Wraiths

by Peter Darman

  The crowd of nobles and their wives that filled the throne room noticed it immediately, gasps of awe greeting the Egyptian’s appearance in the chamber’s entrance. There was gold dripping from every part of Ctesiphon, not least on the perfumed bodies of the ladies of the court. But Kewab’s cuirass put even the high king’s golden crown in the shade. In appearance, it resembled dragon-skin armour similar to the cuirasses worn by Adapa’s horsemen. But dragon-skin armour was heavy and bulky due to its composition: a thick leather vest, on which was sewn overlapping silver plates to protect the front and rear of the torso from arrows, spear points and sword thrusts. But Kewab’s cuirass was very different. It seemed to hug his body like a second skin and every individual scale seemed to be shining, alternating between silver and gold according to how the light caught it.

  There was silence in the spacious chamber anyway, but the royal announcer standing next to Kewab banged the end of his ornate mace on the marble floor to signal he was about to speak and all other talk should cease.

  ‘Highness, Satrap Kewab, Lord of Melitene, deputy lord high general and conqueror of the Kushans, begs an audience.’

  ‘Let him advance,’ said Phraates.

  Around the gold-covered dais stood the officials of Phraates’ court, the black-robed Claudia conspicuous among the white, orange, purple and blue robes. The most powerful person around the high king was the chief of court, the individual responsible for security and order in the palace. In addition, anyone who wished an audience with the high king had to make an application through him. But since the last incumbent, Ashleen, had been executed for allowing the infant son of Phraates to be captured by Tiridates, the post had remained empty. Informally the position had been filled by Claudia, who subtly controlled access to Phraates and also ensured those who filled the key positions of royal spear carrier, royal bow carrier and royal axe bearer were loyal and reliable.

  The announcer escorted Kewab to the dais, bowed and withdrew, leaving the Egyptian standing alone before the high king.

  ‘Welcome, Kewab,’ smiled Phraates, ‘we are pleased to see you. And wearing such fine armour. Dura’s armouries are clearly leading the way when it comes to producing superlative craftsmanship.’

  ‘It was a gift from King Pacorus, highness, who likewise was gifted it.’

  ‘By whom?’ asked Claudia.

  ‘I did not enquire, princess,’ replied Kewab.

  Claudia stepped down from her position beside the throne and took a few paces towards the Egyptian.

  ‘Are you sure you do not know who gifted my father such armour?’

  ‘No, princess, only that he wore it at Irbil when the traitor Atrax attacked the city.’

  Claudia extended an arm and stroked the metal. Everyone in the chamber knew the stories, of how the King and Queen of Dura were given magical armour that no mortal weapon could penetrate, of how Queen Gallia had survived a mortal blow in battle while wearing it, emerging with not so much as a scratch. People spoke in hushed tones of the armour being sent by the gods themselves, and here it was, in the great palace of Ctesiphon, looking like no mere human had made it.

  ‘Let us hope it brings you as much luck as its previous owner, Kewab,’ said Phraates. ‘Claudia, time is of the essence.’

  The princess touched the cuirass once more and retook her position beside the high king. Phraates stood and pointed the golden arrow he liked to carry on official occasions at the Egyptian.

  ‘Satrap Kewab rides north on an important mission. That mission is to defeat the foreign barbarians who are mustering on Gordyene’s border, intent on invading that kingdom. In appreciation of his efforts and to aid him in his sacred task, we are pleased to bestow our own gift.’

  He glanced at a knot of men standing around Adapa to the left of the dais, prompting one to step forward and present himself to the high king. Kewab gave him a broad grin and Phraates himself smiled.

  ‘I believe you know Satrap Otanes?’

  Otanes had commanded the contingent from Susiana that formed part of the ‘great muster’ of three years before, which King Ali had led east to assist Kewab in his fight against the Kushans. The de facto King of Susiana, Phraates’ homeland, trusted implicitly by the high king, Otanes was a calm and thoughtful individual and a very capable commander.

  ‘Yes, highness, very well,’ replied Kewab.

  ‘He and a thousand cataphracts and twenty-five hundred horse archers will be accompanying you to Gordyene to meet the barbarian horde.’

