Companions (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

‘First thing yesterday morning,’ said Orodes. ‘I was carrying out an inspection of the forts north of the city when a courier arrived from Godarz informing me that they had left the city. By the time I had returned to the Citadel it was late afternoon. I sent a messenger to recall them but they had not returned by this morning.’

  ‘You should burn the old witch for this,’ spat Domitus, who was finding the speedy journey very uncomfortable. Orodes noticed his discomfort.

  ‘Are you wounded, Domitus?’

  Gallia laughed. ‘He has blisters the size of camel spiders.’

  ‘Glad you find it funny,’ said Domitus.

  Orodes looked concerned. ‘My sympathies, general.’

  We arrived at Dura two hours later, our horses panting and sweating and our bodies soaked in sweat. We cantered through the Palmyrene Gate and up the city’s main road to the Citadel, the trumpets of an honour guard celebrating our arrival. The horse archers left us to ride to their barracks in the west of the city, just beyond the walls of the Citadel. I jumped from the saddle as a stable hand came forward, took Remus’ reins and led him away. Epona was likewise removed as the Amazons and Orodes’ cataphracts dismounted and led their mounts to the stables. Domitus eased himself out of the saddle and dismounted gingerly, saying a silent prayer of thanks and raising his cane threateningly to his mare.

  ‘Domitus,’ I barked, ‘leave her alone.’

  The chief steward scuttled down the steps and bowed his head.

  ‘Where’s Dobbai?’

  ‘On the palace terrace, majesty. Will you and the queen be requiring refreshments?’

  I walked past him up the steps with Gallia, Orodes and Domitus following.

  ‘No.’

  Servants cleaning the throne room’s floor got off their knees and bowed as we raced by them towards the door in the far corner giving access to our private quarters. A guard standing sentry by it opened it to allow us to enter. We walked into the corridor leading to the palace’s sleeping quarters and continued through another door that led on to the terrace.

  It was another blisteringly hot day but Dobbai was seated in her wicker chair, her legs resting on a footstool and a large shade positioned over her to offer protection from the sun’s rays. We walked over to find her eyes closed. I cleared my throat.

  She opened one eye. ‘Ah, so you have returned, son of Hatra, and with another victory under your belt, I hear.’

  ‘We are not here to discuss that.’

  She sighed, opened both eyes and sat up.

  ‘I see, then what other reason can you have for disturbing an old woman’s mid-morning rest?’

  She held out her arms to Gallia who walked forward and embraced her.

  ‘Sit, child. You look tired and thirsty.’

  Dobbai waved over one of the servants standing near the door which had a large awning over it to provide them with shade.

  ‘Bring water and fruit for our returned heroes.’

  I held up a hand to stop them. ‘I am king here.’

  ‘As you wish,’ remarked Dobbai unconcerned.

  The servants stood and looked at each other, unsure what to do as the chief steward came on to the terrace.

  ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘bring refreshments.’

  The servants bowed and left for the kitchens as the steward organised others to arrange chairs and sunshades for us.

  ‘Very kingly,’ Dobbai said to me.

  ‘I have heard,’ I said in a stern voice, ‘that you commanded two companies of horse archers to be sent to Syria without Prince Orodes’ authority.’

  Dobbai sighed and rose to her feet. ‘So now we come to the real reason that you are acting like a precocious child, son of Hatra.’

  ‘You risk war with Syria,’ I said loudly.

  ‘I was left in charge of the army,’ added Orodes, ‘and only I had the authority to send soldiers outside the kingdom.’

  ‘If this was Rome your head would already be decorating the gates of the Citadel,’ said Domitus with relish.

  ‘How short your memories are,’ she retorted. ‘The gods send me a vision that allows you to save the Kingdom of Mesene and yet you threaten my life. That’s gratitude for you.’

  ‘No one threatens your life,’ stated Gallia firmly, daring Domitus to contradict her.

  Dobbai walked to where I, Orodes and Domitus were standing in line.

  ‘Like small boys you think that because you wear swords and bellow commands at other boys you are like gods.’

  ‘Not gods,’ I said, ‘just men eager to avoid war with Roman Syria while we face the possibility of further conflict with Mithridates.’

