Sarmatian

by Peter Darman

  ‘Who gives this man to be made a lord of Media?’

  Akmon, wearing a suit of dragon-skin armour that caught the sun’s rays to create an image of a shimmering demi-god, which was the idea, stepped forward.

  ‘I, Akmon, rightful King of Media, do present Klietas of Vazneh to you, High Priest Castor, intermediary between the realm of men and Shamash, the Sun God and protector of Media and its people.’

  Castor stepped forward and placed his hands on the top of Klietas’ head.

  ‘Repeat my words, Klietas of Vazneh.’

  The high priest began to recite the oath of loyalty, which Klietas repeated word for word.

  ‘I, Klietas of Vazneh, swear to you Akmon, King of Media, that from this hour I will be faithful to you with regard to your life, and the members of your family, in good faith and without deception. And I will help you to hold, have and defend against all men and women who might wish to seize or deprive you of property and land.

  ‘Before Shamash in this holy sanctuary and before these witnesses, I will be true and faithful, and love all which He loves and shun all which He shuns, according to the laws of the Sun God and the natural order of the world He has created. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to Shamash or my king, on condition that they will hold to me as I shall deserve it.’

  Castor stepped back and held out a bony hand to Klietas.

  ‘Take my hand and rise up a Lord of Media. Rise up, Lord Vazneh.’

  Klietas rose unsteadily to his feet, totally overwhelmed by his surroundings and the proximity of so many lords and ladies, plus his king and queen. Castor turned to walk to the altar, before which was laid a sword in a scabbard, a leather belt, a scale-armour cuirass and a pair of expensive leather boots.

  ‘Step forward, Lord Vazneh, to arm and armour yourself so you may go forth to do the king’s bidding.’

  I had no sons, but I felt like a father to Klietas as he put on the boots, armour and sword and received the kiss of fealty from Akmon, Lusin threading her arm in Anush’s, to lead my former squire’s wife to Media’s newest lord. He had come a long way since I first clapped eyes on a scrawny half-starving orphan waiting to die at Irbil. I thought he had made a mistake leaving Dura, doing so only because Haya had deeply wounded him. But I now realised Shamash himself had taken an interest in Klietas and had decreed that he should return to his homeland. Now he was a lord in the north of that land, perhaps the only lord, around which a new Media would be built. With Dura’s help.

  The gods are infallible and we can never hope to unravel their thoughts.

  Lusin took a keen interest in the recovery of ‘Lord’ Bullus, moving him into the palace and assigning a royal physician to his care to speed his return to health. Before we left for Dura I went to see him. His room was large and airy, with frescoes of dancing dragons on the walls, a large bed, couches and a table for reading and writing at. The patio doors decorated with gold leaf opened into the royal garden and Bullus had his own personal slave to fetch and carry for him.

  I found him propped up in bed wearing a blue silk robe, his chest still bandaged. He looked bored to distraction and totally out of place. But at least he cheered up when he saw me.

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ I said, pulling up a chair.

  His eyes lit up. ‘You’ve come to rescue me from this gilded prison, majesty?’

  ‘Alas, no. But in addition to your promotion to cohort commander, King Akmon is going to make you a lord. My congratulations.’

  ‘The gods save me.’

  ‘The queen has informed you your wife and child are to be brought to Irbil.’

  ‘She’s not my wife, majesty.’

  ‘Ah, well, that is another thing someone should have told you about. Now that you are moving in polite society, the king and queen felt you should be married. Appearances, you see.’

  He sighed. ‘Well, at least I will be up and about soon, and then I can go north and become a soldier once more.’

  ‘Navid will be commanding the five hundred horse archers to accompany your cohort,’ I told him. ‘Try to keep him under control.’

  He laughed, then winced when the movement hurt his ribs.

  ‘I will, majesty.’

  ‘And take care of Klietas and his wife. I’m too old to keep coming back to Media to save his hide.’

  I stood and extended an arm. We clasped forearms.

  ‘And you take care of yourself, Bullus. No heroics.’

  ‘No heroics, majesty, I promise.’

  We left Media stronger than we had found it, or at least had weakened Gordyene sufficiently that it would no longer pose an immediate threat to Akmon’s kingdom. And the Roxolani had been driven out of Parthia, though at a high cost. Now, at long last, we were going home.

