by Peter Darman
‘King Narses brought his army to assist Hatra, Pacorus,’ said my father. ‘We have decided to put aside our differences for the sake of the empire’s welfare.’
‘After all,’ said Narses smugly, ‘we are all Parthians.’
A deep-thinking man, a philosopher or accomplished politician, would have taken time to compose an appropriate response to this effrontery, but I was not such a man. I strode over to Narses and struck him hard across the face with the back of my hand. The King of Persis is a tall, well-built individual, but he was not expecting such a response and I hit him with such force that he was sent sprawling across the floor. Without thinking I drew my sword and took a step towards the prostrate Narses, who was slowly picking himself up. I smiled; I had no objection to killing him here. I stopped when I felt the point of a blade at my throat.
‘What, in the name of all that’s decent, are you doing?’ It was my father’s sword at my flesh.
Narses staggered to his feet, his nose was bleeding. His eyes flashed hatred but then, remembering where he was, his expression softened.
‘You dare to draw your sword in my palace,’ said my father, ‘against my guest?’
‘You would not accord him that status if you knew his true intentions,’ I snarled.
‘Put away your sword,’ ordered my father.
‘I will not,’ I replied.
At that moment my mother appeared, accompanied by Gafarn and Diana. They were shocked at the scene before their eyes. My mother rushed over and placed herself between my father and myself.
‘Varaz, what are you doing?’
‘Pacorus struck our guest.’
‘Not hard enough by the look of him,’ remarked Gafarn.
‘Silence!’ shouted my father. ‘Hold your tongue, Gafarn.’
My mother looked at me. ‘Pacorus, put away your sword. I will not have such scenes in my home.’
My will weakened in her presence and I slid the spatha back into its scabbard. My father did likewise and then held out his hand. Orodes stared in disbelief at me, while Narses, having composed himself, was now standing to one side with his arms folded and a self-righteous expression on his bruised face.
‘Surrender your sword.’
I was mortified. ‘This sword was given to me by a friend, one who knew the meaning of honour and loyalty.’ I jerked my head towards Narses, whose bleeding nose was being attended to by a servant. ‘Unlike him.’
‘Very well,’ said my father. ‘Lord Kogan, have my son escorted to his chambers. He will remain there until he has learned some manners.’
‘There is no need, King Varaz,’ said Narses, ‘I do not wish to come between father and son.’
‘There is every need, King Narses,’ remarked my father. ‘Kings do not act like thieves and beggars.’
‘Or slaves,’ smirked Narses as half a dozen of Kogan’s spearmen, their shafts levelled at me, escorted me from the room.
My mother came to see me later as I paced up and down in my old quarters, fuming. Her words did nothing to cool my temper.
‘Narses came to our assistance when the Romans were besieging Nisibus.’
‘Narses assists only himself, mother. He covets this kingdom, and now I find his soldiers are camped outside the city walls.’
‘He and they will be returning to Persis after the business between him and your father has been concluded.’
‘Business?’
Gafarn and Diana entered at that moment, both of them looking well I had to admit. Gafarn now sported a neatly trimmed beard, which gave him an authoritative air. He really did look like a prince of Parthia. I embraced them both.
‘Do not trust Narses,’ I told them.
‘I don’t,’ replied Gafarn. ‘Anyone who smiles as much as he does is bound to be hiding something.’
My mother was not amused. ‘Really, Gafarn, don’t encourage Pacorus.’
Gafarn flopped down into a chair. ‘He doesn’t need encouraging. He’s more than capable of getting into trouble on his own.’
Still the same old Gafarn under the princely appearance.
‘You should not argue with your father, Pacorus,’ said Diana sternly. ‘Family is important.’
‘So is truth and honour,’ I replied.
Gafarn laughed. ‘Truth and honour? He used to spout the same old rubbish to Spartacus, do you remember, Diana?’
‘I should have killed Narses when I had the chance, and now he defiles my father’s palace. It is an outrage.’
