Isn’t it?’ I replied. ‘If it had not been for me Gotarzes would never have hazarded a battle.’

I could have wept at that moment, wept for a dead king and the thousands of his soldiers who had perished on the battlefield and the thousands of his people who would now be ruled by the tyranny of Mithridates. Gotarzes had been my ally and friend and now he was dead. Godarz was dead, also killed by Mithridates. I looked at Gallia, Orodes and then Byrd and feared for their lives also.

Gallia smiled at me. ‘You did your best.’

‘Only it was not good enough.’

‘What will you do now?’ asked Orodes.

In truth I did not know. With Gotarzes gone and Elymais fallen there was no purpose in striking across the Tigris. An attack on Ctesiphon was still tempting, but the enemy would merely retreat further east beyond our clutches. I was not interested in the palace of the king of kings; it was Mithridates that I wanted.

I sighed. ‘We go home, Orodes.’

I suddenly felt very tired and bereft of hope. Mithridates had won and my reputation, such as it was, had suffered a grave blow. The army of Dura had previously never suffered a defeat but now it had been stopped in its tracks and forced to limp back home. Mithridates would be emboldened by recent events and he and Narses were probably planning an assault on my kingdom now. It was all too depressing to think about.

I wrote letters to Vardan and my father and sent couriers to deliver them. I would have ridden over to my father’s camp myself, but he would undoubtedly blame me for his friend’s death and I was in no mood to endure another of his lectures. I also had to inform Nergal when he arrived that his journey had been in vain — a ride of two hundred miles for nothing. It was all too much to bear.

Nergal and his men duly arrived the next morning, five thousand horse archers with a large camel train in tow. I rode out of camp with Gallia, Byrd and Orodes to greet my friend and fellow king. This was the man who had been my second-in-command in Italy and when I had first gone to Dura. A year older than me, Nergal was a fellow Hatran who had fought by my side for over ten years before gaining the crown of the Kingdom of Mesene. Brave, loyal and possessed of an optimistic nature, out of the saddle his long arms and legs gave him an awkward, gangly appearance. It was that appearance that had convinced Rahim, the high priest of Uruk, that Nergal was the reincarnation of the god of the same name. His coming had been foretold thousands of years before on sacred tablets held in the great ziggurat in Uruk, a massive structure that was the residence of the sky god Anu. The banner that now flew behind my friend was the symbol of the god Nergal — a great yellow banner embossed with a double-headed lion sceptre crossed with a sword. It was a happy reunion of old friends who had shared many hardships and also great victories. After we had all dismounted and embraced each other, Gallia and Praxima with an emotional greeting, Nergal’s horsemen were ordered to pitch camp next to the army of Dura.

Mesene is not a rich kingdom. Located south of Babylon, it lies between the Tigris and Euphrates whose southern border was formerly where these two mighty rivers empty their waters into the Persian Gulf. But Nergal had granted his southern marshlands to the area’s inhabitants, the Ma’adan — Surena’s people. In the process he had given away a sizeable proportion of his kingdom. No longer did Mesene’s warriors wage war against the Ma’adan, though, and in place of strife there was now trade. This allowed the kingdom to prosper and provided Nergal with the revenues to raise and maintain his army. Dura and Hatra were unusual in having permanent armies staffed by full-time soldiers, equipped and paid for by the crown. Such armies were prohibitively expensive to maintain, their existence made possible only because of the profits raised from the Silk Road. But the Silk Road did not run through Mesene so Nergal had to cut his cloth accordingly.

There were no armoured horsemen among the riders who trotted past us on their way to their campsite, no squires pulling camels loaded with scale armour, lances, tubular arm and leg armour, tents and spare arrows and weapons for their masters. The horse archers of Mesene wore a simple woollen kaftan dyed red known as a kurta that opened at the front and was wrapped across the chest from right to left. It was loose fitting like their leggings called saravanas. Each man wore leather ankle boots called xshumaka, tied in place by leather bands that passed around the ankle and under the sole. Over the kaftans the archers wore scale-armour cuirasses, short-sleeved garments that reached to the mid-thigh, slit at each side up to the waist to facilitate riding. On the leather cuirasses were attached horizontal rows of rectangular iron scales, each row of scales partly covering the layer below. On his head each man wore a helmet made from curved iron plates attached to an iron skeleton of vertical bands, complete with large cheekguards and a long, leather neck flap. They were an impressive sight.

