Parthian Dawn

by Peter Darman

  Mithridates’ brother bowed his head at Gallia. ‘Your beauty is truly stunning, majesty. Please accept my apologies for any offence my family has given you.’

  ‘I accept your apology,’ replied Gallia, ‘yet I do not know your name.’

  He bowed his head again. ‘Princes Orodes, majesty.’

  ‘Well, prince,’ I said, ‘we are pleased to make your acquaintance.’

  Behind him Mithridates and his other companions were striding from the mausoleum, leaving his brother alone with us. Around us, nervous-looking guards had gathered into a group and approached, led by a young officer with a wispy moustache.

  ‘Majesty, forgive me, but it is not permitted to draw weapons inside this place.’

  ‘Of course, officer, please accept my apologies. We shall be leaving now.’

  His face wore the expression of a man who had been reprieved on the gallows.

  ‘Thank you, majesty.’ He waved his men away, who returned to their stations around the room. I linked arms with Gallia.

  ‘Walk with us, Orodes.’

  As we ambled from the dimly lit mausoleum into the bright sunshine I probed Orodes about his brother.

  ‘Were you with your brother at Dura?’

  ‘No, lord. Being the younger brother I stayed at Susa with my father.’

  Susa was the capital city of the kingdom of Susiana, which was the domain of King Phraates. The palace at Ctesiphon is the capital of the empire, reserved as the grand residence of the King of Kings, but Phraates was the King of Susiana, though these past years he had spent most of his time at Ctesiphon running errands for his father, Sinatruces.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about the death of your grandfather,’ remarked Gallia.

  ‘Thank you, majesty,’ said Orodes, ‘he lived long and in peace, what more can one ask for?’

  A wise answer, I thought. ‘Indeed,’ I remarked. ‘Let us hope that the reign of the next King of Kings is likewise blessed.’

  ‘I hope so, lord.’

  ‘The council sits tomorrow, so we shall soon know.’

  Orodes had an agreeable nature, which made it hard to believe that he was the brother of Mithridates. As he said farewell to us and made his way back to the villa of his father, an uncomfortable thought crossed my mind.

  It was Domitus who articulated my thoughts.

  ‘So that Mithridates was the little toad who ruled Dura before you.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Domitus pulled out a cloth from his tunic and wiped his neck, for the day was hot and there was no wind. ‘When I served Rome I saw a lot of his type during my days as a centurion. They were mostly tribunes, the sons and grandsons of important people, and all spoilt, arrogant little bastards, begging your pardon ladies. We usually sorted them out, though.’

  ‘How did you do that, Domitus?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘Well, if we were on the frontier then they would be ordered to lead punitive raids against bandits. They always relished the chance of slaughtering a few locals and earning some glory, but they invariably went too deep into hostile territory and came back with their tails between their legs, that or a few arrows in their backs.’

  ‘And what if you were not on the frontier?’

  Domitus shrugged. ‘They they would spend time drinking, gambling or whoring, anything to keep them out of camp.’

  ‘That Mithridates, he’s the eldest son of Phraates?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  Domitus shook his head. ‘So if Phraates is elected head king, the toad becomes king in his place?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I answered.

  Domitus turned to Gallia. ‘You should have cut his balls off, lady, for that one’s going to cause a lot of trouble.’

  The day of the council was hot and still. Again there was no wind, and though the tent was large and all the side flaps were open, inside the heat was oppressive. Slaves brought great jugs of cool water for us to drink but it was still uncomfortable, and it was only early morning. There were many fine buildings in Esfahan, but tradition dictated that the Council of Kings be held in a tent, just as the first one had many years ago.