  Dobbai shook her head and returned to her chair.

  ‘Do you really think that I would initiate any actions that would endanger your kingdom, son of Hatra?’

  ‘By sending horse archers to Syria you do just that,’ said Orodes, becoming increasingly frustrated with Dobbai’s nonchalant attitude.

  Dobbai eased herself back in her chair. ‘First of all, prince, I did not send the horsemen to Syria. I sent then to the Syrian border, there to await the arrival of a sister who is coming to Dura.’

  I took a seat under a shade and indicated to Orodes and Domitus that they should do likewise. The heat was oppressive.

  ‘Sister? You have a sister?’

  ‘One is bad enough,’ whispered Domitus.

  ‘I did not say I had a sister,’ snapped Dobbai. ‘I use the word in the context of a feminine associate, who like me is a member of an ancient sisterhood.’

  Gallia’s ears pricked up at this. ‘Sisterhood?’

  Dobbai nodded. ‘The Scythian sisterhood, child. Now more than eight hundred years old, and during that time our order has seen empires fall and kings rise.’

  The chief steward retreated towards the entrance as servants brought refreshments to the terrace and served us cool drinks and slices of melon and apple.

  ‘You have said nothing of this order before,’ I said.

  ‘Do I enquire about the workings of your army or the topics of the conversations you hold with your commanders?’ she asked. ‘I do not.’

  ‘You still have not explained why you sent two companies of horse archers to the Syrian border without my permission,’ said Orodes.

  ‘To provide an escort for my sister, of course,’ replied Dobbai matter-of-factly. ‘As a man of honour, lord prince, I would have thought that you more than most would appreciate that a solitary woman travelling through Agraci territory is risking her honour at the very least, if not her life.’

  Orodes looked at me and shook his head in exasperation.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘at least they aren’t invading Syria. We have that to be thankful for at least. But you must apologise to Prince Orodes, Dobbai.’

  ‘You would have me apologise for carrying out the wishes of the gods, son of Hatra?’

  ‘Wishes of the gods?’ said Domitus derisively. ‘You send horsemen to escort one of your fellow witches here and you say it is the work of the gods.’

  ‘What do you know of the thoughts of the gods, Roman?’ she shot back.

  ‘What message from the gods does your sister carry?’ I asked her.

  She looked at me as though I was deranged. ‘How should I know?’

  Domitus started nibbling a large piece of melon, the juices dripping down his chin as he spoke. ‘She has been sitting on this terrace in the sun too long, Pacorus. It has obviously roasted her brain.’

  ‘Are you certain that the gods are at work?’ Gallia asked Dobbai.

  ‘Quite sure, child. Consider this. A member of our order suddenly writes to me saying that she is coming to Dura to visit me. We do not gather every year like your ridiculous Companions, so why else would she suddenly declare her interest in me and Dura?’

  We all looked at her in expectation of an answer. But she merely settled back into her chair and closed her eyes.

  ‘All will be revealed.’

  Orodes rose, bowed to Gallia and t
hen me and strode towards the door, stopping only when he heard Dobbai’s deep voice.

  ‘Prince Orodes.’

  He turned.

  ‘If I caused you offence I apologise. It was not my intention.’

  He nodded. ‘I accept your apology.’

  ‘Like small boys,’ said Dobbai under her breath as Orodes left us.

  Samahe was her name.

  It meant ‘dark haired girl’ and was an accurate reflection of her appearance, though she was certainly no girl. Like Dobbai it was difficult to place an age on her but she was certainly advanced in years. Her arrival had become the main topic of palace gossip. So when word came from the Palmyrene Gate that a column of horse archers and camels was approaching the city from the west, servants, stable hands, legionaries and horse archers not on duty gathered in the courtyard to catch a glimpse of Dobbai’s ‘sister’. Indeed, the route from the Palmyrene Gate to the Citadel was soon lined with curious spectators when word spread that Dura was to be graced by a second sorceress.

  I stood at the top of the palace steps with Gallia, Godarz and Rsan as the horse archers trotted into the courtyard. Directly opposite curious scribes stood in the open windows of the headquarters’ building and treasury. Burly, squat blacksmiths drifted from the armoury to look as well. I had never seen the courtyard so crowded.

