The Slave King

by Peter Darman

  ‘Yes, majesty,’ he said without enthusiasm.

  The citadel and the ground around it had undergone a transformation since I had left Irbil that morning. The dead bodies on and around the mound had been removed, the refugees had gone back to their homes and order and calm had been restored to the residence of Media’s royalty and nobility. I smiled when I saw slaves and soldiers on their knees using scrubbing brushes to clean pavements and doorways that civilians had used as makeshift latrines, the odour from their bodily functions still lingering in the still air.

  The air and indeed the company were far more agreeable in the palace that evening, the babble of conversation in the banqueting hall lively and optimistic. As it was a formal occasion, all the women wore dresses and jewellery, Lusin’s head adorned with a gold crown. Gallia and Eszter, though queen and princess respectively, had no crowns to wear but diamond tiaras loaned to them by Lusin graced their heads. Eszter’s mop of unruly hair was kept in place by silver hair clips, her fingers were adorned with silver rings and around her neck was an emerald necklace. She sat between Dalir and Kalet, both attired in black flowing robes and looking very much like desert warriors. But at least Kalet had put a comb through his hair and had trimmed his beard, or at least a slave had.

  Notwithstanding the siege and privations endured by the general populace, the fare being served to us was varied and appetising. The only indication that the palace kitchens had any shortages was the serving of only two meat dishes – chicken and mutton – as opposed to the usual five or six. But there was no shortage of onions, garlic, radishes, beetroot and olives, and the meal also included an abundance of apples, pomegranates, grapes, figs, apricots, melon, raisins and pears. Everything was washed down by generous quantities of wine and beer, Kalet being restrained by Eszter who ordered slaves away before they had an opportunity to refill her father-in-law’s gold rhyton too often.

  Dura’s senior officers greatly outnumbered the lords and ladies of Media, and even Lord Orobaz’s fellow Hatran nobles appeared numerous in comparison to Joro and his family and Lord Soter and those nobles who had rallied to his banner. Everyone knew, though no one commented on the fact, that many Median lords and their retinues were still with Atrax, which provided the prince with a high degree of legitimacy regarding his claim to Media’s crown. He and they had to be dealt with, and swiftly.

  The chatter died as I slowly rose from my seat and raised my rhyton to Akmon.

  ‘I would like to propose a toast to the King of Media in recognition of his courage and fortitude during the recent assault on his city by the renegade Atrax.’

  As one everyone stood and toasted Akmon, the young king slightly embarrassed but grateful for the show of support. I continued standing after the other guests had retaken their seats.

  ‘Lord king, tomorrow I propose to march my army north in pursuit of Atrax,’ I did not give him a title for his base actions were not worthy of nobility. ‘My aim is to both destroy his army and either kill him on the battlefield or serve summary justice on him when he is in my custody.’

  Dura’s lords and officers rapped their knuckles on the table tops to indicate their support. Those from Hatra and Media nodded in agreement.

  ‘I invite you, lord, to accompany me to rid Media and Parthia of this rebel and his band of foreign mercenaries.’

  Akmon rose and toasted me. ‘It would be an honour, lord king. My one desire is to see Media and its people enjoy peace and prosperity, free from foreign invasions so it can become once more the premier kingdom in the Parthian Empire.’

  Warm applause greeted his words along with not a few cheers. I smiled, sat and took a large sip of wine. Atrax had sowed a wind and now he was about to reap a whirlwind.

  Chapter 16

  Ideally, it would have been better for Akmon to stay in Irbil to supervise the rebuilding of the city defences, the feeding of the population and the not-inconsiderable task of organising the harvesting of crops standing ripe in the fields around the city. But honour demanded he lead the army that struck camp at dawn and headed northeast. The Median component in the composite force was smaller than the other elements, but symbolically the presence of the King of Media was a powerful statement of Akmon’s right to the throne. He had repulsed an assault on his capital and now all that remained was to hunt down Atrax and kill him.