‘I like your horsemen, Nergal,’ I said approvingly.

‘It is their first campaign,’ he replied. ‘They are looking forward to being tested in battle.’

‘Alas, my friend, I think they may have to wait a little longer.’

Later, as we all sat relaxing in my tent, I told Nergal the news that Gotarzes was dead and Elymais in the possession of the enemy.

‘That is grave news indeed,’ he said. ‘We have lost a valued ally.’

‘Will Mithridates make war upon Mesene, Pacorus?’ asked Praxima with concern.

‘I hope not,’ I replied.

In truth I did not know but suspected that my nemesis would strike against Mesene. Susiana, Mithridates’ own kingdom, lay next to Mesene, the Tigris demarking their eastern and western borders respectively. With Elymais laid low Mithridates and Narses could now turn their attention against Mesene.

‘Dura stands with you, Nergal,’ said Gallia. ‘Mithridates will think twice before he tangles with our combined forces.’

‘It is as Gallia says,’ I said, causing Praxima to grin with delight.

Orodes said nothing but he knew, as did I, that Dura lay two hundred miles from Mesene whereas the forces of the enemy were within striking distance of Nergal’s kingdom. I would have to take my horsemen south to reinforce Mesene.

‘How is your high priest, Nergal?’ asked Orodes, diplomatically changing the subject.

‘Agreeable I am glad to say,’ he replied.

‘You two are still gods, then?’ I teased them.

‘Gods given human bodies,’ said Praxima sternly before breaking out in giggles.

The sacred tablets that were held at Uruk spoke of Nergal, the god of war, with his wife the goddess Allatu, the queen of the underworld. Allatu was represented on the tablets as having the head of a lion, the red mane of Praxima confirming to the priests of Uruk that she was indeed the goddess. But there was more that confirmed that the wife of Nergal was an immortal. She had arrived at the city at the head of an army — Dura’s army — and was dressed as a warrior. That she fought as an Amazon and took life corresponded to the ancient tablets describing Allatu as ferocious and warlike, whose anger knew no bounds. One of the tablets held in the ziggurat at Uruk showed Nergal with his symbol of a lion, with Allatu seated on a horse beside him. Praxima had arrived at Uruk mounted on a horse and dressed as a warrior. All these things convinced Rahim and his priests that Nergal and Praxima were gods made flesh. When I had taken Uruk I was determined that they would become the new rulers of the city to replace the treacherous Chosroes, who had obligingly committed suicide after my soldiers had breached the city walls. I had anticipated difficulties in imposing a new regime on the populace, but the happy coincidence that Nergal and his wife resembled gods removed all obstacles to their accession to power.

‘Rahim obligingly opened the temple vaults to me,’ said Nergal casually. ‘They were full of gold, which was more than could be said for the palace treasury. That was bare.’

‘Chosroes had no gold?’ asked Orodes.

Nergal shook his head. ‘Chosroes was a cruel lord who bought the allegiance of his lords, and his expensive tastes were too much for his kingdom to bear.’

I thought of the rabble that was Chosroes’ army, the ragged foot soldiers and the inadequately armed horsemen on their threadbare mounts. He certainly did not lavish money on his troops.

‘Why didn’t Chosroes empty the temple vaults?’ I asked.

‘Because Rahim wields much power within the city and kingdom,’ said Praxima.

‘One does not make an enemy of such a man,’ added Nergal. ‘He can make much trouble.’

‘But not for you,’ said Gallia.

Nergal smiled. ‘No, not for me, for I am careful not to abuse the exalted position my people accord me.’

‘We gave back to the Ma’adan their homeland and justice to the people of Mesene,’ added Praxima with pride.

‘And in return,’ continued Nergal, ‘they give us their sons to serve in my army.’

