by Peter Darman
‘Good to see you, old friend.’
Their faces sweaty, their robes scruffy, shemaghs covering their heads, no one recognised Dura’s chief scout and the commander of the Amazons as they led their party towards the Citadel. They left the bustle, heat and smells of the city behind as they climbed the road leading to the residence of the king and queen.
It was calm around the Citadel itself, the area adjacent to the palace containing the mansions and large houses of Dura’s wealthiest citizens. Byrd’s mansion, empty for most of the year, was a leisurely stroll from the gates of the Citadel. But there were more modest dwellings clustered immediately north of the palace, to house the workers who laboured in the armouries and those who worked in the Citadel itself. For there were no slaves in the palace.
Talib halted his horse and unwrapped his shemagh when the pair of Exiles bared his way.
‘We are here to see the queen,’ he said to them.
The duty officer came from the office to stare at the familiar figures of Talib and Minu beside him. He saluted them.
‘Let them through,’ he told the guards.
‘Is the queen in residence?’ asked Minu.
‘Yes, lady,’ said the officer, immediately ordering one of the guards to go the palace to report the arrival of Dura’s chief scout and the commander of the Amazons.
Talib raised a hand to the officer and urged his horse forward, the dust-encrusted riders behind him trotting into the courtyard. The paved space was quiet, the windows of the Treasury and Headquarters Building that fronted it open to make the conditions of those labouring inside more bearable. It was another hot day in Dura and though there was a breeze blowing through the city, the walls and buildings of the Citadel conspired to keep it out.
Talib and Minu slid from their saddles, the others following their lead. Yasmina and Azar removed their headdresses and embraced each other in a touching scene, which was a reminder they were still teenage girls. Bullus arched his back in an attempt to alleviate the ache in his muscles, while Haya and Klietas looked at each other but said no words. For him it was the end not only of the mission, but also the dream he had nurtured about him and Haya making a life together.
‘Welcome, welcome. The gods smile on Dura for your safe return.’
Ashk, the redoubtable chief steward, appeared at the top of the steps leading to the palace, clasping his hands together and appearing genuinely delighted to see the returnees. Like a mother hen he fussed around them, speaking a few words to each and informing them the queen awaited them on the palace terrace. Like a duck herding her chicks, he shouted at stable hands to take the horses and camels to the stable and ushered Talib’s group up the steps and into the palace.
The reception hall and throne room were mercifully cool and empty, aside from guards standing sentry. The two thrones on the stone dais were also empty, the griffin banner hanging on the wall behind it guarded by two Exiles. Klietas stared at it in wonder. He knew the sorceress Dobbai had gifted it to King Pacorus four decades earlier, and yet it looked as if it had just been woven. This was the banner that had been carried on countless battlefields, and yet it had never suffered a single arrow strike or damage of any kind.
‘Hurry, Klietas,’ snapped Minu.
They exited the throne room via a door to the rear of the chamber, along a corridor and then out into the bright sunshine on the palace terrace. And there she was. Tall, lean and wearing a large floppy hat to protect her fair skin from the sun. Her eyes were an undiminished bright blue despite being in her sixth decade, her blonde-grey hair loose around her shoulders. Gallia, Queen of Dura, founder of the Amazons, veteran of many wars and wife of King Pacorus, beamed with delight as those she had sent north over three months before lined up in front of her and bowed their heads.
‘It fills my heart with joy to see you all safely returned to us,’ she said. ‘You have exceeded my expectations.’
‘Titus Tullus still lives, majesty,’ said Minu morosely.
Gallia walked forward and embraced her.
Ashk clapped his hands to signal to waiting servants to bring refreshments, Gallia telling her assassins to sit on the soft couches arranged under the large canvas awning above them. They were served wine in silver chalices and offered a variety of food ranging from fruit, olives and figs to cheese, bread, biscuits, pastries, yoghurt and butter. Gallia looked at them devouring the fare and drinking Dura’s finest wine.
‘You may be interested to know,’ she said, ‘that Titus Tullus is dead, killed in the mountains of southern Pontus, I am reliably informed.’
Surprised looks and broad grins greeted her revelation.
‘So you see, you have achieved everything asked of you and more, much more. For not only did you rid the world of those who wronged Dura, you gave warning of an attack against Gordyene. Truly King Castus owes you a great debt.’
She was slightly perplexed when scowls and disinterest greeted her mentioning King Castus, but nothing could detract from her delight that Talib and the others had returned after a very successful mission.
‘Your actions have demonstrated that the enemies of Dura can never rest, no matter where they are or what positions they hold. We will strike at the high and low in defence of this kingdom and its people.’