  Lusin stayed in Irbil with what was left of the city garrison, the palace guard and the seventy survivors of the century under the command of Bullus that had left Dura weeks ago. I decided the battered and courageous centurion should stay in the city to supplement the garrison and give him and his men a period of deserved rest. I also left Lucius in Irbil, both to supervise the repair of the city walls and organise the gathering of the harvest. He would also provide advice for the queen, who bereft of her husband, plus Joro who was on campaign and Parmenion and Pogon, both dead, might find ruling Irbil a daunting task. Lucius would provide a steadying influence while her husband was away. Those civilians who had volunteered their services as archers or slingers returned to being farmers, though one slinger remained with the army.

  I found Klietas an aged mare to ride so he could accompany me during the march north. I appointed him my squire and informed him from now on he would clean my armour, helmet and boots, as well as care for his own horse. He was delighted, especially when I informed him he would ride with me and Gallia during the march, that and being issued with leggings, boots and a clean white tunic from Dura’s stores. He sat awkward in the saddle and looked out of place among the party of royalty and nobility that left Irbil to catch up with the army after Akmon had said farewell to his queen, a tearful, touching scene that made me loathe Atrax even more for bringing it about. But, the gods willing, Akmon would be back with his wife soon enough after what I anticipated would be a mere mopping-up exercise.

  Earlier, before we had left the citadel, I sent a message to Kalet to attend me in the royal garden. It was early, and the garden was cool, the sun yet to peek above the palace walls to shine into the well-kept oasis of greenery and running water where one could forget the travails of the world. I was delighted to discover Kalet was not suffering from a hangover, Eszter’s determination he should not become a drunken boor having succeeded. As a result, he looked remarkably fresh and alert and I was surprised to see he had trimmed his hair and beard. He saw my surprise at his appearance when he sat himself down on one of the couches in the white-painted gazebo in the centre of the garden, around us the morning air filled with the sound of fountains and cooing doves. He stroked his beard,

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘A young slave girl did it for me. I wouldn’t have bothered but she was half-naked and had an amazing pair of breasts.’

  He waited until other slaves had laid jars of honey, yoghurt, wafers and slices of melon on the low table between us, after pouring freshly squeezed orange juice into silver chalices, before leaning towards me, leering and winking.

  ‘As she is a slave, is it permitted to, you know?’

  I picked up a wafer and dipped it in some honey.

  ‘Rape her, you mean?’

  He gave me a look as though butter would not melt in his mouth.

  ‘Rape? If she’s willing and I’m willing.’

  I turned the wafer to prevent any honey falling off before shoving it into my mouth.

  ‘It is considered impolite to interfere with another person’s slaves, Kalet, especially if they belong to royalty.’

  He took a slice of melon and proceeded to eat it in a way that got more of it on his beard and robes than in his mouth.

  ‘Do you know why we don’t have slaves in Dura’s palace.’

  He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe.

  ‘Because you and the queen were once slaves yourselves.’

  I nodded. ‘That is part of the reason, but the idea of lecherous old men who are guests in my house molesting women and young girls disgusts me, as it should you. That is why
all my servants are free men and women who are under no obligation to debase themselves on the mere whim of a guest.’

  He professed his innocence. ‘She likes me.’

  ‘I find that difficult to believe.’

  ‘She was all sweetness and light when she was trimming my beard and hair, smiling the whole time.’

  ‘She is a slave, Kalet, who has to be pleasant and enticing. She is constantly in fear of a flogging, or worse, if she offends anyone, especially a guest. Only an uncouth brute would take advantage of her, and despite your many faults you are not that.’

  He puffed out his cheeks and sighed.

  ‘You certainly know how to make a man lose his appetite.’

  I picked up another wafer.

  ‘I have a small task which will restore your appetite.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I want you to select six of your best cutthroats for a secret mission that only you and I must know about,’ I said, ‘and that means no blabbing to Dalir or Eszter about it.’

  He picked up his chalice and emptied most of the contents down his throat.

  ‘Two things, lord. I don’t employ cutthroats and I never blab.’