‘And the Mesenians, the people who have waged a war of annihilation against the Ma’adan,’ I asked, ‘they do not object to welcoming the marsh people among them?’

‘They have no choice,’ said Nergal sternly. ‘Besides, it is amazing how the allure of profit lessens the hatred that the Mesenians have for the Ma’adan.’

Orodes looked perplexed. ‘I do not understand.’

‘It is quite simple,’ said Nergal. ‘The villages, previously deserted and derelict, situated near the marshlands have been rebuilt and repopulated. The Ma’adan barter their goods with the villagers, mostly fish, rice and water buffaloes, and the villagers sell the hides of the slaughtered animals to the royal armouries in Uruk to make scale armour. It is a lucrative trade.’

‘You have done well, Nergal,’ I said, smiling at Praxima, ‘both of you.’

‘Do you pay the annual tribute to Mithridates?’ asked Gallia.

Nergal drained his cup of wine. ‘No ambassadors from Ctesiphon come to Uruk and I send no word to Mithridates. The Silk Road does not run through Mesene so I suppose that the high king hopes that my kingdom will wither and die if he ignores it.’

‘Except it will not,’ said Praxima with fire in her eyes. ‘It grows stronger and waits for the day when Dura and its allies summon us to march against the false king in Ctesiphon.’

Gallia lent across and placed her hand on her friend’s arm, grinning as she did so.

‘Always an Amazon,’ she said.

I had always liked Praxima, this fierce, wild Spanish woman who had been enslaved by the Romans and forced to work as a whore before she had escaped her bondage. In northern Italy I had seen her shoot down her enemies without mercy and kill Romans with her dagger. Now, ten years later, she was sitting in my tent looking exactly the same as she did all those years ago. She appeared ageless, dressed in her scale-armour cuirass, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders, with her brown eyes full of vigour. I had often lamented that she and Nergal had not yet been blessed with children. Gallia had always assured her friend that she would know the joy of offspring, but Dobbai had told me that Praxima probably would not be able to conceive on account of the hard usage her body had been subjected to at the hands of the Romans.

I rose from my chair and kissed Praxima on the cheek.

‘That day will come but not yet. For the moment, my friends, we return home and plan our next move.’

‘We are all outcasts,’ said Orodes thoughtfully, a note of sadness in his voice.

Always a deep thinker, Orodes was prone to bouts of melancholy when reminded of his exile from his homeland. By rights he should be the prince and de facto ruler of the Kingdom of Susiana, his stepbrother’s realm. Though technically the king of kings ruled both the empire and his own kingdom, in reality the day-to-day affairs of the empire soaked up the high king’s time and it was customary for the next-in-line to the throne to rule the high king’s homeland in his absence. But being friends with me had cost Orodes his position and his homeland, a burden that he shouldered without complaint. But he was right, my kingdom and I were outcasts from the empire and it would appear that Nergal and Mesene had been similarly cut adrift. It was a truly sad state of affairs.

‘Nothing lasts forever, my friend,’ was all I could muster as a reply.

We then sat in silence staring at the cups we held in our hands. The silence was becoming oppressive but then the flaps of the entrance opened and one of the sentries entered escorting a soldier dressed in the purple uniform of Babylon — baggy leggings, long-sleeved tunic and purple cap on his head. He bowed deeply and then handed me a letter with a wax seal. The seal bore the symbol of the gauw, the horned bull of Babylon. It was a message from Vardan himself. I broke the seal and read the contents. I stood up and pointed at the messenger.

‘Tell King Vardan I will attend him at once.’

He bowed and then turned on his heels and walked briskly from my presence. The others looked at me in anticipation.

‘Well, it would appear that Mithridates and Narses intend to deal with their enemies sooner than we thought. They have laid siege to Babylon.’

Orodes and Nergal jumped up.

‘Babylon?’ Orodes was shocked. ‘They would not dare.’