  ‘Tradition? My aching back says tradition can go hang.’ Balas was already in a bad mood, and though everyone was seated in high-backed wicker chairs with cushions, he took a dim view of the assembly. All the kings were arranged in a wide circle, each monarch in front with his followers behind. I was seated between Balas and my father, with Aschek, Vardan, Farhad, Gotarzes and Chosroes to his left. It was the first time that I had clapped my eyes on Chosroes, the King of Mesene, a land to the south of Babylon. He was a strange-looking individual with a bald head and a long, thin face that was dominated by a huge long nose. His eyes, cold, calculating and narrow, were almost obscured by thick black eyebrows. Dressed in a red flowing gown adorned with strips of gold, my instincts told me that he was untrustworthy, but he was cordial enough if a little curt. Phraates, his hair greyer now and his expression serious, sat on Balas’ right side. He was clearly nervous as he continually looked to his right and left and smiled at anyone who caught his eye. Immediately behind him sat Mithridates, looking daggers at me, and Orodes, who nodded his head in greeting. I smiled and nodded back, which earned him a look of fury from his brother.

  Balas leaned towards me and then looked at the kings opposite. ‘First time I’ve seen most of them. Ugly looking lot, aren’t they?’

  He was referring to the kings of the eastern half of the empire, who were mostly descended from oriental races, with their narrow eyes and flat faces.

  ‘I know him, though.’ Balas was pointing at a large man opposite with Asiatic features — narrow eyes, a long nose like a hawk’s beak, skin like an old leather pouch and a long white moustache and a white pointed beard. He wore leather armour and a leather pointed cap on his head. His followers behind him were similarly attired. They looked like fierce nomads.

  ‘Khosrou, King of Margiana. You don’t want to mess with him. He’s as tough as he looks.’

  Margiana was located in the northeast corner of the empire and had the unenviable task of holding at bay the vast horses of nomads that occupied the endless great northern steppes.

  A blast of trumpets got everyone’s attention as a procession of the city’s elders entered the tent and stood in the circle in front of us. There were eighteen elders to match the eighteen kings present, each one bareheaded and dressed in a long yellow robe edged with gold. One of the elders, who I surmised was the head of the council, raised his arms and began a long and tedious thanksgiving to the gods, thanking them for delivering us all safely to Esfahan and asking them to give us all wisdom to make the right choice this day. He must have waffled on for at least half an hour.

  Afterwards the elders sat in chairs reserved for them on the north side of the tent, thereby completing the circle of attendees.

  The chief elder rose again and addressed us all, his voice deep. I thought I saw a look of disdain in his eyes as he caught sight of Axsen, Gallia and Praxima, but no one had said that women were forbidden to attend, only prohibited to vote, and in any case Gallia had come as my queen.

  ‘Majesties, today you choose a new King of Kings to rule the empire. May your choice be a wise one. Which one of you will begin by naming a candidate for this most august position?’

  He had barely taken his seat before my father was out of his chair and standing in the middle of the circle. Clearly he was intent on taking the bull by the horns.

  ‘I am Varaz of Hatra, and I propose Phraates, son of the late Sinatruces, as a suitable candidate to be King of Kings.’

  My father looked at each of his allies in turn.

  Balas rose from his chair. ‘I, Balas of Gordyene, support my friend Varaz in his choice.’ He was followed in turn by Aschek, Vardan, Farhad, Gotarzes and a somewhat unenthusiastic Chosroes. Finally, I too rose from my chair and offered my support.

  ‘I, Pacorus of Dura, also support the election of Phraates.’

  It was a
n impressive endorsement of Phraates’ claim, as eight kings of the empire had voiced their support for him. Though as a candidate he could not vote himself, Phraates still had half the kings of the empire behind him. I assumed that the others would fall into line. I was wrong.

  As we took our seats, one of the kings opposite rose slowly to his feet. Tall, powerfully built, he had a large round face with a broad forehead. His skin was almost white and his light brown hair was cut short, as was his neatly trimmed beard. He wore a rich purple tunic edged with gold, yellow leggings and red leather boots. His belt and scabbard holding his sword were both black leather inlaid with gold leaf decorations. He indeed looked like a great king.

  ‘I am Narses of Persis, and I would like to propose another candidate for the throne at Ctesiphon.’ His voice was deep and powerful, his manner very assured.

  The chief elder rose. ‘Of course, majesty. Whom do you propose?’

  ‘Myself,’ replied Narses.