  I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Very well, then select six of your men who are most accomplished with a knife and send them to the town of Mepsila.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘A town on the Tigris, in the northwest corner of Media.’

  He picked up another slice of melon.

  ‘Who do you want dead?’

  ‘The governor of the town, a fat traitor by the name of Cookes. He was the one who seized control of all the post stations along the river as part of his bid to make Atrax ruler of Media.’

  He attacked the slice of melon. ‘Consider it done. You want the head brought back?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A gift for the young king here, perhaps?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  He looked around at the greenery and doves in the branches of white-stemmed poplars.

  ‘You will kill Atrax?’

  ‘The gods willing, yes.’

  ‘Why did you save his life, then, when he and his sisters were trapped in this very city by Spartacus? You missed an opportunity there.’

  He was right. ‘I made a mistake, I admit it.’

  ‘What about Atrax’s sisters?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘You want them dead, too? Loose ends came always back to haunt a man, as you have found out.’

  ‘No, Kalet, I don’t want Atrax’s sisters murdered.’

  He nodded. ‘Just the fat governor, then?’

  ‘Just the fat governor.’

  After leaving Irbil we made camp a day’s march northeast of the city, on the edge of the foothills of the Zagros Mountains, the great chain of mountains and ridges that ran from Lake Urmia in the north to the Persian Gulf in the south. Those unfamiliar with the Parthian Empire might dismiss them as nothing more than bare rock and snowy peaks, bereft of animal and human life. But they would be wrong. In addition to the yellow-hued limestone and dolomite rock faces, they also contained fertile mountain valleys, terraced hills and pastures.

  To the south of the fertile Irbil Plain, the land was mostly flat, dry, hot and harsh, the Tigris and Euphrates supplying the water that allowed kingdoms such as Dura, Babylon and Mesene to flourish. But in this part of the Zagros the hills were green and temperatures pleasant. Tall grasses, mulberry and fig trees occupy the hillsides, along with pomegranate orchards where villages clung to the steep inclines.

  ‘The enemy retreats slowly.’

  Talib pointed at the hide map laid out on the table, indicating the line of retreat of Atrax’s army as it fell back ahead of us. The interior of my tent, though spacious was also warm. It had been another hot day and we had all been sweating in the sun during the march, and now we perspired as we gathered round to examine the map of northeast Media collected from the palace archives. It showed Irbil, the valleys of the Zagros and the position of Lake Urmia to the north.

  Klietas served us all with water gathered from the nearby Rawanduz River that flowed from the mountains, the waterway we would have to follow the next day to pursue the enemy.

  ‘The enemy will be able to block the valley,’ said Soter, who kept glancing at Gallia beside me.

  I smiled. In traditional kingdoms such as Media women did not fight, and they certainly did not participate in councils of war, even if they were royalty. It must have been uncomfortable for a noble from an ancient Median family to be commanded by a foreign-born king and fighting alongside the army of Dura, which for many years had been mocked by Darius, the former King of Media, and his mother, my sister Aliyeh. But he conducted himself with dignity and the same strict adherence to protocol prevented him from speaking out of turn. But he held a powerful and influential position in Media and his support was essential if Akmon was to enjoy a prosperous reign.

  ‘Please continue, Sotor,’ I said.

  ‘At its entrance,’ he began, ‘the valley is wide, but quickly narrows to around two hundred paces around five miles or so from our current position.’

  I looked at Soter. ‘Is there any way around the valley, lord?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not without allowing the rebels to escape, majesty.’

  ‘We are not letting them get away,’ I told him, before remembering this was Akmon’s kingdom.

  ‘Bearing in mind Atrax has many of Media’s citizens as captives, lord,’ I said to Akmon.

  ‘I agree with you, King Pacorus,’ he said solemnly, ‘we cannot abandon my people to misery.’

  I looked at the map and saw a site marked on it beyond the valley. I pointed at it.