Babylon was a city of great age and glory. Though it no longer had a major say in world affairs, the city and its rulers were still accorded great esteem by the other kings of the empire. And the King of Babylon had always enjoyed close and amiable relations with the court at Ctesiphon, the two palaces being only around seventy miles from each other. But now the army of Mithridates and Narses were laying siege to the ancient city.

I rode to the Babylonian camp in the company of Gallia, Orodes, Nergal and Praxima. It was late afternoon now and the weather was still overcast and gloomy, made worse by Vardan’s news. Our horses were taken from us at the entrance to the royal pavilion and we were escorted inside the cavernous structure by purple-clad guards carrying wicker shields and spears with leaf-shaped blades that were the height of a man. Such weapons were useless in battle but were ideal for wielding in the confined and often cluttered spaces inside royal tents. We found an agitated Vardan in the throne area of the pavilion pacing up and down in front of his senior officers. His commanders were dressed in the same dragon-skin armour worn by Vardan’s royal bodyguard — a leather vest covered with overlapping silver plates that protected the chest and back. They all held richly embossed silver helmets in the crooks of their arms and wore swords in purple scabbards decorated with silver adornments at their hips. They looked nervous as their liege paced up and down.

Vardan stopped moving when we entered.

‘Ah, Pacorus, thank the gods you are here.’

I bowed my head. ‘At your service, lord king.’

‘Yes, yes.’ He pointed at a servant. ‘Fetch us refreshments. Have you eaten, are you hungry? And wine, we must have wine.’

He became aware of the others with me and walked over to Orodes and embraced him.

‘Forgive me my lack of manners, lord prince.’

He turned to Nergal and embraced him too. ‘And my thanks to you King Nergal, the sword that guards Babylon’s southern border.’ Nergal, unaccustomed to the etiquette of kings, was momentarily surprised by Vardan’s show of affection but quickly recovered. ‘It is an honour, lord.’

Vardan kissed Gallia and Praxima, hailing them as close friends of his daughter, Princess Axsen. His complexion became ashen at the thought of his only child in peril.

Slaves brought in silver jugs, poured wine into jewel-adorned silver cups and served them to us from gold trays. If only Vardan spent as much on his army as he did on his rich living! A blast of trumpets signalled the arrival of my father as more slaves positioned a large rectangular table with ornately carved legs in front of us. It was at least six feet wide and over double that in length. Upon the table was unrolled a beautiful tapestry that depicted the entire Parthian Empire. The base colour was a rich yellow, with the course of the Euphrates and Tigris rivers depicted in blue and cities and towns marked with black thread. It must have taken months to create such a masterpiece. But awe-inspiring as it was, the money and resources devoted to creating it would have been better spent on soldiers and weapons for Babylon’s army.

My father was shown into the throne area and he embraced Vardan. He had brought Vistaspa, who bowed stiffly to the King of Babylon. Gafarn, who accompanied my father, smiled and laid his hands on the king’s shoulders, assuring Vardan that we were all here to help him and he should not worry. My brother’s words seemed to have a calming effect on Vardan, if only for a while. My father pointedly ignored Nergal and me. I had heard from Gafarn that my father had taken a dim view of my placing Nergal, formerly an officer in Hatra’s army, on Mesene’s throne. He thought even less of Praxima, a former whore, becoming Parthian royalty. I did not care; they were my friends and I trusted them both, which is more than I could presently say of Hatra.

More slaves brought silver platters heaped with pastries, sweet meats, yoghurt, dried fruit and bread as we all gathered round the table. At its head Vardan stood with arms folded, staring glumly at the map of the empire. His eyes were fixed on his city of Babylon. My father stood halfway down the table, resting his hands on the edge, flanked by Vistaspa on his right and Gafarn on his left. I stood across the table, directly opposite my father, Orodes on my right and Nergal on my left. Praxima stood next to her husband with Gallia on her other side. Thus four kings, two queens and two princes stared at the map lying before them. Vardan looked at one of his officers.

‘General Mardonius, you will be our guide.’

A man in his late fifties with thick grey hair handed a slave his helmet and walked to the table, a long cane in his right hand. He bowed his head to Vardan and pointed the end of the cane at where Babylon was marked on the map.

