by Peter Darman
‘If we could expedite the speedy arrival of Satrap Otanes and King Silani, highness,’ I said, ‘it will increase our chances of success substantially.’
Phraates nodded. ‘I agree. I will send a letter to Susa recommending the virtue of haste. And I also reluctantly agree to your scheme. But know I will hold Dura responsible for any damage inflicted on Ctesiphon by these barbarians.’
Afterwards, I walked with Claudia through the palace, courtiers and officials bowing their heads not only to me but also to my daughter, a sure sign of her power and position at the high king’s right hand.
‘Mother told me about your ridiculous escapade in Media. After all these years, father, you are still trying to save the downtrodden of the earth. Have you ever considered that the poor, the dispossessed, the diseased and the insane are part of the gods’ plan for the world?’
‘For your information, I merely wanted to speak to my former squire.’
‘The beggar from Irbil, whom you raised up to a station he did not deserve, and then lavished him with land, which he threw back in your face? Does such a wretch deserve the time of Parthia’s most revered king? You should have let him be sacrificed in Vanadzor. At least his life would have amounted to something.’
‘His life has amounted to something,’ I insisted.
‘Phraates is quite right when he states Castus must be punished. Forcing the victor of Carrhae to act like a slave for his amusement will not do, not at all.’
‘I’m glad you hold my life in such high esteem, Claudia,’ I teased her. ‘I need you to get Phraates to write that letter to Tasius. We need to lure him and his people south.’
‘There is no guarantee the Sarmatian leader will ever get it, father, even if Phraates writes it.’
‘Oh, he will receive it.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I will be the one delivering it.’
Claudia raged at me not to be foolish and Phraates was more convinced than ever that I had received a blow to the head that had unhinged my senses. But I was determined to see this Tasius for myself, to get the measure of the man. And in truth, I did not hold my life that dear. I had seen many friends die over the years, some of old age, many on the battlefield. I remained. But with each death a part of me had been chipped away and now I was tired. To place myself in danger was an irrelevance. I had chosen that path long ago and knew the consequences well enough.
Phraates wrote the letter.
‘They will kill you, majesty.’
Adapa, the leper returned from a living death, stared up at me, squinting in the sun that made Ctesiphon’s grand buildings around us more dazzling.
‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained, commander.’
He gripped Horns’ reins.
‘Do not go, majesty. For the sake of your daughter.’
An expressionless Claudia stood beside Phraates at the top of the stone steps leading to his vast palace, behind them white-robed priests from the Temple of Marduk chanting prayers to beg the god for his protection for my mission. I leaned over and laid a gentle hand on his.
‘I appreciate your concern for me and my daughter, Adapa, but we both serve the empire and we both know the risks involved in carrying out that service.’
He released the reins and looked past me, at Klietas mounted on his horse holding the reins of two camels loaded with a tent and supplies.
‘You will take only one man with you?’
‘He’s a good man.’
Navid had been distraught when I informed him he would not be accompanying me north to meet the Sarmatian leader and deliver the high king’s invitation. But what use would a hundred horse archers be against a thousand times their number?
Phraates had a bemused look on his face when I bowed my head, turned Horns and trotted from the palace down Ctesiphon’s replica Processional Way. Purple-clad guards watched us trot through the impressive gatehouse and out into the barren terrain that surrounded Parthia’s jewel in the desert. I smiled when I saw a party of slaves on scaffolding cleaning the white stone used to face the walls of Ctesiphon. An overseer was watching their work but was not shouting or using a whip. I surmised he was an engineer or architect managing cosmetic work rather than a sadistic brute. Ctesiphon’s slaves lived a better life than many free commoners.
Initially we travelled north along the Tigris, passing prosperous villages surrounded by fields of barley, watered after the Tigris had burst its banks. Reservoirs collected the meltwater to ensure the crops had enough water until they were harvested, though the initial flooding often caused immense damage to the land and settlements. Unlike in Dura, no one had thought of, or bothered with, erecting flood defences to control the waters in spring.