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘It is called Gird-I Dasht, majesty,’ said Soter, ‘once a stronghold in the Kingdom of Musasir but now just a post station. It sits on an earth mound and has a mud-brick wall around the buildings, though as far as I can remember it is in state of disrepair. Formerly it controlled the great plain it sits in the middle of.’

  ‘I have never heard of the Musasir,’ said Gallia.

  Soter smiled. ‘They were wiped out nearly seven hundred years ago, majesty, by the Assyrian King Sargon.’

  ‘Just as we will destroy Atrax,’ I said.

  Chrestus, thus far silent, now voiced his opinion.

  ‘We can use the scorpions to rake whatever the enemy places in front of us in the valley. This will save casualties among our own foot soldiers. The enemy will probably post archers and slingers on the slopes to support their soldiers on the valley floor. We will need to send men to scatter them.’

  ‘Women, general, I think,’ said Gallia. ‘I will lead the Amazons and your legionaries can protect us with their shields.’

  Chrestus was unconvinced. ‘How many missile troops does Atrax possess?’

  ‘At least a thousand,’ Akmon told him.

  ‘Ninety Amazons cannot dislodge a thousand enemy archers and slingers,’ Chrestus told Gallia, ‘though perhaps if Lord Kalet can supply some of his archers.’

  Kalet rubbed his hands. ‘Don’t you worry, princess, you and your ladies can stay in camp and cook us a nice meal for when we get back after slaughtering the enemy.’

  Soter’s mouth dropped open at his barefaced effrontery, while Gallia gave him a withering look. She had heard it all before, of course, and took it all in her stride.

  ‘That is a very generous offer, lord,’ she said demurely, ‘but after your men have slept off their hangovers the day will be late and General Chrestus likes to slaughter his enemies before midday.’

  Kalet roared with laughter and even Chrestus allowed himself a wry smile. Soter frowned and Orobaz, who had been silent throughout, did not know what to make of the rowdy, uncouth Kalet.

  I looked at each of them in turn, the aristocratic Soter and Orobaz, the hard visage of Chrestus, the impious Kalet, the determined Akmon and Gallia, who looked half her age.

 
‘Tomorrow we will end both Atrax and his rebellion.’

  They filed out of the tent, Klietas fussing around to pick up the cups he been filling with water and Chrestus rolling up the map, no doubt to brief his senior officers regarding the plan on the morrow. For him it would be a late night. Gallia embraced me and told me she would be spending the night with the Amazons, as was her usual pre-battle ritual.

  ‘Would you like some wine, highborn?’ asked Klietas after she had left.

  ‘No, I will take the evening air.’

  ‘Take it where?’

  ‘Nowhere, it is just a saying.’

  ‘What does it mean, highborn?’

  ‘It means I am going for a walk around the camp.’

  ‘I will get my sling, highborn.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It is not safe to wander about alone at night,’ he told me.

  ‘I’ll take a chance, don’t wait up for me.’

  ‘I have polished your boots and helmet, highborn, and put new goose feathers in the crest.’

  ‘Well done. Get some sleep.’

  I left him sweeping the carpet, whistling and smiling to himself. Outside men sat around campfires after their evening meal. Parties of sentries were making their way to the ramparts to relieve those standing guard, horsemen watched over their beasts, farriers were fitting horseshoes to hooves, and centurions stalked around like wraiths, looking for infractions on the part of their men. Despite Gallia ribbing Kalet, he and his lords rarely got riotously drunk on the eve of battle. Slaughter was far too serious a business to allow the effects of alcohol to interfere with it.

  ‘Put your back into it.’

  My attention was drawn to a centurion standing over one of his men digging a latrine trench, the poor legionary hacking at the soil with his spade. I found it odd he was on his own as opposed to part of a detail. Perhaps he was being punished for some infraction of army rules.

  ‘I want this trench finished by the time I return,’ said the centurion menacingly before striding away.

  After he had gone the legionary stopped his hacking to stretch his back. He removed his helmet and I was stunned to see a face I had recognised before. I hurried over and stood over him, Marduk resting his helmet and spade on the lip of the trench.