  Chapter 20

  The army made a leisurely march back to Assur, the legions no longer singing as they tramped along the bone-hard road under a fierce summer sun. They had their equipment strapped to a furca – a pole around four feet in length with a crossbar – to which was attached an entrenching tool, cloak, water bottle and food bowl. Their helmets dangled from the front of their belts, their javelins were shouldered and their shields carried on their backs under the furca, the former supporting the latter. In an emergency, the kit could be dumped, helmets put on heads and shields and javelins made ready for battle in no time at all. I had a feeling the legions were in a mood for bloodshed after the disappointment of Gordyene.

  ‘The legions appear sullen,’ I said to Chrestus.

  ‘They feel they have been robbed of victory, majesty,’ he replied, swatting away a fly with his hand. ‘And they were wondering why we dragged the siege engines all the way to Vanadzor without using them.’

  ‘An army is not a society of friends and equals,’ said Gallia brusquely. ‘Commanders issue orders and soldiers obey them.’

  But I was in a more reflective mood and I saw no reason to keep Chrestus in the dark.

  ‘I did not have the stomach for further bloodshed, and no enthusiasm at all for battering down Vanadzor’s walls and killing Gordyene’s king, for I am certain Castus would never have allowed himself to be taken alive.’

  ‘I remember when King Spartacus visited Dura for your sixtieth birthday celebrations, majesty,’ said Chrestus, ‘when things got a little heated.’

  Gallia guffawed. ‘You mean when Spartacus made a fool of himself? I remember that evening. What a child he was.’

  ‘It’s easy to love folly in a child,’ I smiled. ‘Carry on, Chrestus.’

  ‘Well,’ continued the general, ‘I remember him squaring up to me and saying that one day the Immortals and our legions would face each other in battle. I told him I prayed such a day would never come. But it did. But we will also never know which of the two was the best. Gordyene’s Immortals or Dura’s legions.’

  ‘What is your opinion, Chrestus?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘We would have overcome them, eventually, majesty,’ he answered.

  ‘Technically, our campaign was a great success,’ opined Kewab. ‘We defeated the Sarmatian menace, inflicted damage on Gordyene and its army, and avoided a costly and time-consuming siege of Vanadzor. And we have taken measures to strengthen Media’s defences.’

  ‘You are truly a man who views a cup as half-full rather than half-empty, Kewab,’ said Chrestus.

  I exchanged glances with Gallia. If Kewab knew the truth concerning the throne of Gordyene, he would not be so positive about a campaign that should have ended with him being crowned King of Gordyene. I had denied him the chance to become a king, and now he would leave Dura to become the governor of Egypt. Such is fate. The arrival of Talib interrupted my musings, my chief scout bowing his head and handing me a letter.

  ‘From Princess Claudia, majesty,’ he informed me. ‘She is in Assur.’

  The town was around twenty miles away – a two hours’ ride on horseback. I broke the seal and opened the papyrus, Gallia lookin
g intently at the yellow document, Talib and Minu exchanging smiles.

  Father

  I am at the dreary town of Assur, awaiting your urgent arrival on a matter of high import for the empire. Please come as quickly as you can, if only to save me from the boorish conversation of the governor. And bring Kewab.

  Claudia

  I passed it to Gallia and pointed at Kewab.

  ‘You are with me, satrap. We have urgent business in Assur.’

  ‘May I enquire as to the nature of said business, majesty?’

  ‘If I knew, I would tell you, Kewab.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ said Gallia, turning to Talib. ‘You are welcome to accompany your wife back to Assur if you wish.’

  He flashed a smile. ‘Thank you, majesty.’

  ‘You have command of the army, Chrestus,’ I said. ‘Make camp on this side of the river tonight. There is no need to rush our return to Dura.’

  ‘Yes, majesty.’

  We rode with the Amazons to the pontoon bridge across the Tigris and crossed it to arrive at Assur as the afternoon sun was beginning to set in the west, turning from a brilliant yellow to a calmer orange as it did so. We found Claudia waiting for us in the governor’s courtyard, standing beside the dour Rodak. My daughter had an annoyed expression on her face and began rebuking me as soon as I had alighted from Horns.

