Sarmatian

by Peter Darman

  ‘Sarmatians,’ I spat. ‘What were the gods thinking of when they created that race of vagrants?’

  ‘More to the point,’ said Gallia, ‘such a large number of horsemen could not have crossed the Araxes without the knowledge of Castus, unless the Aorsi have turned against him.’

  I poured scorn on the idea.

  ‘Spadines and Castus are as tight as a pair of horizontal catamites. It makes no sense.’

  ‘What?’

  I drank some wine, stood and walked over to the map.

  ‘When Castus received news Ali and his allies were approaching Vanadzor, he panicked. That is the only reason I am alive.’

  She sipped at her wine. ‘So?’

  I tapped my finger on the map where Vanadzor was located.

  ‘So, if he knew he could call upon a horde of Sarmatians to reinforce his own considerable army, why would he be so alarmed at the approach of Ali’s force?’

  ‘He is still young, Pacorus,’ she said. ‘It is no small thing when the lord high general of the empire is approaching your capital with a large army.’

  I shook my head. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Whatever the reason, he will have to account for his actions. His treatment of you and his allowing the Sarmatians into the empire must be held to account, Pacorus. You realise this?’

  I turned to look at her. ‘Everyone must be held to account. That should be the motto of the Amazons instead of, what is it?’

  ‘Behind every man there is a stronger woman,’ she replied. ‘And are we not all answerable, Pacorus, to the laws of man or those of the gods?’

  I walked back to my seat.

  ‘Some have a very strict notion of the idea of accountability.’

  ‘I hope we are not going to argue about things past,’ she said.

  I retook my seat. ‘I don’t want Titus Tullus harmed. You had your chance to kill him and missed it. There will be no other.’

  Her eyes narrowed and she pressed her lips together. I had seen that expression before but the appearance of an officer of the palace guard interrupted her. He bowed his head to Gallia.

  ‘Apologies, majesty, Governor Aspad requests your presence in the throne room on a most urgent matter.’

  Like many things in Parthia, Hatra had been heavily influenced by Greek civilisation. The soldiers of the city garrison wore Greek-inspired uniforms – full-face bronze helmets topped with white plumes, leather cuirasses overlaid with iron scales and leather greaves protecting their shins and lower legs. Their round wooden shields were faced with bronze, upon which were engraved horses’ heads, and their weapons comprised six-foot long thrusting spears and swords. Not the short sword favoured by Rome, Dura and Gordyene, but the kopis, a curved weapon with a single cutting edge. It was light and fast in skilled hands, well deserving its nickname of the ‘kitchen knife from hell’.

  The officer, helmet in the crook of his arm, bowed, turned on his heels and walked from the office into the throne room. We followed, to be greeted by the sight of two girls standing before the dais, behind them Aspad and four guards with spears levelled at their backs. Gallia passed me and marched to the dais, sitting in what had been Diana’s throne and waiting for me to sit beside her.

  ‘We found these two girls in the guest quarters of the palace, majesty,’ Aspad reported. ‘They say they are Amazons.’

  I studied the pair, each wearing a cloak with hood, soft shoes, tight-fitting tan leggings and a white tunic. They looked vaguely familiar though I could not place them. Aspad held out a hand. One of the guards walked forward to place two wicked-looking daggers in his palm. Aspad showed them to us. Gallia ignored them.

  ‘They are Amazons,’ she said, ‘and you will release them to my custody immediately.’

  Aspad smarted at her terse words. She may have been a queen, but he was a lord of Hatra, the commander of the garrison who was entrusted with the safety of the city, the king and queen when they were in residence, and any guests that may be in the palace. He took his duties very seriously and was not about to release two individuals who had no business being in the palace’s guest quarters, let alone caught carrying weapons.

  ‘With respect, majesty,’ he said, ‘whether they are Amazons or not, they had no business being in the guest quarters of the palace. As you are the commander of the Amazons, may I enquire why they were in the guest quarters?’

  ‘I do not have to explain myself to you, Lord Aspad,’ said Gallia, prompting the two girls to smirk.

  I pointed at them. ‘You will answer the question.’

