by Peter Darman
We rode down into the city and through the Palmyrene Gate, then swung north to take us over the pontoon bridge and into my father’s kingdom. I rode in my Roman helmet, cuirass and spatha at my hip. I left my cataphract armour behind as I was not riding to war. Gallia rode on my right side and Godarz on my left, with Nergal and Praxima behind us and a long column of horses and camels behind them. A short while after we had crossed the bridge we were met by a detachment of my father’s army — a dozen horse archers dressed in white tunics and red leggings. Their commander paid his respects and then left us, riding back to his fort.
We halted several miles from Dura to allow the cataphracts to take off their heavy scale armour and that of their horses, as it would have been torture for the riders to travel the whole day under a merciless sun in full armour. We then road north across country avoiding the roads, which were full of traffic — caravans, merchants and people on foot — all kicking up a choking dust that found its way into the eyes and lungs. The heavy traffic was a good sign as it indicated trade was thriving in Hatra.
It took us seven days to reach Hatra, my father and Vistaspa linking up with us five miles from the city with an escort of cataphracts. Vistaspa said little aside from a curt greeting to me and Gallia, though I detected a look of approval as he observed my own men behind us, who were now again dressed in their full war gear. My father, wearing his crown on his helmet, rode at the head of his men, Hatra’s banner of the white horse’s head fluttering in the breeze behind him. He greeted us warmly.
‘It is good to see you both, your mother has missed you.’ He looked at Malik, who laid a hand on his heart and bowed his head. My father shot a glance at me but said nothing, but he must have known that the black-robed warrior was an Agraci.
Hatra was as big, bustling and loud as I remembered it, the streets packed with people going about their business. We moved slowly through the throng, some of Kogan’s guards clearing a passage but not with violence. Many cheered my father and his men, and then myself and Gallia even more as they recognised us. Some reached over to touch my leg or stroke Remus. I also noticed that more than one frowned and shied away when they caught sight of Malik, his cheeks adorned with black tattoos and his black robes indicating his Agraci heritage. To his credit he kept looking ahead, though riding through a sea of potential enemies must have been uncomfortable for him. When we got to the palace my mother and sisters were waiting at the foot of the steps, as were Kogan, Assur, Gafarn and Diana. Our reunion was long and tearful; Gallia hugged Diana for an age and they linked arms when my father insisted that everyone must go inside to their rooms. Nergal led my horsemen and the Amazons to the royal stables as we filed into the vastness that was Hatra’s palace.
As we strolled though the great stone columns Gafarn put an arm around my shoulder. ‘It’s good to see you, brother. I see that you have widened the circle of your friends.’
Malik was trailing behind me. ‘Prince Malik, this is my brother, Gafarn.’
Malik bowed his head to Gafarn. ‘An honour, lord.’
Gafarn burst into laughter, which startled my parents and sisters and caused Assur to frown deeply. ‘I’m not lord, though some call me that. I am a Bedouin, taken captive as an infant and raised a slave in this palace.’
My mother was most upset. ‘Gafarn, you should not say such things.’
Gafarn shrugged. ‘Why not? It is true. I am not ashamed of who I am.’
‘You are a Bedouin?’ Malik was most surprised.
‘Yes, and my wife, Diana, once a Roman kitchen slave, is now a princess of Hatra. So you see, Prince Malik of the Agraci, nothing is ever as it appears to be.’
Assur made his excuses and left, as did Kogan and Addu, clearly made uncomfortable by Malik’s presence, but my father had him shown to a luxurious room in the royal apartments and that evening at the banquet held to celebrate the return of myself and Gallia to Hatra, he was placed on the top table. I sat next to my father with Gallia beside my mother as the hall echoed with the chattering of three hundred of the city’s lords and their wives invited to attend. A small army of servants ferried food and wine from the kitchens to the tables.
‘I like your heavy cavalry, Pacorus.’
‘Thank you, father.’
‘Horsemen armed and armoured thus are expensive.’
