by Peter Darman
‘Highness,’ he uttered weakly.
‘Do not try to get up,’ commanded Phraates. ‘Someone get this man some water. What has happened?’
I could see the shaft of an arrow lodged in his side.
‘King Mithridates, majesty. He has rid Susa of your allies, killed all those who were loyal to you.’
A look of alarm crossed Phraates’ face, but then he smiled. ‘Talk no more. We will get you well first.’
The man grabbed his king’s arm feebly. ‘Others loyal to you have fled west to Ctesiphon. They await you there, highness. Narses…..’
His arm fell to the ground as he passed out.
He was carried to the garrison infirmary as we all stood around in a state of shock.
‘I must get back to Ctesiphon,’ said Phraates, ‘and find out more about what has happened.’
But as he walked off to his quarters with Orodes by his side we all knew the sad truth of what had happened. Mithridates had used the opportunity presented to him by his father’s absence to tighten his grip on Susa. But his reasons remained obscure. He was King of Susiana because his father was King of Kings and now lived at Ctesiphon, though technically Phraates still ruled his own kingdom Susiana as well as the whole of the Parthian Empire. As we all stood in a circle staring at each other, it was Balas who spoke first.
‘It would appear that King Mithridates has decided that he should rule Susiana.’
‘His head will be adorning Susa’s walls soon enough,’ said my father.
‘You think so, Varaz?’ replied Balas. ‘I think our young upstart king has allies.’
‘What allies?’ snapped my father.
‘Narses,’ I said.
‘He’s right there,’ said Balas. ‘You heard him at Esfahan. He wanted to be King of Kings and now he’s decided to take the throne by force.’
My father shook his head. ‘Just because a dying man utters a name does not mean anything.’
‘Yes it does,’ insisted Balas, ‘and you know it.’
‘Perhaps we should withdraw to the palace for further discussions,’ offered Farhad.
And so we did, and after more fruitless discourse, which involved my father and Balas arguing some more, I made plans to return to Dura. I wrote a letter to Godarz and sent it by courier. The postal system throughout the empire was extremely efficient, with horsemen riding between way stations located every thirty miles on all major roads. At the stations fresh horses and riders stood ready at all times, so that a letter could cover up to ninety miles in one day. I watched the rider gallop down the road south from the walls of Irbil. Gallia stood beside me.
‘We leave at dawn,’ I said.
‘Mithridates has joined with Narses, hasn’t he?’
I turned to face her. ‘It would appear so. The question is, how many more kings have joined Narses, if any?’
‘He is powerful?’
‘Persis is a large kingdom, that much is true, but how many men he can raise I know not.’
She laid a hand on mine. ‘You know, Spartacus once told me that it’s not the size of the gladiator in the fight that makes the difference, but the size of the fight in the gladiator.’
I smiled and pulled her close. ‘That is just the sort of thing he would say. I thought we had done with fighting.’
‘While there are men in the world armed with swords there will always be fighting, Pacorus.’
The next morning, before the first rays of the sun lanced the eastern sky, we said goodbye to my parents, Vata, Phraates, Orodes and Farhad and rode from his city, leaving the camels and ten of our riders to follow us. We rode hard for the Tigris, crossed the river and then travelled south along its western bank, before swinging west to cross the desert, heading for the Euphrates and home. We slept during the hottest part of the day — two hours either side of midday — and journeyed until it was dark, then rose again after two hours of sleep until the sun was roasting our backs once more. We ate hard biscuit, drank tepid water and rested under what shelter we could find. After five days we galloped across the Egyptian’s pontoon bridge and rode into Dura. Godarz was on the steps of the palace to greet us, flanked by Rsan, Domitus and Nergal. Their faces registered surprise at our appearance, for we were covered in dust, our dirty faces ran with sweat, the men with stubble on their faces and our hair matted with grime. Our horses were sweating and tired, their heads drooping as we halted them and slid off their backs. My limbs ached from the journey and my eyes stung with sweat.
‘We received your letter,’ said Godarz as grooms took away our horses to be unsaddled and cooled down.