Vardan sighed deeply. ‘My friends, word reached me earlier that Babylon is now encircled by the forces of Narses and Mithridates. Axsen managed to send a messenger alerting me to her peril before the city was closely invested. It appears that the enemy has also destroyed many villages on their march south from the Tigris to Babylon. As well as being encircled by the enemy the city is awash with refugees from the surrounding area.’

‘It grieves me to hear such news, my friend,’ said my father. ‘Hatra’s army is at your disposal.’

‘As is Dura’s,’ I announced.

‘And Mesene’s,’ added Nergal.

Vardan’s mouth showed a slight smile. ‘I thank you all. I shall be marching south at once along the Euphrates.’ Mardonius moved the end of the cane from our present position, approximately eighty miles north of Babylon, down to the Euphrates and then along the river to Babylon. Three days’ march, more or less.

‘Sensible,’ agreed my father.

I looked at the map and saw another possibility present itself.

Vardan looked at my father. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

I looked at the map, to where Dura was marked on the western bank of the Euphrates. From my city the great river travels south for a distance of around fifty miles before changing direction to run directly east for nearly a hundred miles. The waterway then changes course again, this time southeast for another hundred miles, before resuming its southerly course once more. Our present location was near where the river changes direction from southeast to directly south. We were within a day’s march of the Euphrates and two days away from the Tigris.

‘May I suggest another strategy, lord?’ I said at length.

My father folded his arms and stared at me disapprovingly.

Vardan was confused. ‘Another strategy?’

I held out my palm to Mardonius for his cane. He handed it to me. I used it to point to where Ctesiphon was located.

‘You mean to march down the east bank of the Euphrates?’ I asked Vardan.

‘Naturally, it is the quickest route to Babylon.’

‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘But if we strike southeast we would be able to march along the west bank of the Tigris.’

Vardan wore a furrowed brow. ‘The Tigris?’

‘Yes, lord,’ I continued. ‘The enemy retreated across the Tigris when the armies of Hatra, Babylon and Mesene came to my aid.’ I traced the end of the cane from Ctesiphon to Babylon. ‘But then recrossed the Tigris to march southwest when news reached them that you had left Babylon to be here.’

‘All this I know,’ snapped Vardan.

‘Yes, lord,’ I said, ‘but if we strike for the Tigris and then march southwest we can trap the enemy between ourselves and Babylon.’

My father slowly placed his hands on the edge of the table once more. ‘We go to relieve Babylon, not to fight a battle. I would have thought that much was obvious.’

I handed the cane back to Mardonius. ‘The enemy has struck at Babylon believing they can take the city. But Babylon has not fallen.’

I looked at Vardan. ‘It has high walls and an adequate garrison, lord?’

‘It has a garrison, or course,’ replied Vardan. ‘But it will be hard pressed if the enemy attempts an assault.’

I shook my head. ‘They have no means to breach the walls, lord, so any assault will come to grief.’

Only I among all the kings of the empire had siege engines that could breach high and strong walls.

‘The refugees within the city will soon consume the food supplies, majesty,’ said a concerned Mardonius.

‘It is as Mardonius says,’ said Vardan to me.

But I was not to be put off by incidentals. ‘If we leave at dawn and march to the Tigris we can reach Babylon in four days. More importantly we will have severed the enemy’s line of retreat. Mithridates and Narses will be forced to give battle.’

Vardan stared at the map once more, seemingly torn between wanting to reach his capital as soon as possible and the thought of dealing with Mithridates and Narses, who had invaded his kingdom.

He sighed deeply. ‘I came to your aid, Pacorus, because you are a valiant and honourable man and also the son of my friend, Varaz.’

My father bowed his head at Vardan.

‘And Mithridates has insulted me by bringing his army into my kingdom without my permission, and has insulted me further by laying siege to my capital. But your objectives are not mine. If we march to Babylon then Mithridates and Narses will withdraw, I have no doubt of that.’

‘And after that?’ I asked.

‘After that,’ continued Vardan, ‘I will request that Mithridates pays me compensation for the ruin he has visited upon my kingdom.’