  Balas laughed out loud and even my father smiled, though I noticed that the eastern kings did not seem surprised by Narses’ announcement. Narses himself stood impassively.

  ‘There may be some among us who thinks this is amusing. Well, more fool them.’ Silence descended on the assembly. Narses strode into the centre of the circle.

  ‘Fellow kings, we all know that Hatra,’ he held out a hand towards my father, ‘has grown rich during the long reign of Sinatruces, and King Varaz lists King Phraates among his allies. We also know that other western kings,’ he gestured with his hand towards Farhad, Vardan and Balas, ‘perhaps intimidated by Hatra’s mighty army, are loathe to disagree with King Varaz.’

  My father sprang from his chair. ‘Have a care, Narses.’

  The chief elder was appalled. ‘Majesty, please. Threats and violence are forbidden in this assembly.’

  My father held up his hands by way of an apology and regained his seat, though I could see that he was struggling to control his temper.

  Narses smirked and continued. ‘Well, I now understand why kingdoms close to Hatra’s borders may be reluctant to antagonise their more powerful neighbour.’

  This time my father did not take the bait but regarded Narses with a detached amusement.

  Balas rose from his seat and pointed at Narses. ‘What makes you think that you have the talents to be King of Kings?’

  Narses smiled at him. ‘Lord king, if you were a candidate I would not propose myself, so great is your fame. Yet I have to ask King Phraates himself why he thinks he is a suitable candidate, for we have heard nothing from him. Indeed, I find myself asking if he really wishes to be King of Kings at all.’

  ‘Of course he does,’ barked my father.

  ‘It is quite obvious, King Varaz,’ continued Narses, ‘that you wish him to be, but what does he say on the matter?’

  Narses took his seat and stared at Phraates, who rose from his chair and cleared his throat.

  ‘Majesties, most of you have known me for many years. I have always had the best interests of the empire at heart and have striven to maintain security and prosperity within the empire and peace with our neighbours. If elected, I promise to follow the same policy as my late father.’

  Narses rose from his chair once more. ‘A most admirable aim, lord king. For a diplomat.’ Several of those around him laughed at this. ‘But we are not diplomats, we are kings. Many years ago your father united the empire by force of arms, foreigners respected him because he was strong. I would be a strong king, for I think that ambassadors make poor rulers.’

  The words of Narses were impolite but they were also true. Phraates was a good and able man but he lacked ruthlessness, and his inaction at this moment spoke volumes.

  ‘Enough, Narses,’ snapped my father. ‘We are not here to bandy words but to elect a king. If you are confident of being elected then let’s have the vote now and have an end to it. This is a not a debating chamber.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ quipped Narses.

  The chief elder rose from his chair.

  ‘Majesties, let the vote then be counted. Who wishes Phraates, son of Sinatruces, to be King of Kings?’

  Ten of us raised our hands. Phraates, being the candidate, was not allowed to vote, but it did not matter. Two kings who had not spoken sided with Phraates. They were Khosrou of Margiana and Musa, his neighbour to the west, the ruler of Hyrcania, a land that rested on the southern shores of the mighty Caspian Sea. Thus it was decided that Phraates would follow in his father’s footsteps. Narses sat with his arms folded, staring at the ground. Gallia leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

  ‘That one has not taken defeat lightly. I fear your father has made an enemy this day.’

  ‘I think you are right, my love, but he has the decision he wanted.’

  The chief elder brought the council meeting to an end with another long and tedious sermon, and afterwards I offered my congratulations to Phraates, bowing my head to him.

  ‘Thank you, Pacorus. Your allegiance means a great deal to me.’

  Gallia also bowed her head to him and he took her hand and kissed it.

  ‘Queen Gallia, truly you become more beautiful each time we meet. Parthia is indeed fortunate to have you as one of its queens.’

  Ever the diplomat. My father embraced Phraates and slapped him hard on the back. As they parted Narses and King Porus of Sakastan stormed from the tent. It was the height of ill manners to do so without paying homage to the new King of Kings, though Phraates did his best to lessen the offence.

  ‘He is hot-headed, I fear. He will calm down.’