  They both looked too young to be Amazons. The smaller one looked very young, her heart-shaped face framed by straight black hair that was plaited in the Amazon style. The other one, taller with a willowy frame, had a round face and brown curly hair. It was she who spoke to me in a soft voice.

  ‘We were ridding the world of the enemies of Dura, majesty.’

  ‘They must die,’ said the other, causing Aspad to frown and Gallia to smile.

  ‘Who must die?’ I demanded to know.

  The girlish one looked at me with her dark eyes, eyes that appeared devoid of emotion.

  ‘Titus Tullus, majesty.’

  ‘To harm a palace guest is a capital offence, majesty,’ Aspad reminded me.

  I nodded. ‘I am well aware of the laws of this city, governor. And you are right, harming a guest in the palace warrants the death penalty.’

  The two girls swayed on their feet and their cockiness evaporated.

  ‘As Titus Tullus still lives.’ Gallia looked at the governor. ‘He is still alive?’

  ‘Yes, majesty,’ replied Aspad. ‘But…’

  ‘But nothing,’ she snapped. ‘Parthia is in great peril and I need every soldier I can get my hands on, as does the empire. If it makes you feel any better, I apologise for the over-zealous diligence of my Amazons. I hope you can forgive me.’

  Gallia was old now but still capable of employing charm to win her arguments. Moreover, Aspad was aware she had been his dead queen’s closest friend and that she had always been a staunch defender of Parthia’s interests. Finally, he was aware that Hatra had bigger things to worry about than two errant girls, even if they had been intent on inflicting death on a guest. He stood rigidly to attention and bowed his head.

  ‘The prisoners are released to your custody, majesty.’

  He bowed his head to me, about-faced, ordered the guards back to their stations and strode purposely from the chamber. Though he did not surrender the two daggers. The two girls exchanged sly grins, which I found annoying. I stood and stepped down from the dais, facing the younger-looking Amazon.

  ‘Name?

  ‘Azar, majesty.’

  I turned to the other one. ‘You?’

  ‘Yasmina, majesty.’

  I remembered what Bullus had told me about the band of assassins sent north.

  ‘The kill order on Titus Tullus has been rescinded.’

  I looked back at Gallia, expectantly.

  ‘It is as the king says,’ she said, icily.

  ‘Report back to your commander,’ I told the girls. ‘The palace is out of bounds to all Amazons.’

  They bowed their heads and departed, looking a little too smug for my liking.

  ‘Try to keep your assassins under control.’ I complained. ‘And I meant what I said about Titus Tullus. The thought of murdering a guest in this palace disgusts me.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Your Amazons will have more than enough people to kill when they encounter the Sarmatians,’ I told her.

  ‘How do the Sarmatians fight?’ she asked.

  It was an excellent question, one I had to admit I had no answer to. I had seen the Aorsi many times on the battlefield and they had never impressed me, being used as bait for more disciplined forces or for mopping-up operations. As far as I knew they had no tactics, but the invading horde was obviously very different, having scattered King Ali’s army with what appeared to have
been relative ease.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I admitted. ‘Perhaps we could send your pair of female assassins to gather some intelligence on the enemy.’

  There is an old saying that there is no rest for the wicked. It came to mind later that day when we had retired to our quarters after a sombre evening meal, both of us reflecting on the loss of Gafarn and Diana, which in truth had yet to fully sink in. It had been worse for Gallia who had been with her closest friend when she had passed from this world into the afterlife, and I knew that part of her was numb with grief.

  ‘I will be glad to be away from here,’ she said morosely. ‘There are too many ghosts in this palace.’

  ‘I agree. Let us hope Pacorus and his wife do not feel the same way.’

  She looked at me with eyes filled with pain.

  ‘They have children, and the young are a powerful antidote to the spectres of old age and death. I was thinking about Rubi earlier.’

  I scratched my face. ‘Rubi?’

  ‘The girl we rescued from slave hunters in Italy, near the town of the same name.’

  ‘The half-mad girl. Yes, I remember. There’s a name that echoes down the decades.’

  Gallia walked over to the open wooden shutters leading to a large balcony that overlooked the palace gardens. White doves were settling down for the night in dovecotes and ostriches still strutted around the lawns, kept clean of their droppings and those of other birds by slaves on their knees equipped with trowels, dustpans, brushes and bowls of water.