  ‘Have you been on a leisurely detour, father? Perhaps you should get a faster horse.’

  She walked past me to embrace Gallia, and then bowed to Kewab.

  ‘Welcome, majesty.’

  Kewab was bemused, as was I.

  ‘We are in no mood for your dire attempts at humour,’ I snapped.

  ‘I am here on the orders of King of Kings Phraates, father, to inform Satrap Kewab that he is to be made King of Carmania.’

  I was astounded, as was Kewab, who nearly fell off his horse.

  ‘Carmania?’

  ‘A kingdom in the east of the empire, father, directly south of Sakastan, and now in dire need of both a king and internal order.’

  When we had retired inside the governor’s residence, Claudia informed us more fully of developments in the east. Of how King Phanes, the mad ruler of Carmania, had poisoned his entire family at a lavish banquet, before killing himself by climbing up to the roof of his palace and throwing himself off. In the days prior to the fateful feast, he had apparently been telling everyone that he had grown a pair of wings, which were of course invisible to all save himself. When courtiers had laughed in his face, thinking he was joking, he had had them and their families impaled in the palace grounds. No one was sorry to see the back of Phanes, but he had killed his son Babak, who had been the de facto ruler of the kingdom.

  ‘With Babak gone,’ said Claudia, ‘Carmania has descended into civil war. King Salar and my sister are very concerned about their southern frontier.’

  Salar, my son-in-law, was King of Sakastan, and the last thing he needed was chaos to the south of his realm, especially as his kingdom bordered Kushan lands to the east.

  We reclined on couches and were served wine by slaves, Rodak’s chief steward fussing over us. Claudia batted away a silver tray holding honey cakes.

  ‘Time is of the essence. If Carmania descends into chaos, the Kushans will undoubtedly take advantage to place one of their supporters on the throne.’

  ‘You are forgetting one thing, daughter,’ I said casually. ‘Kewab is to be the governor of Egypt.’

  My daughter’s visage hardened. ‘The choice between becoming a Parthian king or a Roman lapdog? No choice at all, I would have thought.’

  ‘That is for Kewab to decide,’ I smiled.

  But Claudia knew much about Kewab and played her hand superbly. She looked at the satrap.

  ‘Of course, Menwi would become Queen of Carmania and your children would instantly become princes, the oldest guaranteed to inherit your throne when you leave this world, as would his eldest son, and on and on.’

  I honestly believed Kewab was not an overly ambitious person, in as much as highly talented people do not need to devote much time to furthering themselves, as their genius seems to attract rank and power. But Menwi was an altogether different prospect, as I had discovered. She was ambitious, and probably hectored him incessantly about how he was unappreciated by Parthia, which is probably why he was so happy when on campaign. He may or may not have put much store in titles, but Menwi would not be able to resist the offer of becoming a queen.

  ‘If Parthia has need of me, princess,’ said Kewab, ‘then I will not desert the empire.’

  I stood and embraced him. ‘This is a great day for Parthia.’

  I did not lie.

  For the previous ten years Kewab had proven himself a great commander, perhaps the empire’s greatest. He had single-handedly fought the Kushans to a standstill, devised the battle plan that had saved our arses when I had allowed an army to be caught at Kayseri, which had routed the enemy, and had then aided Castus in achieving a crushing victory over an enemy coalition outside the town of Melitene. The Egyptian graduate of Dura’s Sons of the Citadel scheme had excelled expectations beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, and I thanked the gods he would be staying in Parthia.

  ‘I assume you will be writing to the Romans to inform them of your decision, majesty?’ said Claudia.

  ‘I hope they will not be too disappointed,’ reflected Kewab.

  ‘I’m sure they will be amply compensated, is that not correct, mother?’

  Claudia gave Gallia a mischievous grin but my wife’s jaw locked rigid.

  ‘Have more respect in the presence of your parents,’ she hissed.

  Claudia switched her attention back to Kewab.

  ‘High King Phraates wishes for you to be crowned at Ctesiphon before you and your family travel to Carmania, majesty. If that is convenient.’

  ‘It would be an honour, princess,’ smiled Kewab.