‘Very.’
‘Dura’s finances can stand such an indulgence?’
‘Now we have opened up the trade route to Egypt, they can.’
‘I heard about your trip into the desert to meet with the Agraci,’ he said, looking at Malik.
I nodded at Malik sitting next to Nergal and Praxima. ‘That is King Haytham’s son, father, a man whom I esteem a friend.’
‘I know who he is.’
I looked at my father. ‘You do not approve?’
He smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘You have brought peace and prosperity where there was war and financial ruin. How could I disapprove? There are some,’ he tilted his head towards Assur, ‘who disapprove of you making peace with the Agraci.’
‘And you?’
‘I say that kings have to be above all practical. You have the reputation of being a great warlord, and now you are earning yourself a reputation as a wise king. I am proud of you. How is Gallia?’
I looked at my love, deep in conversation with my mother. ‘Happy. She likes Dura.’
My father suddenly looked serious. ‘I heard that you took her into the desert when you visited the Agraci. That could have been dangerous.’
‘I told her that, but she insisted on accompanying me.’
‘And you let her?’
I grinned. ‘I could have forced her to stay in Dura, but I only have five thousand legionaries and two hundred cavalry. Too few for such a task, I fear.’
My father roared with laughter.
It was good to be back at Hatra, albeit for a short while, and to see my parents again. Those were the happy times, and even Vistaspa seemed to have mellowed somewhat, though perhaps it was because his friend Godarz was back with him. Gallia and Diana spent much time together with the young Spartacus, now grown in size and taking his first steps. Gafarn beat me with depressing ease in the archery competitions we held in the gardens and on the training fields and Addu was most impressed when I told him about Rsan and the treasury at Dura. Those were special days. It was not paradise, for people still died of sickness and disease, thieves still had their hands cut off and murderers were still executed, but peace and contentment reigned over Hatra and Dura.
But peace never lasts, and two days before we were due to head back to Dura, a courier arrived at my father’s palace. It was late afternoon and we were all relaxing in the shade of my mother’s summerhouse when the courier presented my father with a sealed scroll.
‘Where are you from?’ said my father, breaking the seal.
‘Ctesiphon, majesty.’
My father read the words and frowned.
‘What is it, Varaz?’ asked my mother.
My father waved away the courier and breathed a deep sigh. ‘Sinatruces is dead.’
I had to confess that this news came as no great shock to me, for the King of Kings had been over eighty years old and most people died well before that great number. But had I known what this one event would lead to I would have shown more concern, for the passing of one old man was to be the catalyst for tumultuous events that threatened to destroy the empire and would again bring me face to face with my old enemies — the Romans.
Chapter 7
My father convened his council the day after we had received the news of Sinatruces’ death, and as I was in the city he asked me to attend as well, along with Godarz. Gallia was not invited, much to her chagrin. As usual, the council met in a small room next to the throne room. Around the table sat my father, Kogan, Vistaspa, Assur, Addu, Godarz and myself. My father opened proceedings.
‘So, the day has finally come when we have to turn our thoughts to a new King of Kings. Lor
d Assur, I believe that your scribes have been researching the archives concerning the correct protocol in this matter.’
‘Yes, majesty,’ his voice was deep and serious. ‘There are very few who remember the days before Sinatruces since he has ruled for over fifty years. But now the kings of the empire must gather in Esfahan to elect another of their number to rule over them.’
Isfahan was a city located in the heart of the empire, a place of water and greenery in the middle of a searing desert wasteland.
‘Who will have your vote, sire?’ asked Vistaspa, ‘assuming that you do not desire it yourself.’
‘Indeed I do not,’ replied my father. ‘Sinatruces had respect because he was old and everyone had got used to him sitting in Ctesiphon. I think Phraates, his son, would make a logical choice. If nothing else, his taking the office would provide continuity and hopefully a peaceful transition of power.’
Assur said nothing, Vistaspa the same, though my father’s general began to drum his fingers on the table.
