Wraiths

by Peter Darman

  Governor Cenk was dead.

  The stallion of Melitene was no more.

  Chapter 7

  Ctesiphon was the jewel in the Parthian crown, a vast, sprawling palace complex encompassed by a wall faced with white stone that made the high king’s residence dazzle in the sun. It had taken many years, considerable expense and thousands of slaves to restore what was the spiritual capital of the Parthian Empire. Phraates was many things but in the restoration of Ctesiphon he had been determined and unwavering, lavishing thousands of talents of gold to create a site to rival the opulence of ancient Egypt, Babylon and modern-day Rome. There were only two empires in the world that mattered – Parthian and Roman – and Phraates was determined that Parthia should never be regarded as second to the city built on the banks of the River Tiber.

  Ctesiphon was now cleaner, newer and no longer infested with beggars, the poor or cripples. The large garrison ensured any undesirables who happened to wander into the complex were speedily evicted, either that or killed on the spot. There were slaves to attend to the needs of the nobles and their families living in the mansions in the residential area, of course! Plus hundreds of other slaves working in the temples that stood on great stone terraces around the royal palace, and a small army of slaves working in the home of Phraates himself. But they were well fed, clothed and under very tight control.

  The floors and walls of the palace were decorated with marble, opus sectile and mosaics, with stucco sculptures littering the halls and corridors. Marble tiles covered all the floors and coloured marble slabs decorated the lower parts of walls in corridors, the upper parts being adorned with mosaics. Phraates had hired artists to decorate the walls of his huge audience hall with images of the first Parthian king, Arsaces, crushing the Seleucids, and beautifully painted scenes depicting Marduk, chief deity of Babylon, escorting Queen Axsen to the afterlife. Axsen had died shortly after giving birth to Phraates and the high king had made great efforts to keep her memory alive. Thus Marduk was Ctesiphon’s chief god. His temple was larger than those devoted to Shamash, Ishtar, Girra and Enki. And it was where the high king himself prayed every day.

  Axsen had been the Queen of Babylon and so Phraates’ bodyguard was composed of Babylonian horsemen, though he also had several hundred Scythian axe men to call on. The kings and queens of Babylon had always dressed in purple robes and so that was the colour the high king wore on a day-to-day basis, though he did not insist his officials and nobles copy the colour in their own dress. Nevertheless, Ctesiphon was a place filled with hues of purple, orange, blue and gold. Always gold: gold leaf on the doors, ceilings and on the leaves and scrolls adorning the tops of marble columns. It was also a place of grace and beauty, the stark exception to the rule being Princess Claudia, daughter of King Pacorus of Dura, a high-ranking Scythian Sister and chief adviser to King of Kings Phraates himself.

  There was a rumour that the princess had once been attractive but those who encountered the severe, curt woman in black robes and black hair in the corridors of the palace would have scoffed at such a notion. She made no attempt to make herself presentable or even feminine, curling a lip at the beautiful, perfumed and richly attired young noblewomen who graced Ctesiphon’s palace. The priests and nobles disliked her rudeness but were wary of her for she had the ear of the high king, whose life she had saved when the usurper Tiridates had seized Ctesiphon, spiriting Phraates off to the Alborz Mountains until her father and uncle had organised a coalition to restore him to the throne. They also feared her, because Claudia was a powerful sorceress who had travelled to the Alborz with the high king in the company of a band of lepers. Those lepers had returned to Ctesiphon cured of their terrible affliction. Not only that, they now surrounded Phraates as soldiers of his bodyguard. Its commander, Adapa, a former Babylonian soldier, had been one of those lepers, a man rotting away slowly. Every time anyone saw the handsome, strapping commander of the high king’s bodyguard, they were reminded of Claudia’s power.

  Courtiers, slaves and guards bowed their heads to the Scythian Sister as she walked purposely through the palace in search of the high king, Claudia ignoring them all. In her hand she clutched a sheet of papyrus and a keen-eyed individual who happened to spot the wax seal might have recognised the imprint of a griffin – the symbol of Dura. Claudia rarely smiled but she did so now when she stopped outside the open door to what had formerly been the high king’s library, hearing familiar voices inside.

  She walked into the spacious room and was immediately scolded.