  ‘You are most gracious, majesty,’ said Claudia, displaying a deference I never thought her capable of. Clearly, the years at Ctesiphon had honed her political skills, as well as her capacity for skulduggery.

  ‘I wonder if I might have a few moments in private with my parents, majesty,’ she said softly.

  Kewab, as gracious as ever, rose and bowed to Gallia and then me.

  ‘Of course. If you will excuse me.’

  ‘You don’t have to bow to us, Kewab,’ I said, ‘you are a king, or soon will be. We are your brother and sister now.’

  He blushed. ‘Yes, majesty, thank you, majesty.’

  ‘You can go, too,’ Claudia said to Rodak.

  Rodak took his leave like a chastened child being told to go to his room.

  ‘Idiot,’ hissed Claudia before he had shut the door to the room.

  She clicked her fingers and pointed to her rhyton, indicating it should be topped up. A slave rushed forward and did so. She picked up the drinking vessel and settled back in her chair.

  ‘So, the Sarmatians have been sent packing with their tails between their legs, Phanes is thankfully dead, his crown will pass to one far more capable, who will make the east of the empire strong, and Castus is still King of Gordyene. The gods have been kind.

  ‘May I have the ring back I loaned you, father?’

  I pulled the gold ring from my finger and handed it to her.

  ‘I had no idea I would wreak devastation on Media.’

  Claudia rolled her eyes.

  ‘You did not, father, not unless you have turned into a god. It was divine help that aided you in your battle against the Sarmatians.’

  ‘I was not talking of that,’ I snapped.

  ‘Oh, then what?’

  ‘Your father grieves for the thousands who might starve as a result of the locusts having stripped eastern Media bare,’ said Gallia.

  Claudia was unmoved. ‘The needs of the empire outweigh considerations for the welfare of commoners. The Sarmatians represented a grave threat to Parthia’s very existence. I hear you met their leader, father
.’

  ‘Tasius? Yes, I found him both intelligent and dangerous.’

  ‘All the more reason to get rid of him and his people as quickly as possible,’ said Claudia.

  She giggled. ‘Phraates was near panic when Silani and Otanes were defeated so soon after King Ali, King Scylax and Prince Khosrou were beaten. Once again, you saved the day, father.’

  ‘I assume from your irreverent tone that Silani and Otanes are alive, or at least I hope they are,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, they are alive,’ replied Claudia. ‘They made it back to Ctesiphon with most of their army intact, if not their pride or honour.’

  She looked at me with an evil glint in her eye.

  ‘Phraates was considering dismissing Ali from his position of lord high general and awarding you the position until you die.’

  I groaned. ‘If you have any influence with Phraates at all, you will dissuade him from doing so.’

  She sipped some wine. ‘Have no fear, father, I convinced him you are too old and your mind is too addled for such a demanding position.’

  Gallia laughed. ‘What it is to have a loving daughter.’

  ‘Kewab will be lord high general in the future,’ mused Claudia, ‘after he has had time to settle into his new position, of course. So, in a way, father, your influence will still be safeguarding the empire.’

  It was an indication of Claudia’s influence and power at Ctesiphon that two hundred Babylonian lancers, all dressed in gleaming dragon-skin armour and wearing purple plumes, had escorted her to Assur. She was also accompanied by a large retinue of slaves, camels carrying her pavilion, and a hundred Scythian axe men to guard said pavilion when it was pitched for the night. More significantly, she had been given a copy of Phraates’ personal seal to write letters on the high king’s behalf, should she be so inclined. It was a visible sign of the trust Phraates placed in Claudia, though knowing the high king’s cunning nature, he was also courting the support of the Scythian Sisters, who wielded immense influence throughout Parthia.

  In an insult to Rodak, who for whatever reason Claudia had quickly grown to despise, she slept not in his residence but in her pavilion pitched by the side of the Tigris north of the town. South of Assur, the river was full of the stinking effluent produced by its residents and was to be avoided at all costs. That night I visited her in her plush mobile palace, waited on hand and foot by beautiful female and handsome male slaves. They contrasted sharply with the fierce and ugly Scythians who stood sentry around the tent, one of whom barred my way after I had left Horns at the temporary stables made of canvas and wood where the Babylonians’ horses were also quartered.