  Polite applause greeted this announcement, Phraates smiling, Claudia smiling, Kewab wearing a contented expression and the handsome Otanes flashing a smile at his equally attractive noble wife near the dais. Everyone was smiling, confirmation that the gods themselves were looking favourably upon the reign of Phraates.

  In his opulent study afterwards, the walls decorated with paintings of him crushing Mark Antony at Phraaspa and Tiridates before the walls of Ctesiphon, Phraates was more forthcoming about why he had summoned Kewab to his palace. He sat in a mahogany chair covered in gold leaf, Claudia and Adapa standing either side of him, waiting until a slave had filled all their gold rhytons with wine before speaking. He ordered Kewab to sit opposite his oversized desk, on which stood a gold bull and a gold eagle clutching a snake in its talons, the emblems of Babylon and Susiana, respectively.

  ‘I’m sending you to Gordyene to ensure King Castus does not exceed his remit.’

  Kewab sipped at the excellent wine, noting the two Scythian axe men standing against the wall behind the high king, both over-sized like everything else in the room.

  ‘Your opinion of the army of Gordyene.’

  ‘Well led, well trained and equipped and infused with an aura of invincibility, highness,’ answered Kewab.

  Phraates sighed. ‘Exactly. I have no doubt it can handle the rabble being assembled at Melitene easily enough. But I don’t want Castus rampaging through Cappadocia once again.’

  Kewab nodded. ‘Yes, highness.’

  ‘You are commanded to do your utmost to kill Tiridates and Atrax, though try not to endanger the life of King Polemon of Pontus if he is with the enemy army.’

  Phraates looked at Claudia. ‘I believe we have him to thank for saving the life of King Pacorus last year at Sinope.’

  Kewab wanted to laugh. ‘Battles can be confusing affairs, highness. If we engage the enemy, there is no guarantee Polemon will not fall. You do wish us to defeat the enemy?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ snapped Phraates. ‘But I also want to preserve the peace that now exists between Parthia and Rome. I also want my son back from the Romans. So use all that genius people keep gushing about you to assist your high king and all Parthia.’

  ‘Yes, highness.’

  Phraates clicked his fingers in irritation, prompting Claudia to hand him a rolled and sealed papyrus scroll. The high king tossed it on the desk.

  ‘I hear King Castus has inherited his father’s liking for money, so that is a promissory note agreeing to pay the treasury in Vanadzor two thousand talents of gold, but only if he agrees to stay out of Cappadocia, Pontus and Galatia.’

  ‘You are most generous, highness.’

  ‘Most troubled, more like,’ Phraates complained. ‘You may go.’

  Kewab stood, bowed and left the room.

  Later, when the palace had emptied following the banquet given in honour of the departing Kewab and Otanes, Claudia was finally able to relax. She had discarded her sombre robes and lay naked on the bed, staring out of the open balcony doors of her bedroom at the night sky. Phraates had given her Queen Aliyeh’s old quarters, which were a short walk from the high king’s own bedchambers. He liked to have Claudia close in case he was troubled by nightmares, or even visited by supernatural beings. It was well known she had summoned the demon Pazuzu at Sigal and Phraates believed if she could conjure up otherworldly beings, then she could banish them just as easily. It was an idea she indulged.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

>   The muscular Adapa, naked like her, traced a finger down her cheek, neck and let it linger on her breast. She sighed with contentment.

  ‘I was thinking about the Alborz Mountains. I miss their quiet and serenity.’

  She turned her eyes away from the night to admire his naked frame. It was perfect; he was perfect. She remembered the moonlit night when she had led him to the sacred pool high in the Alborz, a man being slowly eaten away from the inside by the horror of leprosy. He had hung his head in abject shame when she had told him to disrobe, tears coursing down his misshapen face when he stood trembling at the edge of the pool. Claudia had been mumbling incantations when he had stepped into the dark, forbidding waters of the pool. To be immersed in a wonderful embrace of ethereal warmth. Without prompting he allowed himself to be fully immersed in the liquid that felt like no other he had experienced. And when, after what seemed like an eternity, he emerged from the pool he had been reborn as a man cured of the incurable.