  ‘No, Claudia, you must put on a pair of slippers before you enter the map room.’

  Phraates, wagging a finger at her, was standing in the middle of the chamber, on the floor of which was a painted an intricate map of the Parthian Empire.

  ‘Out, out,’ he commanded.

  She tut-tutted under her breath and selected a pair of soft slippers on the rack in the corridor, putting them on and re-entering the chamber. Her mood improved when she saw the fine figure of Adapa at the far end of the former library, also in soft leather slippers. He gave her a warm smile and she responded in kind. When he had been cured of leprosy he had been so grateful his effusive thanks had annoyed her. But as the time had passed his lapdog impersonation had given way to a deep respect that she had reciprocated. He was also handsome, and she was not entirely devoid of feelings.

  ‘What is that in your hand?’

  The voice of Phraates brought her back to the here and now. The high king stepped delicately around the middle of the impressive floor map that showed all the kingdoms of Parthia, an empire stretching from the Euphrates in the west to the Indus in the east – a distance of over a thousand miles – and from the Caspian Sea in the north to the Persian Gulf in the south. The cartographers and artists that had created the map had included all the capital cities of the empire’s kingdoms, along with all the major rivers and mountain ranges within Parthia. It was an impressive work of art that was being continually added to. Claudia noted that some of the emblems of the kingdoms had now been added, such as the griffin of Dura and the bull of Babylon.

  Phraates, dressed in a rich purple robe edged with gold and fastened with a silver belt, looked at her expectantly. She held up the papyrus.

  ‘This just arrived from Zeugma, highness. It contains information regarding an alliance of enemy kingdoms, backed by Rome, preparing for an attack on Gordyene.’

  Phraates appeared perplexed. ‘Zeugma? Has that city suddenly re-joined the Parthian Empire? And what alliance?’

  ‘This reliable information was sent from Zeugma,’ explained Claudia, ‘we should not ignore it.’

  Phraates held out his hand. ‘Let me see.’

  Claudia walked over to hand him the letter. He perused the detailed scroll, his brow creasing with concern as he did so. He looked up at her.

  ‘Who is this Minu who signs the letter?’

  ‘One of my mother’s trusted subordinates, highness.’

  ‘And what is she doing in Zeugma?’

  ‘Looking after Parthia’s interests, highness.’

  Phraates looked at her. ‘Parthia’s or Dura’s.’

  ‘They are one and the same thing,’ said Claudia.

  Phraates walked over to the where Gordyene was painted on the floor, the kingdom accurately depicted as being surrounded by mountains. He stared at the lands bordering that kingdom: Armenia to the north, Pontus to the northwest, and Cappadocia to the west.

  ‘This is most inconvenient, Claudia, most inconvenient. If King Spartacus had not invaded Armenia last year, to say nothing of his tour through Pontus, Galatia and Cappadocia, there would be no retaliation.’

  He waved the letter at her. ‘And you trust everything that is written in this missive?’

  ‘Every word, highness.’

  He looked at the letter again. ‘She says the Romans are supporting this so-called punitive campaign against Gordyene, but are committing no legions of their own. At least that is something.’

 
‘They do not wish to jeopardise the peace between Parthia and Rome, highness, but they also cannot be seen not to be supporting their allies.’

  ‘I must respond, of course,’ sighed Phraates. ‘I too cannot be seen to be weak if Parthia is invaded’

  He waved the letter at her again. ‘Are you certain this Minu is to be trusted? I find it hard to believe she gleaned such timely and accurate information on her own.’

  In another letter, now destroyed, Claudia had been told by Saruke at Dura that Minu had departed the city in the company of six others, their mission to assassinate six enemy targets. The gathering at Melitene had distracted them from that mission, for the moment.

  Claudia fixed Phraates with her cold, dark eyes.

  ‘Believe it, highness. Gordyene will be invaded in the summer. And the traitors Tiridates and Atrax will be leading it.’

  Phraates was all too familiar with that stare and a shiver went down his spine. Even though she was the daughter of the King of Dura, whom he did not trust, he had an unshakeable faith in Claudia, who had saved his life and crown. He handed the letter back to her and turned to the commander of his bodyguard, the living miracle who helped to surround Phraates with an aura of divinity.