‘Trouble?’ asked Domitus.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Council of war in ten minutes.’
‘There is something you need to attend to first, lord,’ said Godarz.
‘What?’
Godarz shifted nervously on his feet. ‘In the throne room. She insisted and no one dared contradict her.’
‘Her? What are you talking about?’ I was tired and in no mood for games.
I marched into the palace with Gallia following and then walked into the throne room. At the far end, in my seat on the dais, was seated an old woman. As I drew closer I recognised her. The ragged robes, lank hair, bony fingers and haggard face made me stop in my tracks as I stared in disbelief at Dobbai, the wizened old crone who had been the sorceress of Sinatruces and who now sat on my throne.
‘They say that I am old and ugly, but you two make me look positively radiant. You look like you have been to the underworld and back,’ she cackled, revealing a mouth of discoloured teeth. ‘Is the burden of kingship proving too burdensome, son of Hatra?’
‘No,’ I said irritably.
Dobbai ignored me and beckoned to Gallia. ‘Sit beside me, child.’
‘May I sit on my own throne?’ I asked.
‘Would you deprive an old woman of the chance for her to rest her weary body?’
Gallia embraced Dobbai and sat on her throne, leaving me standing like some sort of servant in front of her. Behind me, Rsan, Nergal, Godarz and Domitus filed into the room.
‘She arrived two days ago,’ said Godarz, ‘and was insistent that she see you.’
‘Ha,’ bellowed Dobbai. ‘They quaked with fear when they saw me, for they knew who I was.’
I ordered some water to be brought to us and after Gallia and I had slated our thirsts I had chairs brought in and placed around the dais. I was tired, and by the look of the black circles around Gallia’s eyes so was she, yet some strange force compelled me to hear what Dobbai had to say, though not before she had ordered a servant to fetch her some wine.
‘A hard ride, lord?’ asked Nergal.
‘Yes, we had to get back here as quickly as possible, for trouble stirs in the east.’
‘You only know the half of it,’ said Dobbai, gulping wine from a cup and then holding it out to be refilled. ‘The eastern half of the empire stirs, son of Hatra, and only you and your father stand between order and destruction.’
‘You speak in riddles,’ I said, for all I wanted to do was close my eyes and rest.
But Dobbai was not to be silenced. She rose from my chair and walked up and down on the dais.
‘You have prepared your defences well, and that is good for they will be sorely tested err long. There are those who would tear the empire asunder, while his people,’ she pointed at Domitus, ‘wait like hungry vultures to pick over the bones.’
This was too much for Domitus, whose bemusement at Dobbai’s words had turned to anger. ‘Are we to listen to an old hag whose brains have been addled by the desert sun?’
Dobbai scoffed at his words. ‘Addled am I? Well, Roman, if that be so, why is it that I know of a mighty army marching towards you and you are ignorant of such a fact?’
‘What army?’ I asked.
‘It gathers at Persepolis under the bird-god banner of Narses. Thousands of horsemen and foot soldiers, the warriors of Tiridates of Aria, Phriapatus of Carmania, Porus of Sakastan, Vol
ogases of Drangiana, Cinnamus of Anauon and Monaeses of Yueh-Chih. I have seen them in dreams, and soon they will be marching west to destroy the kingdoms that side with that fool Phraates.’
‘Dreams?’ I said with disbelief. ‘Those kings were at the council meeting that elected Phraates.’
Dobbai sat down and looked at me, all the while tapping the fingers of her left hand on the chair. ‘You still have much to learn, son of Hatra. Narses has been plotting for months, perhaps years, to become King of Kings. He has gained the allegiance of other kings and now intends to take the crown by force. He has already captured Susiana without a fight, for Mithridates has Susa and Narses will already be on the march there. And in between stands poor, defenceless Elymais. Gotarzes will be crushed like an ant beneath a giant’s foot, and after him Narses will take Mesene, Babylon and Hatra.’
She leaned forward to fix me with her black eyes. ‘You have little time left, son of Hatra, so little time.’