  ‘She was happy here.’

  I remembered the hissing, snarling she-demon who seemed to have a particular disliking for me, notwithstanding I was there when she was freed from a hideous death.

  ‘She and your mother spent hours in those gardens,’ she sighed. ‘So many ghosts.’

  A knock at the door interrupted her sombre musings.

  ‘Lord Herneus requests your presence in the throne room urgently, majesties,’ said a muffled voice.

  The officer of the guard accompanied us to the throne room where an agitated Herneus was pacing up and down. A knot tightened in my stomach. The commander of Hatra’s army was usually unflappable and it was a cause for concern to see him in an agitated state. Such was my preoccupation with his demeanour that I failed to see two other individuals standing near him, until I heard Gallia’s voice.

  ‘Haytham?’

  I was stunned to see the brother of Castus standing in the throne room, next to him the imposing figure of Lord Orobaz, the governor of Nisibus and the most powerful and influential noble in the kingdom. Herneus stopped and pointed at the prince.

  ‘Tell their majesties what you told me.’

  Haytham looked as sheepish as he had done in the throne room of his brother, his eyes flitting between me and Herneus.

  ‘We are waiting,’ snapped the general.

  ‘Prince Spadines and his Sarmatians are going to attack northern Hatra,’ he said in haste.

  ‘Why?’ asked Gallia. ‘Why should the King of Gordyene attack the land of his closest ally? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Alas, majesty,’ said Haytham, ‘sense is a rare commodity in Gordyene these days. Queen Yesim had a vision that Castus would rule the lands from the headwaters of the Euphrates to the Caspian Sea, and my brother is determined to turn her vision into reality.’

  ‘Does he not know that the king and queen of Hatra are not yet cold in their graves?’ I raged.

  Haytham, his face ashen, nodded. ‘It is because of their deaths that he seeks to take advantage of Hatra’s weakness.’

  ‘Hatra is not weak,’ growled Herneus, ‘as your brother will soon discover.’

  ‘Castus has taken leave of his senses,’ said Haytham, ‘as you can attest to, majesty.’

  He was looking at me, but I had no time for his words.

  ‘Why are you here, Haytham? Are you part of your brother’s mad schemes, or perhaps you too have been seduced by the witch he married?’

  ‘I came here because his actions will lead to the ruin of Gordyene, majesty,’ he answered, ‘even with the support of Tasius.’

  ‘Who?’

  Haytham swallowed. ‘The chief of the Sarmatian tribe called the Roxolani, which wintered among the Aorsi before raiding Atropaiene recently.’

  ‘Allow me to bring you up to date, prince,’ I said. ‘Your Sarmatian friends destroyed King Ali’s army and are at this moment moving south, plundering the kingdom of your other brother as they do so.’

  Haytham’s head dropped. ‘I told Castus it was a mistake inviting them into Gordyene. He would not listen.’

  We listened as he recounted the whole miserable tale. Of how, a few years before, Spartacus had invited warriors of a Sarmatian tribe called the Siraki into his kingdom to support his invasion of Armenia. ‘Invited’ was the wrong word because Spartacus had paid them gold in return for their services, which included burning not only Roman wagons and supplies, but also Armenian villages. It was easy work for their leader, a man called Akka, who returned to whatever wind-lashed land he called home with saddlebags full of gold and many slaves. The Siraki, a comparatively small tribe, had much interaction with the larger Sarmatian groupings, which included the Roxolani, a much larger tribe whose leader, Tasius, was lured south by the prospect of gold, plunder and slaves. And an easier life. When Castus learned through Spadines that Tasius was intent on plundering Parthia, he saw an opportunity to further his own ambitions. The Aorsi guarded Gordyene’s northern frontier, after all. Why should not the Roxolani fulfil the same function to the south, east and west?

  I was initially lost for words. Gallia appeared remarkably calm after Haytham’s revelations, but perhaps they paled beside the loss of Gafarn and Diana.

  ‘How many people has this bandit, this Tasius, brought with him?’ I demanded to know.