‘If you have something to say, Vistaspa, then out with it,’ said my father.
‘The empire will need a strong hand, lord, and there are some who say that Phraates lacks strength.’
‘He is a good man,’ replied my father.
‘Good men do not necessarily make good kings. The empire would be better in your hands.’
My father shook his head. ‘I do not desire such a thing, and that is my final word on the matter.’
But Vistaspa would not give up. ‘You would have the support of Babylon, Gordyene, Atropaiene, Media and Elymais if you put yourself forward.’ He looked at me with his cold black eyes. ‘And Dura, I assume.’
‘Of course,’ I replied.
‘No!’ barked my father. ‘One crown is sufficient. The matter is at an end.’
After the meeting Vistaspa sought me out, which was unusual as he rarely had time for my company. It was hard to earn the respect of Vistaspa, who was totally loyal to my father but seemed to eye everyone else with a cool detachment at best, though mostly with open disdain. Today he was most talkative.
‘Is your legion ready?’
‘Almost.’
‘Good, and how many cavalry do you have?’
‘My cataphracts you have already seen. In times of emergency they will be reinforced by the horsemen raised by the lords of my kingdom.’
‘Farmers on horseback,’ he sniffed.
‘These farmers can fight; they have been battling the Agraci ever since they crossed the Euphrates to work the land.’
We were walking down the corridor that led towards the palace’s royal apartments. I stopped and turned to face him.
‘Is there a point to this, Lord Vistaspa?’
He was momentarily nonplussed, and then regained his icy demeanour. ‘There are clouds gathering beyond the empire’s frontiers, and perhaps within the empire itself. We will need all the bows and spears we can muster, I fear.’
I confess that I was slightly alarmed to hear Vistaspa, a man who had less compassion than a cobra, use the word ‘fear’.
‘The Romans are gathering their forces in the northeast, to threaten Armenia, while their garrison swells in Cappadocia like the belly of a pregnant camel.’
‘I’ve beaten Romans before,’ I remarked casually.
‘Then be prepared to fight them again, for my spies have told me that our friend Darius intends to defect to Rome.’
I clenched my fists. Darius was the King of Zeugma, a kingdom on Hatra’s northwest border. The Romans had, several years ago, sent a legion to the city of Zeugma, which had strayed into Hatran territory. My father had intercepted and destroyed it, and during the battle I had captured the legion’s eagle. That day was the beginning of my long association with the Romans. It was an open secret that the fat, idle Darius wanted to become a client king of Rome; only the fear of Parthian retribution, especially Hatra’s large standing army, prevented him from doing so.
‘Darius might use the uncertainty around Sinatruces’ passing to swap sides.’
‘My father can have troops in possession of Zeugma faster than the Romans can,’ I said.
‘Not if his attention is focused elsewhere.’
I was becoming confused. He took my arm. ‘Hatra is rich. There are kings within the empire who would like nothing more than to see us humiliated and reduced in strength. With your father as King of Kings the empire is safe, but Phraates….’
His voice trailed away and an ominous silence was left.
‘I’m sure the meeting at Esfahan will resolve all uncertainties,’ I said without conviction.
He looked away. ‘Perhaps you are right. By the way, your cataphracts are a credit to you. Well done. Perhaps I may visit Dura some time to see how your legion is shaping up.’
It was a most strange conversation and somewhat unnerved me, but I shrugged it off as a case of Vistaspa being unduly alarmist.
‘I don’t like him,’ remarked Gallia of Vistaspa on the second day of our journey back to Dura.
We had enjoyed our time in Hatra immensely and were now making our way leisurely back to our home. Gallia had invited my parents, my sisters, Gafarn and Diana to Dura, and if they all came at once we would run out of rooms to put them in, but they all accepted her invitation so that was that. Her hospitality did not extend to Vistaspa or Assur.
‘He reminds me of my father, always scheming.’
‘He’s a good soldier, but I agree his character is a little foreboding.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
‘He thinks the death of Sinatruces presages war.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I know not what the future holds.’