‘I have something to tell you,’ I said to Klietas as we cantered north.
‘Majesty?’
‘I have not been totally honest with you regarding your village.’
‘I do not understand, majesty.’
‘You remember I sent Navid to Irbil with a request for King Akmon that he send troops to Vazneh to protect the villagers.’
‘Yes, majesty.’
‘Well, the truth was that I sent an urgent request to your king that he send soldiers to take the villagers back to Irbil until such time as it would be safe to return. Dura will pay for their upkeep, but I did not trust the Sarmatians not to return and finish their murdering.’
He was beaming from ear to ear. ‘May Gula bless you with long life, majesty.’
‘May she bless the both of us, Klietas, for as day follows night, we will need the protection of the gods where we are going.’
I pulled up Horns. ‘You can return to Ctesiphon if you wish. I do not compel you to accompany me.’
He had volunteered to ride with me to the Sarmatian host the moment I had mentioned it to him, insisting Gula had guided him to me to perform such a mission. I pointed out that I had visited him. But he retorted the goddess had planted the idea in my mind before I had thought of it. I did not have the time to argue with him, and in any case I found his company agreeable enough. But now I felt guilty accepting his offer to attend me. I had no idea what sort of reception we would receive. Having saved Anush, I had no desire to make her a widow.
‘The goddess wishes me to accompany you, majesty.’
I was going to ask if she had conversed with him but thought better of it. We had both been privy to strange and otherworldly happenings in recent years, so I saw no need for flippancy.
We rode fast, the need for urgency was paramount, leaving the lush, humid environment adjacent to the Tigris to head directly north into the barren desert. It was two hundred miles as the raven flew between Ctesiphon and Irbil, the first half of which was sun-blasted desert. Nothing thrived in the sandy, dusty flat lands, aside from scorpions and snakes. The light grey and brown soils covering the area were easily disturbed, throwing up clouds of dust that irritated eyes and throats. Our faces were covered with shemaghs but the fine particles still found a way into our clothing and hair.
We rose before dawn broke to ride for two hours at speed before the heat of the day bore down on us. In the hottest part of the day we dismounted and led our horses on foot. The camels carried our water skins, the beasts fortunately being able to subsist for days without liquid refreshment. Our clothes were soaked with sweat and our horses tramped along with heads down as the heat increased. In such an unforgiving environment, rationing one’s energy becomes imperative. There is no idle chatter, no unnecessary exertions, only a steady pace forward. One is alone with one’s thoughts and mine turned to Gafarn and Diana. It was only now, in the searing heat of a deserted landscape, that the enormity of their loss struck me. It was like a mythical beast was plunging its claws into my stomach and playing fast and loose with my entrails with its talons. I felt sick, angry and lost. It seemed entirely appropriate I was in such bleak terrain because it suited my mood. A part of me also wanted to jump into the saddle and ride. Ride away from Dura, from C
tesiphon and all the responsibilities that burdened me. To live out the rest of my days in the Alborz Mountains far to the north where no one would disturb me. Around me the desert shimmered in the heat, giving the illusion I was flanked by huge expanses of water.
‘It is your destiny to be the last one standing.’
I heard Gafarn’s voice but thought it a cruel illusion, like the mirages of water to the left and right. I therefore kept my head down.
‘Dear Pacorus, death is only a temporary fence to keep us apart.’
I heard Diana’s voice and wept.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For not being there.’
‘You have always been there, Pacorus,’ she said, ‘for us, for your kingdom and for the empire.’
‘I wanted to say goodbye.’
Gafarn laughed. ‘Here we are. So, say it now.’
‘Leave him alone,’ said his wife.
My eyes stung with tears. ‘I wish, I wish it could have been different.’