  ‘Even kings do not receive this kind of reception,’ I said to Gallia.

  ‘People are curious, Pacorus. They believe that Dura is doubly blessed by one of Dobbai’s sisters visiting us.’

  I looked around. ‘And where is Dobbai?’

  Gallia shrugged as Domitus and Orodes walked from the headquarters building and strode across the courtyard. Both were dressed in full war gear, Domitus wearing his helmet that had a magnificent white crest and Orodes carrying his helmet in the crook of his arm. The horse archers saluted as they passed and walked up the steps to us.

  ‘I thought you said you had better to things to do,’ I said to Domitus.

  He nodded to Gallia as Orodes bowed deeply to her. ‘I wanted to see what all the fuss is about. Where is the old witch?’

  ‘Careful, Roman,’ I heard the voice of Dobbai behind us. ‘Samahe is regarded as a powerful sorceress who can bend men’s minds to her will.’

  ‘Not this man,’ he growled.

  As the horse archers deployed into line facing the palace a camel sauntered into the courtyard accompanied by the horsemen’s commander. All eyes were on the black-clothed figure riding on the camel as the commander escorted it to the foot of the steps and signalled for the companies’ horns to be sounded. The camel grunted in disapproval as the Citadel was filled with the sound of horn blasts, followed by the rasping sound of two hundred swords being pulled from their scabbards as the horsemen saluted me. The commander jumped down from his horse and tugged on the camel’s reins. The beast spat at him before bending its front legs and then its rear legs to sit on the stone slabs. The commander stepped forward to assist our visitor off its back.

  She was shorter than Dobbai, being no taller than five foot, and though she was also wearing a black abaya, a long black robe, it was obvious that she was plumper. She was wearing a tarha, a black shawl, over her head but I could see that she had a round face. Gallia made to walk down the steps but I stopped her.

  ‘I think not, my sweet. We are, after all, monarchs and not her servants.’

  Dobbai brushed past us. ‘You are so pompous sometimes, son of Hatra.’

  She walked down the steps as the commander stepped back and bowed to me. The two black-clad women exchanged formalities and then walked together up the steps. Samahe ascended two of them before stopping and turning to the commander.

  ‘Come here, boy.’

  He looked at her and then me, unsure what to do. I nodded to him and he walked to her. She reached into her abaya, pulled out a small rolled parchment and handed it to him.

  ‘At the next full moon read the words on this document and then burn it. The woman you desire will be yours.’

  He blushed but attempted bravado. ‘I know not what you mean, lady.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ she said loudly. ‘It is written all over your face for the world to see that you are in love with one who does not return your affections. Now take it and be thankful.’

  He took the parchment.

  Samahe turned and walked towards us. ‘Young men in love are so predictable.’

  ‘All men are predictable, sister,’ said Dobbai.

  Our portly guest reach the top of the steps, smiled at me and bowed deeply, then did the same to Gallia.

  ‘Hail, King Pacorus of Dura and his beautiful queen, Gallia of the Gauls. Slayer of Lucius Furius, Porus of Sakastan and Chosroes of Mesene, victor of Surkh and saviour of Uruk. I salute you for your courage and choice of queen, for though I, like many, have heard of the beauty of Queen Gallia only now do I fully appreciate her grace. The gods smile on you, King Pacorus, and on this fair city of Dura.’

  I had to admit that her words were gracious but before I could reply a delighted Gallia stepped forward and took Samahe’s hands.

  ‘You are most welcome, Samahe, and tonight we will hold a feast to honour your arrival.’

  ‘We will?’ I said.

  Gallia turned and fixed me with her blue eyes.

  I smiled at Samahe. ‘A feast sounds a most excellent idea. Please enter our home. Quarters have been prepared for you. You must be tired after your journey.’

  ‘That’s you out-manoeuvred,’ Domitus said to me.

  Samahe linked her arm in Gallia’s and Dobbai did the same on my wife’s other side as all three walked into the palace’s reception porch, Samahe’s voice filling the chamber.

  ‘Wherever I went all I heard were the names King Pacorus of Dura and his blonde-haired wife Gallia. You two have been the talk of Apamea for months.’