  ‘You can return there any time, can you not?’

  She kissed him tenderly on the lips.

  ‘Ctesiphon is a nest of vipers, my sweet, silver-tongued serpents who seek to flatter and deceive our high king. It is your task to protect him from assassins and enemy soldiers; it is my task to protect from more subtle but no less threatening dangers.’

  ‘We make a good team.’

  She caressed his handsome face. ‘Yes, we do. What did you make of Kewab’s cuirass?’

  ‘A magnificent piece.’

  ‘It was not fashioned by human hands,’ she said, ‘of that I am certain.’

  ‘And your father gave it away?’

  She smiled and kissed him on the lips again.

  ‘He does things like that.’

  ‘The armour should be worn by a king.’

  ‘It is, my dear Adapa. Now put that magnificent body to more appropriate use. We have a couple of hours left before you have to return to your quarters. We don’t want the slaves to gossip.’

  He grinned. ‘Slaves always gossip.’

  ‘I know. That is why I threatened to turn anyone who talked of our liaisons into a mouse, which would be devoured by a cobra.’

  His grin disappeared. ‘You can do that?’

  ‘No, but they do not know that.’

  They both laughed and wrapped their limbs around each other as Ctesiphon slept.

  *****

  The cobras that infested the desert around Ctesiphon were large and deadly. There were no cobras in Gordyene but the realm’s ruler was as angry as the hooded serpent when he received news his kingdom was going to be invaded. He was now twenty-one years old and while some may have considered his age to be detrimental when it came to dealing with the coalition he faced, especially in the wake of the recent death of his father, the formidable King Spartacus, he enjoyed a number of advantages that strengthened his position. There was a time when Gordyene had been the plaything of Armenia and the Romans, but that time had long gone. Due to the efforts of first Surena and then Spartacus, Gordyene had been turned into a war-making machine, its army a relentless force crushing anything in its path. Professional, superbly equipped and highly trained, it was also blessed with excellent leaders, such as Hovik, the head of the army, Motofi, the commander of the Immortals, Narin, the leader of the Vipers, Governor Kuris, the best archer in Gordyene, and perhaps in all Parthia, and Shamshir, the ugly leader of the élite King’s Guard. Those individuals now sat around the massive oak table carved to resemble the body of a lion, listening to their young king venting his spleen.

  ‘Not content with murdering my father, now Rome’s lackeys are preparing to invade my kingdom, no doubt intent on murdering me and my brother. Where is Haytham?’

  A row of blank faces met his query, doing nothing to appease his temper. He turned to Hovik, the dishevelled lord in tatty clothes scratching his threadbare beard.

  ‘The army is ready?’

  ‘Ready, majesty, but…’

  ‘But what?’ roared Castus.

  Hovik, long used to the rages of Spartacus, merely smiled at his son.

  ‘I would advise patience, majesty.’

  ‘Patience?’ sneered Castus. ‘What good is patience when my enemies are mustering to the west?’

  ‘That would be my advice, also.’

  The low, powerful voice of Khalos filled the room and all heads turned to stare at the huge treasurer who walked with a menacing gait towards the two empty chairs at the table. Following him was a sheepish Prince Haytham, small in comparison to the oak-like treasurer who had arms as thick as large tree branches and massive shoulders. He bowed his large head at the king and took his seat, a servant filling a goblet with wine and placing it before him, doing the same for Prince Haytham when he too was seated.

  Khalos looked at the king with cold, black eyes.

  ‘A commander can never have enough soldiers in battle, majesty, and by all accounts, the ones marching to join you are worth waiting for.’

  Hovik smiled to himself, knowing the words of the treasurer carried great weight with the king. When Spartacus had been alive, Khalos, a lord of Gordyene who had fought in his father’s corps of horse archers as a young man, had made his fortune trading in the marble that was quarried in the kingdom. He had met Spartacus by chance when the king’s hunting party had trampled over his newly established apple orchard. This had resulted in a blazing row between the hot-headed Spartacus and the formidable Khalos. The king, impressed by a man who stood his ground, agreed to recompense the latter for any loss, whereupon Khalos invited the king and his party to dine at his home. This resulted in the king inviting the merchant to Vanadzor to become his personal adviser on financial affairs. Just before he departed for Armenia and Pontus, Spartacus appointed Khalos royal treasurer, perhaps having a premonition he would not return from the campaign. In hindsight, it was perhaps his greatest achievement.