‘Enough Pacorus,’ implored my mother. ‘I want you to apologise to your father.’
‘And I want Narses gone.’
My mother’s tone changed. ‘I would like to believe that the King of Dura has respect for his parents, but it appears I am apparently wrong. Send word to me when you have decided to act like a king rather than a petulant boy.’
With that she turned and left the room. Diana smiled her soft smile and held my hand.
‘It is just as well that you are good with your sword, seeing as your tongue makes endless trouble for you,’ mused Gafarn. ‘Congratulations on your victory over the Romans, by the way. You finally managed to kill Lucius Furius. Perhaps you can now march on Rome and amuse yourself until your father’s temper subsides.’
‘Did you come here just to annoy me, Gafarn?’
‘That and other reasons.’
I shook my head and sat down, while Gafarn ordered the guards standing outside to fetch us food and drink. While we ate I told them both about Lucius Furius, of how I had been captured by Chosroes’ men and of Narses’ threat against Hatra.
‘Well, it may be of comfort to you to know that Babylon is no longer under siege,’ said Gafarn, dipping a piece of bread into a pot of honey. ‘Chosroes could not take the city and so retreated back to Mesene. Next thing we knew, Narses was here at the head of his army offering to help our father.’
‘Narses is clever,’ I said. ‘Having failed to take Babylon, he has obviously abandoned Chosroes and temporarily sided with my father. But why?’
Gafarn shoved the bread into his mouth, smearing his mouth with honey. ‘Sakastan.’
‘Sakastan?’
Gafarn licked his fingers. ‘In return for laying aside his desire to be King of Kings, our new ally Narses is to be granted the kingless kingdom of Sakastan.’
It made sense now. Narses had tempted Chosroes to strike at Babylon with the promise of an easy victory, and had even dangled the prize of Hatra before the greedy King of Mesene, but his plan had fallen apart when Babylon held out and the Romans had not destroyed Hatra’s army. Worse, my victory at Dura had raised the prospect of my father joining with me and marching to the relief of Babylon. So Narses had abandoned Chosroes and dashed to be at the side of my father.
‘Did the army of Persis do any fighting?’ I asked.
‘No,’ replied Gafarn, ‘your father had launched raids against the Romans that were besieging Nisibus, which was stoutly defended by Vata by the way, avoiding battle but attacking their supply lines.’
‘Gafarn was with his father,’ added Diana with pride, nibbling a pastry.
‘Eventually,’ continued Gafarn, ‘the Romans were forced to break off the siege and retreat north back to Zeugma. We harried them all the way, and Narses joined us just as the last Romans were leaving Hatran territory.’
I shook my head. ‘He’s a slimy toad.’
‘But clever. Since then he has been assuring your father that he has the best interests of the empire at heart and similar rubbish.’
‘And he wants Sakastan.’
‘Yes, Pacorus. He wants Sakastan.’
My father visited me later as the sun was going down in the west.
‘Sakastan is a small price to pay for peace and stability, Pacorus.’
‘If Narses has Sakastan, then combined with his own kingdom he will have the largest kingdom in the empire,’ I said.
My father was staring out of the window at a sky that was now blood red.
‘Sakastan has no king and no heirs. Surely you must know that; after all, you were the one that killed them all.’
‘Porus offered battle and I accepted.’
He turned to face me. ‘Being a king is not all about fighting and glory. It is about dealing with realities and preserving the order of things.’
‘The order of things?’
‘There was no need to fight at Surkh, but you could not resist the chance for more glory, could you?’
‘We did our talking at Esfahan.’
‘You killed Porus and then won great fame and glory at Surkh, but in doing so you made enemies of Narses and Mithridates. You weakened the empire, Pacorus, do you not see?’
‘I see a traitor at your court, father.’
He threw up his hands. ‘Do you think that I do not know what type of man Narses is? He is greedy, cunning and ruthless.’
‘Then why tolerate him?’