  The reptile Mithridates was suddenly before his father, bowing deeply.

  ‘Hail, great king.’

  ‘You are now King of Susiana, Mithridates,’ said Phraates. ‘I hope that you have learned from your mistakes at Dura and will be a good king to your people.’

  I doubted that, but Mithridates was clearly stung by his father’s rebuke.

  ‘My only regret is not dealing with the Agraci harshly enough.’

  ‘To say nothing of alienating your own people,’ I added.

  Mithridates turned sharply to face me. ‘You dare to speak to me so.’

  ‘I do,’ I replied.

  He was now incandescent. ‘This is an outrage,’ he bellowed, drawing the attention of others nearby.

  ‘Go and play with the other children, boy.’

  His eyes flashed hatred. ‘And you attend to your whore.’

  That was it. The time for talking was done. I drew my sword; he did likewise.

  ‘No!’ shouted Phraates, and within seconds my father and Balas were pulling me away, while Orodes and Phraates were berating Mithridates.

  ‘Are you mad?’ hissed my father. ‘The penalty for drawing your sword in the presence of the King of Kings is death.’

  I felt anger coursing through my body and restrained myself with difficulty. Gallia stood in front of me.

  ‘You are a king, Pacorus, so act like one. If you want to brawl then go into the street and spare us the sight of such indignity.’

  I looked at her, and then at my father. I breathed deeply and put my sword back in its scabbard. I held up my hands in submission and then made my way to Phraates, going down on one knee before him and bowing my head.

  ‘Great king, I have offended you. I await your punishment.’

  ‘Nonsense, nonsense. Get up, Pacorus. The day has been hot and long and we are all tired and our nerves frayed, and when the senses are dulled one says and does things that are out of character. I want you to embrace Mithridates and that shall be the end of the matter.’

  He gestured with his arms that we should embrace. And so we embraced, and as we did so he whispered ‘slave’ into my ear, and I responded by calling him ‘boy’ ever so quietly so only he would hear. Then we parted, all false smiles and pretended affection.

  My father was livid with me and refused to talk as we made our way back to our quarters, though Balas was as jovial as ever.

  ‘T
hat went as well as expected. Reckon you’ve made any enemy for life, Pacorus.’

  That much was true, though I gladly accepted the hatred of Mithridates as it was nothing compared to the contempt in which I held him.

  Khosrou had followed us, outside and now he called after me.

  ‘Hold, young king.’

  I stopped and faced him. Up close he was even more intimidating, with clear grey eyes that had no mercy in them.

  ‘I have heard of you,’ his accent was strange, clipped and exotic. He looked at Gallia standing beside me, and a look of admiration suddenly appeared on his face. ‘And you, you whom they call “the blonde angel of death”.’

  Gallia gave him a most dazzling smile and bowed her head ever so slightly towards him.

  ‘You honour me, sire.’

  ‘I would walk with you,’ said Khosrou.

  ‘Of course, lord,’ I replied.

  Domitus and Nergal looked at me but I waved them ahead.

  I thought Khosrou was a like a silent assassin but I was wrong. He was friendly and generous, at least on that afternoon.

  ‘Even in my kingdom, which is many hundreds of miles from Dura, people talk of Pacorus and Gallia, of how they defeated armies together riding on a white horse that has wings. And how he is the conqueror of eagles, who has gathered a mighty army around him that will make the world tremble. All this I have heard of you, so I decided to see for myself whether it was true.’

  ‘There is some truth in what you have heard, lord,’ I said. ‘Though my horse does not have wings.’

  Khosrou looked at the sword hanging at Gallia’s waist.

  ‘I have heard that you fight like a man, lady.’

  Gallia’s eyes narrowed. ‘You have heard wrong, lord, for I fight like a woman.’

  Khosrou smiled. ‘And you have a band of women warriors who fight with you?’

  ‘Yes, lord,’ she said proudly. ‘They are called Amazons.’

  ‘And yet you possess a rare beauty that would grace the finest palace. And you, Pacorus, do you like your woman fighting on the battlefield instead of warming your bed?’