  All the members of the council had been briefed about the despatch of Satrap Kewab to Gordyene, together with ten thousand first-rate horsemen.

  ‘They would be a welcome addition to the army, majesty,’ added Hovik.

  Castus returned to his seat and began drumming his fingers on the table.

  ‘I know what the enemy is thinking. They think because my father is dead, Gordyene is ripe for the plucking. The longer we remain inactive, the more they will be emboldened to attack. We are on the cusp of summer and the ground and weather conditions are ideal for campaigning.’

  Hovik pointed at the large framed hide map of Gordyene and its neighbours hanging on the wall.

  ‘Let us say, majesty, that the allies of Rome attack from the west and the Armenians cross the Araxes in the north,’ said Hovik. ‘We have enough troops to delay the march of one to give us time to defeat the other, before turning our strength to deal with the remaining foe.’

  Motofi nodded. ‘It is three hundred miles from the border of Cappadocia to Vanadzor and a hundred from the Araxes to this city. From a military point of view, it would be wise to allow those marching from Cappadocia to advance as far as possible into Gordyene before we engage them.’

  ‘No,’ insisted Castus, ‘I do not wish thousands of enemy soldiers violating my kingdom. What does Spadines report?’ he asked Shamshir.

  The Sarmatian leader, whose people inhabited the northern borderlands of Gordyene adjacent to Armenia, the boundary marked by the River Araxes, had been put on high alert regarding a possible Armenian invasion. According to the peace brokered between Artaxias and Spartacus, and continued by Castus, no Sarmatians now crossed the river to raid Armenian territory.

  ‘He reports no enemy activity thus far, majesty,’ said the commander of the King’s Guard.

  ‘The Armenians are probably waiting for Rome’s allies to begin the invasion,’ opined Hovik, ‘before committing themselves.’

  ‘When do the reinforcements arrive?’ asked Castus.

  ‘They should be here before the week is out, majesty,’ said Hovik.

  ‘
I would strongly advise you wait for Satrap Kewab, majesty,’ urged Khalos. ‘His addition to our own army will ensure you will prevail against the enemy.’

  Castus looked at the map.

  ‘Hovik, you will take the Immortals, all the professional horsemen and march to the west, there to await myself and Satrap Kewab when he arrives. The King’s Guard and Vipers will remain at Vanadzor.’

  ‘You will declare a general muster, majesty?’ asked Motofi.

  ‘Only if the Armenians cross the Araxes,’ replied Castus, ‘but not otherwise. You are all dismissed.’

  They stood, bowed their heads and departed, all except Khalos.

  ‘I would have a private word with you, majesty,’ said the treasurer.

  Castus had been made in the same mould that had created his father, but the blue-eyed, blonde-haired king was wary of the giant treasurer, which is precisely why his father had established him in the palace.

  ‘You need to think about marriage, majesty.’

  Castus was taken aback. ‘I have more important things to worry about than marriage.’

  ‘I beg to differ.’

  Khalos clicked his fingers to indicate his goblet should be topped up.

  ‘The forces mustering on our borders are but a minor irritation, majesty. Even if the worst happens, your alliance with Hatra and Dura will preserve your crown, even if you have offended King Pacorus.’

  ‘Offended, how?’

  ‘Your impounding of his siege engines was childish,’ he said frankly.

  ‘May I remind you it was King Pacorus who forced me to surrender twenty thousand talents of gold to the accursed Romans.’

  ‘Majesty, if you had kept the gold then you would be facing an army of Roman legions and Gordyene would be embroiled in a conflict between Parthia and Rome. I think King Pacorus’ decision can be considered an act of far-sighted wisdom. In any case, Vanadzor’s treasury is far from empty.’