I did not want to believe what she had revealed to me, but my instincts told me that her words were true.
‘I can believe that Mithridates would be party to such treachery,’ said Gallia. ‘He is a snake.’
‘And a dangerous one,’ added Dobbai. ‘If Phraates had any sense, which he doesn’t, he should have had his eldest son strangled at birth. I had the misfortune to see him grow up, for he visited his grandfather at Ctesiphon often. I have seen his malice and ambition grow with him. The loss of Dura served only to fuel his resentment and hatred further. It would have been easy for Mithridates to betray his father and brother; how much easier will it be for him to take revenge on you, then, son of Hatra.’
That night, despite my tiredness, I slept little as Dobbai’s words went through my mind. I rose before dawn, saddled Remus and then rode to the legion’s camp. The cohorts were already assembled on the parade ground in front of the camp and the roll call was being taken in front of Domitus and his officers. Most of the latter were men who had fought with Spartacus in Italy, former slaves who were now leaders of their own cohorts and centuries. Afterwards, sitting in Domitus’ command tent, I shared a breakfast of porridge with him.
‘Old habits die hard, I see,’ I said, pointing at the porridge.
‘Rome has conquered half the world feeding its soldiers this,’ he said, ‘reckon it’ll do for my boys.’
‘And how are your boys?’
‘You mean are they ready for battle.’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘Oh, they’re ready. Itching to prove themselves. If that old hag is right, then they won’t have long to wait.’
‘You may disapprove of her, Domitus, but I’m afraid to say that she is usually right. We will be marching soon. I will leave a cohort behind as a garrison, the other five thousand of your men will be marching.’
‘To where?’
I shrugged. ‘Across the Euphrates, then east to link up with my father’s army and whoever else will support us, there to await the command of Phraates.’
Domitus finished his porridge and then shoved his wooden plate aside. He placed his elbows on the table, rested his chin in his hands and looked at me. His face could have been carved by Demetrius from a block of granite, so hard were its features. I was glad Domitus was a friend and not an enemy.
‘You have something to say, Domitus?’
‘I am an outsider in these lands and that makes me look at things differently from those, such as yourself, who have grown up in these parts. When we were at the council meeting at Esfahan, I had a chance to see all the kings who rule the Parthian Empire.’
‘It was the first time I too had seen them all gathered in one place.’
‘The one they called Narses, he was bold and confident. I’ve seen many legates like him. They are bold because they have powerful supporters, usually rich and influential parents or sponsors. Same with that Narses. He obviously has great strength behind him and the ruthlessness to implement his ambitions.
‘Now your father, he reminds me of Spartacus — courageous and strong, and a man who knows bullshit when he smells it. Now that friend of his, the big brawler.’
‘King Balas?’
‘Yes, that’s him, now he’s smarter than he lets on. And he was correct in what he said about your father becoming head king. Because the one that was elected.’
‘King Phraates.’
‘He’s weak, Pacorus. You may all like him but he lacks resolve. And he’s fatally wounded already.’
‘How so?’
‘Any man who lets his son steal his kingdom will receive no respect, and without respect he will not be able to command other kings.’
‘Technically,’ I said, ‘when Phraates became head king, as you say, Mithridates became King of Susiana.’
Domitus shook his head. ‘No one will see it like that. Unless Phraates marches to his capital, takes it back and executes his son, he will be seen as weak. And who follows weak leaders?’
Domitus had done wonders to turn a bunch of former slaves, misfits, thugs, itinerants, drifters and idealists into a body of fighting men, and I knew that what he said was true. He was a simple man, really, an individual who was brave, loyal and forthright. You knew where you stood with Domitus, this ex-centurion whom I had come to like and respect immensely. He said little and never complained, but he was harder than the steel of the gladius he wore at his hip. Every man of his legion respected him, even though he had had many of them flogged and allotted extra fatigue duties to those who were sloppily dressed on parade or inattentive during training, but they knew he was fair in his punishments and he never asked any man to undertake something that he himself would not do. He never spoke of his parents or if he had any brothers or sisters, and I assumed that his mother and father were long since dead. I often thought that he might be lonely, but he never let the mask of professionalism slip. That said I tried to make sure that he was at the palace as often as possible, despite the fact that he disliked sitting behind his desk in the headquarters building. He preferred to be pacing around the legion’s camp with his officers, cane in his hand, or leading a cohort on a twenty-mile route march during the heat of the day. I rose from the table.