  ‘What would your advice be, Adapa?’

  ‘The invasion must be met with force, highness.’

  Claudia smiled at the handsome officer.

  ‘Quite right, though I do not think you need to trouble yourself unduly, highness.’

  Phraates stared at the map and walked over to stand on the city of Urmia, the capital of the Kingdom of Atropaiene. He shook his head. Word had reached Ctesiphon barely a week before that its king, Ali, had fallen from his horse during a hunting trip, breaking his ankle. As Lord High General of the Parthian Empire, Ali would normally lead an army against the invaders, but he was clearly incapacitated. This meant Phraates himself would be obliged to command any force raised.

  ‘You are aware of King Ali’s injury, Claudia?’

  ‘King Ali’s injury is fortuitous, highness,’ said Claudia.

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘It means you can summon Kewab and his horsemen from Dura and command them to ride to Gordyene to support King Castus. It was, after all, Kewab’s talents that defeated the combined armies of Rome, Pontus, Cappadocia and Galatia last year.’

  ‘I thought your father was overall commander of the expedition,’ said Phraates.

  Claudia nodded. ‘He was, highness, but it was Kewab’s plan that defeated the enemy outside Kayseri.’

  Phraates rubbed his hands together.

  ‘I wish I had been there to see it. A Parthian triumph over four enemy armies, including seven Roman legions, and in the heart of enemy territory. That would have sent a clear message to Rome.’

  ‘And despatching Kewab to Gordyene will send a clear message to King Castus that Ctesiphon stands squarely with him.’

  ‘Castus is young and inexperienced,’ cautioned Phraates. ‘I will reinforce Kewab’s horsemen with some of my own from Babylon and Susiana.’

  ‘An excellent idea, highness,’ agreed Adapa.

  Claudia smiled. ‘This will be the last summer for Tiridates and Atrax.’

  Phraates also smiled. He had learnt long ago it was futile to question the profound statements that Claudia made so matter-of-factly. Even when pressed she never explained why she made them and he assumed in such moments she was touched by the gods, who whispered in her ear. He looked around the map room and saw no signs of celestial activity. A pity. How he would love to see the immortals, or just one for that matter.

  For a second, he was startled when he heard someone clearing his throat behind him, turning to see a figure framed in the doorway. It was not a god but his chief treasurer, a short man of slender build with sharp features and a small pointed beard. He bowed his head to Phraates.

  ‘Macarius.’

  ‘My accountants have finished the projections for this year’s annual tribute, highness, and I thought you would want to know the results.’

  The annual tribute was a sum in gold each kingdom of the empire paid to Ctesiphon, in return for which the high king pledged his support to those kingdoms, an example being the recent war against the Kushans when King Ali had led a large army raised in the west of the empire to aid those kingdoms on Parthia’s eastern frontier, wholly financed by Ctesiphon’s treasury.

  Macarius glanced at Claudia. ‘Though if you are busy, highness, I can return at another time.’

  ‘No, no, now will be fine.’

  Macarius cleared his throat once more.

  ‘We can expect full tributes from all the empire’s kingdoms aside from Carmania.’

  ‘No surprise there,’ said Claudia.

  Phanes, King of Carmania, had descended into madness some time ago, and the de facto ruler of the kingdom was his son Babak. The grey eyes of the chief treasurer, the son of a rich Greek merchant living in Seleucia, narrowed. He disliked the way Claudia treated grave matters with levity, and there was nothing more serious than the finances of the empire. He had been selected for his position by Phraates personally, who had been grateful his family had remained loyal to him after the city of Seleucia and the majority of its nobles had defected to the traitor Tiridates.

  ‘Prince Babak reports Carmania will not be able to pay any tribute this year on account of a heavy defeat suffered by its army.’

  Phraates grew alarmed. ‘Not the Kushans?’

  ‘King Phanes’ war is not against mortals, highness,’ said Claudia, ‘but against the Goddess Nanshe.’

  Macarius nodded. ‘Apparently, highness, King Phanes built a fleet of ships to battle the goddess at sea, but the ships floundered in a great storm and all those on board were lost.’

  ‘Idiot,’ spat Phraates.

  Macarius looked alarmed.