Queen Gallia was the perfect host, making time for everyone and listening attentively as they recounted their tales. Yasmina and Azar were ecstatic when she informed them they were now the youngest members of the Amazons, having proved their mettle during the summer. She offered Bullus promotion but he once again declined. But he was pleased when the queen informed him she had ordered the treasury to set aside a sum of money that his son would inherit when he came of age. There was little Gallia could do for Talib and Minu save gift the commander of the Amazons an ukku sword that the armouries had forged from a ‘cake’ of the magical metal ordered weeks before from the Indians, and her chief scout a pair of Nisean stallions from the royal stud farm. They were both touched by the queen’s generosity.
Haya was made a file commander in the Amazons, a high rank for one so young. But she was already a legend within the queen’s bodyguard and possessed the one thing guaranteed to earn her respect and devotion: the blessing of Ishtar herself. The story of how she had been shot in the neck at Irbil but miraculously brought back to life by a mysterious woman dressed as an Amazon had made her a lucky totem among the female warriors. How fortunate and blessed would be those who served under her.
Finally, the queen came to Klietas, the former scrawny orphan who had saved the king’s life.
‘How can a grateful Dura reward one of its favourite sons?’ she asked him.
Klietas put down the cake he was eating and stood before her.
‘I would appreciate a horse, majesty.’
Gallia and the others gave him perplexed stares.
‘You already have a horse, boy,’ said a slightly inebriated Bullus. ‘It was the thing you have been sitting on for the past three months.’
‘The horse belongs to the kingdom,’ said Klietas.
‘It is now yours,’ said the queen. ‘But why just a horse?’
‘So I can go back to Media, majesty.’
Haya’s mouth dropped open and everyone looked at the farmer. Gallia’s eyes flitted between the farmer and the Amazon. She saw Haya’s surprise and the steely determination in Klietas’ eyes and wondered what had happened between them. But she owed the orphan from Media a debt that she intended to repay.
‘You go with our prayers and thanks, Klietas,’ she said.
‘Please tell the king I am grateful for everything he has done for me,’ he replied.
King Pacorus was at Mari, the ruins of a once great city forty miles south of Dura, in the company of deputy-governor Almas. They were overseeing the rebuilding of parts of the city to provide homes for the soldiers and their families who had travelled from the east with Kewab, plus the exiles from Mesene. Mari comprised nothing more than the remains of mud-brick buildings
. But it was adjacent to the Euphrates and with time, resources and manpower could become the second city of the kingdom.
Klietas, who had taken only a few sips of wine, left the terrace soon after, saddling his horse in the royal stables and riding alone from the city to his farm. He arrived in the late afternoon to find Cambiz standing outside his farmhouse surrounded by a large group of workers – at least thirty – all holding tools. The old rogue stopped talking when he spotted Klietas, pushing his way through the crowd to be the first to greet him. He smiled to reveal a mouth missing many teeth.
‘I thought you were dead.’
Klietas jumped down from his horse. ‘Not yet. Who are they?’
Cambiz turned. ‘You lot, top field. Now.’
The workers, their faces and limbs turned dark brown by a life toiling under a hot sun, shuffled away. Cambiz turned back to Klietas.
‘They work for you, lord.’
Klietas was surprised. ‘All of them?’
‘You have many fields that need weeding and ploughing before sowing. You had a good harvest, by the way.’
Klietas examined his chief farm hand’s ragged appearance.
‘But not good enough to buy you a new set of clothes.’
‘Never had much time for fancy garb.’
Cambiz looked past him. ‘Where is she?’
‘Who?’
‘The Amazon with the nice body. Is she dead?’
‘No one is dead, Cambiz. She will not be returning.’
‘I’d better bring you up to date,’ said the older man.
The farmhouse was just as austere as when Klietas had left it, the two of them sitting at the table inside while Cambiz explained how the farm’s crop yield had been excellent, the surplus after taxes being sold to a merchant in the city. The money had been deposited in one of the banks recommended by Treasurer Aaron, extra income being earned through the hiring out of the pair of oxen to other farms.
‘That’s used to pay the wages of your farm hands,’ Cambiz told him.
‘They are yours now,’ said Klietas.
Cambiz’s jaw dropped. ‘Mine?’
‘I’m leaving Dura. I am going back to Media.’
Klietas stood and walked to the windowsill, bowing his head to the statue of Gula.
‘What about the money in the bank?’ asked Cambiz.
‘Give it to the king. He paid for this farm, so it is only right he benefits from it.’
He looked around the bare, cracked walls.
‘It is not much, but why don’t you move in here? It is better than that hovel you live in.’
Cambiz’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, lord. She broke your heart, then?’
For a moment Klietas looked utterly dejected.
‘Something like that.’
Cambiz saw his unhappiness. ‘Why don’t you sleep on the decision? Things are always better after a good night’s rest.’
‘No amount of sleep will change my mind, Cambiz. Now, if you will excuse me, it has been a tiring day.’