I drummed my fingers on the table, causing my father to frown some more.

‘Mithridates will never agree to that, lord. It would be better if the empire was rid of him once and for all.’

Vardan and Mardonius behind him appeared horrified at my suggestion, while my father’s face was like thunder.

‘Your quarrel with Mithridates is not mine, Pacorus,’ said Vardan at length. ‘Have you forgotten the chaos and bloodshed that followed the death of Sinatruces? The empire cannot afford another civil war, not with the Armenians and the nomads of the northern steppes causing trouble on our borders. To say nothing of the Romans.’

‘I concur with Vardan’s thoughts,’ growled my father. ‘You will not drag us into your own private war.’

I laughed. ‘How short is your memory, father. Cast your mind back to when we fought Mithridates and Narses at Surkh, or should I say when I fought them.’

The Battle of Surkh was fought east of Ctesiphon, when Narses had attempted to become king of kings by force. Phraates, the son of Sinatruces and father of Orodes, had been elected to the high crown at the Council of Kings held at Esfahan. But Narses had disagreed with the decision, believing that he should rule the empire. He had enlisted the aid of the eastern kings of the empire, plus Mithridates, who had turned against his own father, and had brought a great army to fight those who abided by the decision taken at Esfahan. The two armies met at Surkh. Domitus and the Duran Legion, supported by the Babylonian foot, had destroyed Narses’ foot soldiers, while I commanded my cavalry on the army’s right wing and had led them to victory over the enemy horsemen opposite them. The army of Hatra had been positioned on the left wing of the army and had done nothing that day but stand and watch the enemy being routed and escape to safety.

My father looked at Vardan in confusion. ‘Surkh, what nonsense is this?’

My blood was up now. ‘If you had attacked that day Narses and Mithridates would not have escaped, Phraates would not have been murdered by his own son and we would not be standing round a table arguing how to relieve Babylon.’

My father jabbed a finger at me. ‘Have a care, Pacorus. The support of Hatra and Babylon, so freely given, can be just as easily withdrawn. How short is your memory? Just a few days ago you were surrounded and half-dead in the middle of the desert. Do not add ingratitude to your list of failings.’

Nergal and Praxima were squirming with embarrassment at this exchange, and even Gafarn appeared to be lost for words. Vardan looked very serious and Mardonius fiddled nervously with his pointing stick. Gallia gave me a look of disapproval, willing me to cease talking. But I could not let it rest.

‘I am grateful of course that you brought your army to this place, father.’ I smiled at Vardan. ‘And I esteem Babylon my most valuable and trusted ally.’ Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vistaspa bristle at the veiled insult to Hatra. ‘But eventually matters will have to be settled with Mithridates and Narses. I say better sooner than later.’

‘Hatra’s army will be marching south with King Vardan to relieve Babylon,’ said my father coolly. ‘If you do not wish to support us then I suggest you take your soldiers back to Dura. But I tell you this, Pacorus, I will not be seeking a battle with Mithridates.’

‘Nor I,’ added Vardan.

‘And if Mithridates marches north to meet us?’ I asked.

My father’s nostrils flared. ‘Then you will have your battle, Pacorus. And if you kill Mithridates then the empire will have need of a new king of kings. And that man will be Narses no doubt. And then the whole process begins again and we will have civil war in the empire once more.’

‘Not if Narses also dies,’ I remarked casually.

Orodes and Vardan stared at me in horror. My father held out his hands.

‘Just how many kings do you intend to kill, Pacorus?’

‘None that do not deserve to die,’ I retorted.

‘Perhaps you wish to be king of kings yourself,’ he remarked with sarcasm.

‘Why not?’ I answered. ‘At least then justice would rule the empire in place of tyranny.’

‘You aspire to the high crown?’ asked Vardan, his brown eyes full of anxiety.

‘No, lord,’ I said. ‘I was merely making the point that the empire would be a better place without Mithridates.’

‘That is not your decision to make,’ said my father. ‘Whether you like it or not, Mithridates is king of kings.’