‘Because the empire cannot afford to be fighting a civil war and the Romans.’
‘So you give Narses what he wants?’
‘He wants to be King of Kings, but he has put that desire aside in exchange for Sakastan.’
‘And you believe him?’
He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘It is irrelevant what I believe. But I know that for now we have seen off the Romans and Narses will not plunge the empire back into civil war. That is the present reality, Pacorus.’
‘I have heard, father, that Phraates has come to an agreement with the Romans that they will relinquish Gordyene in exchange for Dura.’
Now it was his turn to be taken aback. ‘I have not heard of any such agreement.’
I pointed at him. ‘You should have been created King of Kings, just as Balas said. But now, because of your decision, we have Phraates who is wholly under the spell of his wife and son, and it is they who guide his hand. That, father, is the reality that I and Dura have to live with.’
He was momentarily lost for words at this statement, but then composed himself.
‘Will you apologise to Narses?’
‘I will not.’
‘Then I must ask you to leave Hatra immediately.’
His pride would not allow him to bid me farewell when I left with Orodes the next day, though my mother, sister, Gafarn and Diana all embraced me at the foot of the palace steps. Diana held Remus’ reins as I said a tearful farewell to my mother.
‘Gallia misses you both,’ I said to her and Gafarn as I climbed onto Remus’ back.
‘Tell her that we will visit soon,’ promised Diana.
Orodes mounted his horse after bowing to my mother and expressing his regret that his visit had been so brief. My mother, her eyes moist, maintained royal protocol and said it had been an honour that a prince of Susa had visited Hatra. How ridiculous it all was.
I did not look back as I trotted from the city. Passing through the city’s northern gates I was gripped by a sudden desire to go back and kill Narses. But as I slowed Remus I heard the sounds of iron-shod hooves behind me. Turning, I saw a few dozen of my father’s royal bodyguard approaching, led by Vistaspa. They slowed and then halted behind my stationary horsemen, and Vistaspa then rode up beside Orodes and me.
‘Good morning, majesty,’ his tone was perfunctory, his face expressionless.
‘Am I under arrest again?’ I asked.
‘No, majesty. We are your escort.’
‘Our escort?’
Vistaspa’s tone was severe. ‘We are to escort you to the borders of your own kingdom, to ensure you do not come to any harm.’
I burst out laughing. ‘To ensure that I don’t harm Narses, more like.’
Vistaspa maintained his expressionless countenance. ‘These are dangerous times, majesty.’
I nudged Remus forward. ‘For some more than others, Vistaspa.’
I saw little point in riding to Ctesiphon to hear Phraates’ betrayal of me from his own lips. His court was infested with malice and intrigue, and even if I were granted an audience I doubted that I would hear the truth. But then, I had no evidence that Dura had been traded to the enemy aside from the outburst of a dead Roman, but the notion of it gnawed away at me like a toothache.
‘I could ride to Ctesiphon,’ offered Orodes, ‘and if it is true then I can plead your case.’
‘You would be wasting your time, my friend, though I thank you for the offer.’
Back at Dura life began to return to normal. The streets once again resounded with the hubbub of everyday life as the citizens went about their business. Work began on repairing the western wall and those houses that had been damaged by Roman missiles. Best of all the mood of Domitus had improved markedly. The legion and what was left of the Pontic contingent returned to its old camp beyond the Palmyrene Gate, with the griffin standard once again placed in its centre. The salted head of Lucius Furius I sent back to Rome so Crassus could see with his own eyes the fate of those who made war on Dura.
One morning, following a hard training session in full armour, I paid the legion a visit with Domitus in tow.
‘How’s the arm?’
He spat on the ground. ‘It’s stopped throbbing at least.’
‘You should have a nice scar to show off.’
He regarded me with amusement. ‘Another couple of inches and the bastard would have sliced my arm off. Then I would have had a nice stump to show off.’
‘You know, Domitus,’ I said, ‘you are supposed to be the commander of this legion. Aren’t legion commanders supposed to be sitting on their horses directing things?’