He slept well that night, his resolve to go back to his village in Media giving him something to concentrate on and look forward to. It also helped to push Haya and the son he would never see to the back of his mind. He woke just before dawn, the air cool and fresh, only a slight semblance of light seeping through the shutters on the windows. He rose, dressed and went to the stable to feed and water his horse, afterwards washing and eating a breakfast of figs and nuts. The sun rose rapidly in the east, the sky turning from purple to welcome another splendid day. A hot day judging by the absence of any clouds. He saddled his horse and went back inside the farmhouse to fetch the statue of the goddess, tucking it into a saddlebag. Then he stood waiting by his horse.
Cambiz arrived a few moments later, whistling to himself. He raised a hand to Klietas. He saw the saddled horse and shook his head.
‘Don’t suppose I could change your mind, lord?’
Klietas held out his hand. A pleased Cambiz took it.
‘Take care of yourself, Cambiz.’
‘You too, lord. Is the girl the only reason you are leaving?’
Klietas vaulted into the saddle.
‘I’m a farmer, Cambiz, not a killer. I want to grow things, not destroy them. If I stay here, I fear I will become something I despise.’
He nodded at the older man, spoke a few words to his horse and trotted away from the farmhouse. Cambiz raised an arm to bid him farewell and wondered what the words he had spoken meant.
Historical notes
The kingdoms of Cappadocia, Galatia and Pontus no longer exist, being part of modern-day Turkey (indeed, the former Parthian Kingdom of Gordyene is also a member of that country). But some things about the region that was the setting for ‘Wraiths’ have remained the same, even after two thousand years. For example, Turkey accounts for over 80 percent of the world’s dried apricot trade, with the city of Malatya (the modern name for Melitene) being the centre of production due to its ideal environmental conditions.
Similarly, the Pontic honey that was available to poisoners in the ancient world is still produced today. It is called ‘mad honey’ by the those living in northeast Anatolia and its toxic effects are responsible for hospitalising unwary individuals, with symptoms of nausea, vomiting, dizziness and low blood pressure. Over three hundred years before the events described in ‘Wraiths’, the Greek philosopher Xenophon, one of the legendary ‘Ten Thousand’, described the effects of ‘mad honey’ on some of the Greek mercenaries when they reached the area around the port city of Trabzon: ‘the Greeks took up quarters in numerous villages, which contained provisions in abundance. Now for the most part there was nothing here which they really found strange; but the swarms of bees in the neighbourhood were numerous, and the soldiers who ate of the honey all went off their heads, and suffered from vomiting and diarrhoea, and not one of them could stand up, but those who had eaten a little were like people exceedingly drunk, while those who had eaten a great deal seemed like crazy, or even, in some cases, dying men.’
When Octavian, later Augustus Caesar, inherited the client kingdoms and Roman provinces in what is now Turkey, the Middle East and Egypt following his victory over Mark Antony at the Battle of Actium in 31BC, the area was in a state of flux. Former allies of Antony were still in positions of power, such as King Polemon of Pontus, King Amyntas of Galatia and King Archelaus of Cappadocia. Rather than wage a fresh war against the allies of his former enemy, Augustus accepted their pledges of allegiance and allowed them to continue to rule their kingdoms. However, he was quick to cement Roman rule when circumstances were in his favour. So, when Amyntas was killed in 25BC, for example, Galatia changed from being a client kingdom to a province under a Roman governor: Marcus Lollius. Similarly, due to its strategic location, Melitene became the headquarters of the Roman Twelfth Legion and would remain so for over 200 years.
The position of King Archelaus of Cappadocia after the defeat and death of Mark Antony could have been precarious, especially in regard to Octavian’s dim view of his mother Glaphyra. However, Archelaus defected to Octavian on the eve of the Battle of Actium, thus earning him the gratitude of the victor. This gave Archelaus time to prove his loyalty, which he made such a good job of that Augustus awarded him Cilicia and ‘lesser Armenia’ (which was formally part of southern Pontus). Augustus did this to bolster the power of Cappadocia as a bulwark against the Parthians, who at the time were at the zenith of their power.
King Polemon of Pontus had fought beside Mark Antony during the triumvir’s disastrous campaign against the Parthians in 36BC. He too pledged allegiance to Octavian after Actium and continued to rule Pontus until his death in 8BC.
With regard to Augustus himself, there is no evidence he planned a war of aggression against Parthia during his reign as emperor of the Roman world. This was a major change of policy from his predecessors, Crassus and Mark Antony having come to grief in Parthia, along with tens of thousands of Roman soldiers. Nevertheless, Augustus Caesar w
aged a successful diplomatic offensive against the Parthian, culminating in the return of the eagles lost at Carrhae and Lake Urmia in 23BC.