  Apamea was a city in Syria on the right bank of the Orontes River. The site of a settlement since ancient times, it had been greatly expanded by Seleucus Nicator, one of Alexander of Macedon’s commanders and the founder of the Seleucid Empire. That had been over two hundred years ago and now the city boasted a population of over one hundred thousand people. Like every other settlement in Syria, however, it was now under Roman control.

  ‘I was wondering, King Pacorus,’ said Samahe as we all walked into the reception hall, ‘if you could spare a morsel to eat for a poor traveller whose throat has been turned into dry tinder from all the dust inhaled during the journey.’

  ‘Of course,’ I told her, ‘you are free to avail yourself of Dura’s hospitality.’

  ‘You are most generous,’ announced Samahe as we left the reception hall and entered the throne room.

  ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes, Apamea. Of course the man responsible for making your highnesses the chief topic of city gossip was Pompey, of course.’

  ‘Pompey?’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Samahe, whose voice seemed to be getting louder by the minute. ‘He was most taken by you. Told the governor that you dressed, acted and spoke like a Roman. He believes that you will become a client king of Rome. He told me that you are halfway there already.’

  ‘You spoke to Pompey?’ I said.

  ‘Of course. Nice enough man but I fear he will end badly. He’s honest, you see, and honest men always end up disappointed and with a dagger in their hearts, that or their throats slit.’

  ‘How many soldiers do the Romans have in Syria?’ asked Domitus bluntly.

  Samahe stopped and turned her head to take a long look at the army’s commander. He met her gaze with cold, brown eyes.

  ‘This is the Roman you told me about, sister?’ she said to Dobbai.

  ‘It is,’ replied Dobbai.

  ‘It doesn’t matter how many soldiers they have, Roman,’ replied Samahe, ‘because they pose no threat to Dura. The Jews are proving rebellious and so the might of Rome is turned towards them.’

  ‘It was ever so,’ remarked Dobbai caustically.


  Samahe continued to walk towards the dais. ‘But if you really wish to know how many soldiers there are in Syria,’ she called to Domitus, ‘then I will ask the governor of Apamea. He is a nervous wreck, convinced that he will be poisoned. He calls me to his palace every week, insisting I prescribe him healing potions and antidotes. He is so bland and uninteresting that no one really notices him, so the idea that anyone would poison him is preposterous. A combination of nerves and rich food is responsible for his stomach cramps.’

  ‘He might not be so keen to employ you when he learns that you are here,’ I said.

  She laughed. ‘I told him I was coming here. He asked me to give you a message.’

  ‘What message?’

  ‘That he hopes you will visit Apamea soon. He says that any friend of Pompey is his friend also.’

  Domitus laughed and Rsan looked alarmed.

  ‘I am not Pompey’s friend,’ I stated. ‘I am Parthian.’

  ‘Is he always like this?’ Samahe asked Dobbai.

  ‘Always, sister. Everything is always black or white to the son of Hatra. You are either his enemy or his friend. There is no middle course.’

  ‘That is a shame, lord king,’ said Samahe. ‘You dress like a Roman and should act more like them. Diplomacy can sometimes achieve more than the sword.’

  ‘You mean duplicity and betrayal,’ I answered.

  ‘You see, sister,’ said Dobbai, ‘he is a hopeless romantic.’

  After Samahe had examined and expressed her admiration for my griffin banner that hung on the wall behind our thrones, we walked to the banqueting hall where I ordered food to be brought for our guest. She sat on the top table as bread, fruit, cheese, sweet meats and pastries were brought from the kitchens. Out of courtesy we sat with her as servants filled our plain cups with wine and water.

  Samahe’s appetite was amazing and I soon appreciated why she was overweight. She devoured great quantities of bread, cheese, yogurt and honey before servants brought slices of freshly roasted chicken, camel and grouse. Meat juices dripped from the corners of her lips as she shoved one piece after another into her mouth, all washed down by liberal quantities of wine. And all the while she never stopped talking.

  She picked up a chicken wing and looked at Orodes. ‘My sister has told me of your predicament, prince. But you must not despair for you will reclaim your inheritance and more.’