‘Different how?’ asked Gafarn. ‘I liked being a king. It certainly beat being your slave, or a slave of the Romans for that matter. And if it had been different, Diana might have still been a kitchen slave in Capua.’
‘All lives come to an end, Pacorus,’ said Diana.
‘Even yours, faster than you think if you continue on your present escapade,’ sniggered Gafarn.
‘Is that a prediction?’ I asked.
‘Merely an observation.’
‘Do not underestimate him,’ said Diana.
‘Who?’
‘The Sarmatian. He is not the ignorant barbarian you desire him to be.’
‘Anyway,’ said Gafarn, ‘we can’t linger here all day speaking to you. We have better things to do and you have an empire to save.’
I was alarmed. ‘It’s that serious?’
‘Oh, yes. And don’t refuse Claudia’s gift.’
‘What gift?’
There was no answer, only the sound of my heavy breathing as I tramped across the hard-packed dirt. I glanced behind me to see Klietas following. I looked around and saw nothing save the hazy deception of lakes of cool, clear water.
I was glad to leave the blistering heat and grating dust behind when we reached the more temperate environment of southern Media on the morning of the third day. It was still hot, but the landscape changed colour from brown to light green and then a darker shade of the colour as we entered a land fed by countless streams and springs.
I dismounted and knelt beside one such spring by the side of the road, dunking my head in the clear water. Horns sipped at the side of the pool and Klietas took the opportunity to douse his head and wash away the dust and grime of the desert. I flopped down on my back and gazed up at a sky, devoid of clouds.
‘Lord,’ I heard Klietas say.
‘I am resting,’ I answered.
‘Lord!’
There was concern in his voice. I raised myself up and looked in the direction he was pointing. To see four horsemen observing us.
I slowly rose to my feet.
‘Do not make any sudden movements,’ I told Klietas. ‘Stay calm.’
The riders sat stationary on their horses for what seemed like an age, observing us but making no offensive movements. Eventually, I decided to take the initiative, pacing towards them.
‘I am an emissary of King of Kings Phraates and wish to be taken to Chief Tasius,’ I called to them.
Loathe as I am to admit it, the Sarmatians and Parthians were both descendants of the Scythians, so spoke the same language. There were regional accents and dialects, of course, but Parthian and Sarmatian could converse with each other with ease. In response to my announcement, the riders nudged their horses forward. The beasts were smaller than our own, with longer manes and tails, though their riders used the same four-horned saddles found throughout Parthia. Their weapons comprised lances tipped with large iron heads and knives. I saw no bows among them, or swords. One among the group, a man with straggly hair and a wispy beard, looked me up and down.
‘Who are you?’
‘I told you. I am an emissary of King of Kings Phraates, sent to deliver a message to Chief Tasius.’
‘What message?’ he asked curtly.
‘I do not know. I am merely the messenger who carries a letter.’
He extended an arm. ‘Give me it.’
‘Are you Tasius?’
‘No.’
‘Then it is not for your eyes.’
He levelled his spear at my face. ‘Perhaps I should take your eyes.’
I yawned. ‘Are we going to stand here all day? I have a message from the ruler of the whole Parthian Empire. If it is not delivered he will be angry and gather a mighty army to fight the Sarmatians. Are you going to risk that for the sake of reading some words before Tasius does? Can you read?’
He glared at me and for a moment I thought he was going to drive his spear point through my face. But instead he moved the point closer to my eyes in a petty display of machismo but then returned the shaft to a vertical position and turned his horse.
‘Follow us,’ he ordered.
He and the others were a cheerless lot, not speaking as we rode through southern Media. Our escort led us in a northeasterly direction, towards a stone-built mansion that had previously been a stronghold of one of Media’s lords, but which was now in Sarmatian hands. On the way, we rode through a deserted village, which I thought had been plundered but on closer inspection turned out to be perfectly preserved. Most odd, given the Sarmatian predilection for rape, murder and looting.