  ‘Not you,’ said Phraates, ‘the drunken oaf who rules Carmania. Something will have to be done about him.’

  ‘Something certainly will,’ said Claudia.

  ‘You are not to poison him. I forbid it,’ commanded Phraates.

  Claudia gave him a wry smile, this man who had almost certainly poisoned his own father to gain the high crown. But that was a younger, different and more callous Phraates. Now he was altogether slightly less callous and certainly more mature. His indifference to suffering and ruthlessness did not concern her; indeed, they were qualities required in a successful king of kings.

  Macarius, usually so fastidious and focused, loitered in the doorway, his eyes darting between Claudia and Phraates.

  ‘Is there something else?’ asked the high king.

  ‘Perhaps it could wait until a more convenient time, highness.’

  Claudia raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘I take it you wish to speak about me behind my back?’

  Macarius was indignant. ‘No, princess, of course not. I would never…’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Spit it out, man,’ ordered Phraates.

  Macarius cleared his throat again, aware the dark eyes of Claudia were examining him like a cobra views a juicy field mouse.

  ‘It concerns the Kingdom of Dura, highness.’

  Phraates walked over to where King Pacorus’ kingdom was painted on the floor.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Dura has for the most part been prompt when it comes to the payment of the annual tribute, highness, and this year is no different.’

  ‘My father is punctilious when it comes to his obligations,’ said Claudia.

  ‘Indeed, princess, your father’s reputation for being an honourable man is known throughout the civilised world. However, reluctant though I am to raise this issue, my accountants have reported that Dura’s annual tribute has remained unchanged for over twenty years.’

  Phraates was growing bored. ‘So?’

  ‘When King Pacorus became King of Dura, highness,’ continued the Greek, ‘only the city itself could be considered Parthian. The rest of the kingdom w
as barren desert, the abode of Agraci war bands and rebellious lords. However, since that time King Pacorus has steadily, and I might add commendably, created settlements both north and south of the river, following his peace agreement with the Agraci.’

  Phraates waved a dismissive hand at him.

  ‘This is all common knowledge.’

  ‘But these new settlements have increased the number of Dura’s inhabitants significantly,’ protested Macarius. ‘Indeed, my accountants inform me there are now more people living outside the city of Dura than within its walls, which means Dura’s annual tribute should be radically revised.’

  ‘You mean increased,’ said Claudia.

  ‘It is only fair, princess,’ insisted Macarius.

  Phraates pondered the dilemma.

  ‘Dura’s tribute will remain the same, Macarius. It will be reviewed when King Pacorus is no longer the ruler of Dura.’

  ‘But that could be years, highness,’ exclaimed the treasurer.

  ‘I pray to Marduk it will be so,’ smiled Phraates, ‘you may go.’

  An unhappy Macarius bowed his head and retreated from the map room.

  ‘Talking of your father, Claudia, I do not wish him or his brother, King Gafarn, to aid Gordyene, and thereby risk another conflagration on my northern border. Their presence will only encourage Castus to copy his father. I assume he will know of the developments in Cappadocia?’

  ‘I assume my mother will inform him, highness, yes.’

  ‘I will summon Kewab to Ctesiphon, him and his horsemen. You are certain about Tiridates and Atrax?’

  An evil leer spread across Claudia’s face. ‘Very sure.’

  ‘Those two traitors have cast a shadow over this world long enough.’

  *****

  During his attendances with the other kings at Melitene, Artaxias had worn a rich purple and white striped tunic, purple cloak and conical, jewel-encrusted hat to accentuate his height. Geghard, the general of his army, had worn a burnished scale-armour cuirass of overlapping alternating steel plates, while Voski, his high priest, had been dressed in a pristine white robe edged with gold. But now the king was wearing a simple purple tunic and a light leather armour cuirass for the long ride back to his capital. Behind him was his bodyguard – a hundred cataphracts – and guarding the carts behind the heavily armoured riders were three hundred horse archers. The Armenian king was extremely pleased with himself. Not only had the Roman ambassador reimbursed him for the thirteen hundred talents of gold extorted from him the year before by King Spartacus, he had gifted him an additional thousand talents of gold in appreciation of his attendance at Melitene. Seventy-five tons of gold was not to be sniffed at.