But in truth conflict seemed far away as we rode back to Dura, through Hatran territory that was well-protected and thriving with commerce. I comforted myself with the fact that Hatra had, unusually among the empire, a large standing army in addition to the tens of thousands of horse archers my father could summon in times of conflict. Who would be so foolish to make war upon it?
When we arrived back at Dura, a letter similar to the one delivered to my father was awaiting me. All the kings were being informed of the death of Sinatruces. It was signed by his son, Phraates, whom I assumed would be elected to replace his father, notwithstanding Vistaspa’s forebodings. A week later another courier arrived, this time from the elders of Esfahan inviting me to attend the Council of Kings that would elect a new King of Kings in two months’ time.
Esfahan was part of no kingdom but was situated in the dead centre of the empire, and was recognised by all the kings as a neutral city, owing allegiance to no one kingdom or faction. In the time of civil strife before Sinatruces, when war had riven the empire, Esfahan and its elders had been a place where disputes between rival factions could be settled without recourse to war. That was the theory at least. The long reign of Sinatruces had made Esfahan’s purpose largely irrelevant, as Sinatruces had resolved the problem of rivals by defeating and then executing them, though in the last twenty years of his reign he had used his son to resolve disputes. Phraates was of an amicable disposition and had the tongue of a diplomat. His words helped to soothe the tempers of proud kings, and in any case the longevity of Sinatruces’ reign had earned the respect of even the most hot-headed rulers, though some liked to think that because of his great age the King of Kings’ wits had gone. I had met him more than a year before his death, and his mind and cunning were as sharp as any man’s.
‘Each king is allowed to take a retinue of thirty, equivalent to the number of arrows held in a quiver, no more,’ I said.
‘I will be one of them,’ announced Gallia, ‘and Praxima will also want to go.’
‘Do I have a say in the matter?’
‘Of course,’ she wrapped her arms around me. ‘You do want to take me, don’t you?’
So that was that. I also took Nergal, Domitus and twenty-five Companions. It was the first time I had seen Domitus on a horse and
he looked like a fish out of water. I would have taken Godarz instead but he expressed no interest in going, especially after travelling to Hatra. In any case, he was happy being governor and had little wish to see the rituals of the empire.
Before we left Dura I had sent a courier to Hatra to arrange a rendezvous with my father along the way. We met up with him ten miles west of the Tigris and about fifty miles from Ctesiphon. Accompanying him, and much to Gallia’s delight, was Balas of Gordyene, a big man on a big horse with an escort of over a score of horse archers dressed in blue tunics with steel helmets on their heads. Like me they were armed with swords, bows and full quivers.
Balas jumped down from his horse and enveloped Gallia in his bear-like arms.
‘I’m glad he,’ jerking his head at me, ‘decided to bring you along. I need a pretty woman to liven up the journey.’
‘I told him I was coming,’ said Gallia, ‘he had no choice.’
Balas roared with laughter. ‘I bet you did.’
That night we camped on the other side of the Tigris in the territory of King Vardan of Babylon. We pitched the tents in a large circle and then set a raging fire in the middle, over which we roasted pig and lamb.
‘Whom will you propose at the meeting, Varaz?’ asked Balas, sitting on the ground using his saddle as a backrest.
‘Phraates,’ replied my father.
Balas raised an eyebrow.
‘And you, lord?’ I asked.
‘Varaz of Hatra, of course,’ replied Balas. His warriors and those of my father applauded this suggestion.
My father held up his hands. ‘I have made it clear that I will not put myself forward.’
‘More fool you, Varaz,’ said Balas. ‘Phraates makes a good errand boy and that’s about it. Vardan, Farhad and Aschek would support you. I know, I’ve asked them.’
‘The matter is closed, Balas,’ said my father irritably, ‘now stop making trouble.’
Balas threw the leg of pork he had been gnawing into the fire. ‘So be it, but there will be trouble anyway, you mark my words.’