He winced at the thought. ‘Can’t be doing with all that. The boys are well trained and every man knows what his task is. For myself, I wouldn’t be anywhere else when the fighting begins but at the front. Men fight better when their commander is in front of them, not behind squealing like a little girl telling them to fight harder.’
I slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You will get yourself killed one of these days.’
‘No more than you. I’m just one among thousands when the battle begins, but you stand out like a boil on a senator’s nose.’
‘How so?’
‘Everyone knows that King Pacorus rides a white horse and fights in Roman armour with white feathers in his helmet. They must be queuing up to put a spear in your belly.’
‘Well,’ I replied, ‘like you said, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’
The camp bustled with activity — centuries marched out to drill, to practise throwing javelins, or to hone their sword skills. Others were sitting on stools cleaning mail shirts and helmets or sewing tunics. And all the time centurions armed with vine canes stalked the tented avenues like wolves, looking for infractions to punish. In general, though, the atmosphere was relaxed and confident. The men had won another victory, boosting their reputation and confidence. For their part the men of Pontus had consigned their dead to the fires, nursed their wounds but did not grumble. Their numbers were depleted but they too were in good spirits. Victory is an amazing panacea for all ills.
The griffin was in its tent as before, guarded within and without by its specially chosen colour party. I chatted to the men outside the tent about the recent battle and then went inside. Next to the griffin I saw another standard, a long, thick shaft surmounted by a silver horse’s head. Below it, fixed to the shaft, were three round silver discs.
‘What’s this?’ I asked.
Domitus pointed to the new standard. ‘I had it made while you were at Hatra. Take a closer look.’
I walked forward and saw that each disc displayed a different design.
‘It is a record all the legion’s victories. The staff is made from a kontus, one that we found on the battlefield. And I put a horse’s head on top to signify the legion’s Parthian heritage.’
I reached out and touched the top disc, which sported an elephants’ head.
‘That one is to commemorate the victory over Porus.’
I pointed at the middle one, which showed a group of kings being t
rampled. ‘And this one?’
‘Surkh.’
The bottom disc showed an eagle with a spear through it by a river.
‘And this must be our recent victory at Dura.’
‘That’s right.’
I was impressed. ‘I did not realise that there was a poet inside you, Domitus.’
He frowned. ‘It’s good for morale, that’s all. I had the idea and Gallia and Godarz agreed, so we had the city’s best silver smith make the discs.’
‘It must have been expensive.’
He grinned. ‘It was, and old Rsan wanted to veto the idea, but you know what Gallia is like when someone tries to contradict her.’
‘Indeed. I like it, Domitus. Well done.’
Two weeks passed and messages arrived from Ctesiphon that Orodes was to return to his father’s court. He ignored them.
‘I can do what I like and only I command my bodyguard,’ he said defiantly, tossing the latest missive from his father into the fire.
His men were camped north of the city next to the Euphrates. Those that had been badly wounded and were unable to ride any more had been sent back to Susa. The rest had stayed with their lord.
I was sitting with him and his senior officers wrapped in our cloaks around a raging fire, for the nights were cool now.
‘I am going to Media,’ I said, staring at the flames. ‘I promised Farhad I would aid him. I must honour my pledge.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Orodes, his face illuminated by the fire.
‘I thought you had been ordered back to Ctesiphon.’
‘I have no wish to see my step-brother or his mother. Besides, I am the son of the King of Kings, I can go where I will.’
‘Perhaps it would be unwise to associate with me further, especially as I appear to be an outcast.’
He looked at me earnestly. ‘The day men like you become outcasts is the day the Parthian Empire dies.’
His officers muttered their agreement.
I decided to take a small force to Media; no more than a thousand riders. Half would be my cataphracts, though they would leave their scale armour and squires behind. The rest would be Orodes and his men, plus a few others to make up the full thousand. Nergal wanted to be one of them and was very disappointed when I refused his offer.