  Haytham bit his bottom lip.

  ‘Spit it out, for Shamash’s sake,’ said an irate Herneus.

  ‘One hundred thousand,’ came the reply.

  Gallia was no longer calm; neither was I.

  ‘One hundred thousand?’ I said, shocked. ‘And your brother has invited them to stay?’

  Haytham nodded.

  ‘If we may address the matter immediately at hand, majesty,’ said Orobaz.

  It was the first time the lord of northern Hatra had spoken. He did so in a calm, measured manner. He was dressed in silk and wore expensive soft leather boots. His sword had a silver horse head pommel and was held in a red scabbard with silver decoration.

  ‘Nisibus and the surrounding area are in danger,’ he looked at Herneus, who nodded.

  ‘The army will be riding north tomorrow, my lord.’

  I was taken aback. ‘What? No. Hatra’s army is to march east when my own army arrives, to safeguard the river crossing at Assur.’

  ‘My nephew will burn the bridge if the Sarmatians get close, majesty,’ said Herneus.

  ‘Alas, majesty,’ smiled Orobaz, ‘there is no river to protect northern Hatra from being plundered, unlike at Assur.’

  ‘The army has already been committed to the east,’ I said.

  ‘This new information changes everything, majesty,’ remarked Herneus. ‘I cannot in good faith take the army east when the north of the kingdom is in danger.’

  ‘The matter is not open to debate,’ I retorted angrily.

  ‘Until the son of King Gafarn assumes his position, majesty,’ said Orobaz, ‘the kingdom is under the control of the royal council. Dura has no authority in Hatra.’

  I was taken aback by his effrontery and was tempted to order his immediate arrest. But Herneus, in a symbolic gesture, moved to stand beside Orobaz.

  ‘There are many villages and estates around Nisibus, majesty,’ said Orobaz. ‘There is only one bridge across the Tigris at Assur, which can be burned if the enemy appears.’

  ‘The defence of the north is more pressing, majesty,’ insisted Herneus. ‘And presumably High King Phraates is mustering an army to fight the Sarmatians.�
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  ‘I hope so,’ said Haytham.

  We all looked at him.

  ‘Why?’ I demanded to know.

  ‘Because that is where the Sarmatians are heading.’

  ‘For Ctesiphon?’ Herneus was confused. ‘It has no strategic worth.’

  ‘But it has gold, lord,’ said Haytham.

  I threw up my arms. ‘Your father was obsessed by gold and so is your brother. And now, thanks to that obsession a plague of Sarmatians has descended on the empire.’

  I pointed at Haytham. ‘You are coming with me.’

  ‘Where, majesty?’

  ‘To Assur, we leave in the morning, with all the troops from Dura.’

  I waited until he shuffled up to me before I grabbed his tunic and shoved him towards the doors to the chamber.

  ‘Move.’

  ‘You will depart for Assur still, majesty?’ Herneus called after me.

  ‘Yes, draw up an order for your nephew to place all his resources at my disposal. Unless that has to be ratified by the royal council, too?’

  ‘Don’t be churlish, Pacorus,’ Gallia beside me scolded me.

  ‘And when my horsemen arrive from Dura,’ I said loudly, ‘have Governor Aspad direct them on to Assur where their king, queen and one hundred Amazons are holding back one hundred thousand Sarmatians.’

  ‘Churlish,’ repeated Gallia.

  I did not blame Orobaz and Herneus. Nisibus, the second city of the kingdom, had been built in the middle of a huge plain at the base of Mount Masius, one of the mountains in the Taurus range. The lower slopes of the mountain are covered in deciduous and conifer forests and the plain itself is lush and blessed by favourable winds and nourishing rains. It was where the royal stud farms that bred horses for Hatra’s army were located, along with the countless farms that grew the crops that fed both Nisibus and Hatra. To lose such a gem would seriously weaken the kingdom, perhaps fatally.

  I ordered a guard to be placed outside Haytham’s room that night to ensure he did not abscond from the palace, though where he would go now he had burned his bridges with Castus I did not know, and cared even less.

  ‘You should not be angry with Haytham,’ said Gallia. ‘He has given us prior warning of the Sarmatian attack.’