There followed an angry silence as we all stared at the table and avoided each other’s eyes. The tension was unbearable. Eventually my father spoke to Vardan.

‘It would be best if we marched at dawn, Vardan, along the eastern bank of the Euphrates.’

Vardan looked up at him and nodded. My father nodded back, turned on his heels and left without acknowledging me, Vistaspa and Gafarn following. I stood back from the table, bowed my head to Vardan and also departed. Gallia, Orodes, Nergal and Praxima trailed in my wake. It had been a most unpleasant meeting and resentment against my father began to rise within me.

In my tent later, in the company of Gallia, Nergal, Praxima and Orodes and with several cups of wine inside me, I began to pace up and down in a temper.

‘We have Mithridates where we want him and my father refuses to see it. This is an opportunity sent by the gods and we ignore it.’

‘Vardan just wishes to see his daughter safe, Pacorus,’ said Gallia, ‘and so do I.’

‘Praxima and I feel the same way,’ said Nergal. ‘We are very fond of Axsen.’

I stopped and clasped a palm to my chest. ‘I love Axsen too, but no one is safe in this world while Mithridates lives. I’m half-tempted to strike for the Tigris myself and leave Vardan and my father to relieve Babylon.’ I emptied my cup and walked over to refill it from the jug that sat on the table. I did so and held it up to Nergal.

‘Are you with me, my old friend?’

Nergal looked at me and glanced at Praxima. Before he could answer Gallia stood up.

‘You have had too much to drink, Pacorus. Even I, a mere woman, know that it is foolish to divide one’s forces in the face of the enemy. Nergal is too polite and loyal to point out that to divide an army would be the height of folly.’

‘The height of folly?’ I said. ‘I think sending Surena and a thousand of my horse archers across the Tigris is more idiotic. You have, my sweet, condemned him and them to death by doing so. Surena was one of my most promising commanders and now he almost certainly lies dead in the desert, vultures picking his bones clean.’

My wife had the most beautiful eyes of any woman, their shade of blue purer and more striking than the surface of the Euphrates on a high summer’s day, but now they bored into me like two thunderbolts.

‘This idiot saved your arse a few days ago,’ she shot back at me.

Orodes jumped up and placed an arm round my shoulders.

‘My friends,’ he implored, ‘let us not bicker thus. Let us instead thank the gods that we are safe and all together. If we argue among ourselves then the laughter of my stepbrother will be our only reward.’

He was right, of course. I apologised to Nergal and Gallia and the day ended better than it had begun. Later, when we were alone, Gallia rebuked me for provoking my father. On one level she was right; it was not appropriate for a son to criticise his father, much less in public. But it irked me that he and Vardan could not see the logic that was staring them both in the face, that Mithridates and Narses intended to deal with all their enemies and that Hatra and Babylon, along with Dura, were all in that category. With Gotarzes gone Mithridates now ruled unchallenged from the Tigris to the Himalayas and south to the Persian Gulf and Arabian Sea. In the north the kingdoms of Hyrcania and Margiana, whose rulers had both pledged their allegiance to me, were under assault from the nomads of the northern steppes. If they too fell then Dura would lose two more allies.

As I lay in my cot in the early hours of the next day staring at the roof of the tent, Gallia sleeping beside me, I burned with a desire to seek a battle with the enemy. If I killed Mithridates then his malice would be gone from the world. He had no sons to carry on his line. But then, his demise would allow Narses to seize the high crown. But if he too was killed; what then? No doubt his sons would swear blood vengeance against me. But they too were probably with his army. It was not unconceivable that they might also fall, in which case all would be settled. No, not all, for the empire would then need a new king of kings. Years ago his friend Balas, King of Gordyene, had proposed my father as a suitable candidate following Sinatruces’ death. My father had been obstinate in his refusal to be put forward for the position. But now? Perhaps he could be persuaded to take the high crown in the interests of preserving the empire. Hatra was rich, her army strong and my father was widely respected as a wise and just king who had the empire’s best interests at heart. I smiled to myself. It all suddenly made perfect sense.