‘The die is cast my friend.’
He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his neck. ‘Then let’s hope that we can kill Narses quickly.’
But the army would have to wait for the moment, for a more pressing matter had to be attended to.
Despite Demetrius’ brusque manners he was not averse to earning extra money on the side. Not that he needed to as he was being paid a king’s ransom to carve my griffin statue.
‘Nonsense,’ he snapped, ‘I have given you a very reasonable rate for my services, which, incidentally, are most sought after. I could be in Egypt working for Pharaoh, who would pay me much more and provide me with a harem for my entertainment.’
He really was a most taxing individual. ‘Then why don’t you?’
He stopped his chiselling and looked at me. ‘Well, for one thing, your wife is a most charming lady. And your mother is also intriguing.’
‘My mother?’
‘Yes, the one who gave you the banner in the first place. I must say that I have never met such interesting females. Most queens and princesses are as dull as ditch water, but they are certainly not. And for that reason I stay.’
‘She’s not my mother.’
‘Really? Pity.’
‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘will you take on a new commission?’
‘Of course, I have already promised your mother. She was most insistent, said it would bring you luck. Working with metals is slightly different to stone, of course, but my skills are extensive and I dare say I will manage.’
‘Dobbai commissioned you?’
He frowned at me. ‘That is what I said. Is your hearing impaired?’
But how did she know? Every Roman legion had a silver eagle as its principal standard, which became like a religious icon to the men. It was revered, l
oved and the legionaries would lay down their lives protecting it. I was determined that my own legion would have a similar standard, though it would not be the eagle design of my enemies. I was going to explain to Demetrius exactly what I wanted but had apparently been beaten to it.
‘But how do you know what to cast?’ I asked.
‘Your mother was quite specific. Now if you don’t mind I have a lot of work to do.’
I gave up trying to reason with him and left him to his stonework. A week later he sent a message saying that the new piece was finished. I took Gallia and Dobbai with me to his workshop to inspect it, and was truly awe-struck by what I saw. A golden griffin, about foot and a half long, lay on Demetrius’ bench. The expert casting had produced a piece that showed every one of the beast’s features, its talons, wings, head, body and tail wrapped around its hind quarters. It was made of metal but it seemed alive, ready to fly from the bench, for Demetrius had gone to work with his tools to expertly refine its features.
I stood in wonder, and even Dobbai for once appeared to be lost for words.
‘He’s beautiful,’ was all Gallia said.
‘A beautiful beast for a beautiful lady,’ retorted Demetrius.
‘It is to be the standard of my legion,’ I said.
Demetrius sighed. ‘A great pity, a beautiful woman should surround herself with precious objects.’
I looked at Dobbai. ‘How did you know?’
She shook her head. ‘You are easy to read, son of Hatra. Perhaps too easy.’
I knew that the griffin would become a sacred object to Domitus and his legionaries. It was late afternoon when I had the legion assembled outside the Palmyrene Gate. What a sight — five and a half thousand men fully armed and equipped standing in their centuries and cohorts! The day was still warm as the shadows grew longer, the men silent in their ranks. Domitus was in front of them with his officers, shiny metal discs on the front of his mail shirt and a white transverse crest atop his helmet. I rode out of the city with Gallia beside me. Behind us were my cataphracts in full armour and steel masks, together with Gallia’s Amazons in mail shirts and helmets, carrying their bows. Immediately behind me rode Vagharsh carrying my griffin banner and Nergal holding a thick ash shaft, on top of which, wrapped in linen, was the gold griffin. The cavalry deployed into a long line facing the legion and halted, while I nudged Remus forward until he was level with Domitus. His men stood to attention as I raised my right arm.