When we reached the mansion, which was surrounded by a strong wall, we were shown into the building. Guards had been posted at the entrance to the mansion and by doors inside, but the rooms and corridors appeared pristine and the furniture and statues were still in place. Again, I found this most odd. Slaves were still cleaning floors and waiting on the top table when we were shown into the dining room, a splendid chamber with intricate murals of hunting scenes painted on the walls and dragons seared into the wooden ceiling. We were both herded in front of the table where a man with a large head and round face was stuffing meat into his mouth. He had thick brown hair and a well-trimmed beard and was obviously a man of some wealth, his red leather jacket having a sheepskin trim. He stopped eating when we stood in front of him.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked in a deep voice.
‘We found them on the road, lord,’ said the man who had threatened me. ‘The old man says he has a letter from a Parthian king for Chief Tasius.’
The man at the table wiped his hands on a cloth and leaned back in his chair to study us. He looked at me long and hard, his eyes resting on my sword.
‘Why would a courier carry a sword?’
‘These are dangerous times,’ I replied.
He pointed at Klietas. ‘This is your slave?’
I made a mistake when I answered. ‘He is a free man who volunteered to accompany me.’
My interrogator stood and slowly walked around the table.
‘Expensive boots, a sword and a scar on the right cheek, a clean-shaven cheek.’
His leggings were the same colour as his jacket, which was fastened by a red leather belt with a gold-plated buckle. He too wore a sword, which was held in a red scabbard decorated with gold plaques. He was obviously a man of some importance.
‘May I see your sword?’ he enquired.
I drew my weapon and handed it to him. He examined the straight blade and grip before handing it back to me and bowing his head.
‘I know of only one man who carries a Roma spatha, has a scar on his right cheek and keeps his face free of growth despite being a Parthian. A man now in his sixties who fought beside my friend King Spartacus in Media, Armenia, Pontus and Galatia.’
He had me at a disadvantage.
‘Have we met?’
‘Not until now, King Pacorus, for you are surely he, are you not?’
I saw no reason to l
ie. ‘I am.’
He clapped his hands together and laughed.
‘I am Lord Akka of the Siraki tribe and I had the honour of fighting with your nephew a few years back. Sit, please, take the weight off your feet.’
He returned to his chair and ordered another two to be brought.
‘Leave us,’ he told the man who had brought us to the mansion.
I did not like Sarmatians, but I had to concede this Akka was an excellent host, notwithstanding the meagre fare we were fed on, which consisted of meat and milk, plus the mansion owner’s stock of wine. He also put his feet on the table when he began to wax lyrical about his people.
‘The Siraki and Aorsi are small tribes, but the Roxolani are a different prospect altogether.’
‘Why are you and they here?’ I asked, trying to chew on a piece of meat that was more gristle than muscle.
He emptied his cup. ‘Gold, land and horses, lord.’
He suddenly took his feet off the table and looked at me with deadly seriousness.
‘Lord Tasius has assured King Akmon that our stay in his kingdom is only temporary, and has promised him there will be no looting, destruction of property or taking of slaves. Well, maybe a few. Young and pretty girls, of course.’
‘Naturally. May I ask which land Lord Tasius and you have in mind?’
‘The land south of the Araxes River between Lake Urmia and the Caspian Sea,’ he informed me.
‘None other?’ I said, thinking of the failed Aorsi attempt to seize northern Hatra and the city of Nisibus.
He flashed a mischievous smile. ‘That will do for the moment.’
‘King Ali of Atropaiene might have something to say about that.’
He laughed. ‘He did, and we sent him packing at Lake Urmia.’
I gave up trying to eat the meat and sipped at my wine.
‘What of King Castus?’
Akka shrugged. ‘What of him?’
‘He was the one who extended an invitation to Lord Tasius, was he not?’
Another shrug. ‘Gordyene has always been a good friend to the Sarmatians. May I ask you a question, lord?’
