Carrhae (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  That afternoon I stood beside Alcaeus at the foot of the bed staring at the shell of what had been a fierce, determined woman and felt a chill sweep over me. Gallia sat beside her dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth and Claudia sat on the other side of the bed holding Dobbai’s hand, her young face pale and her eyes bloodshot from tears and lack of sleep.

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ he whispered to me.

  Dobbai opened her eyes and looked at Claudia, speaking words to her that I was unable to hear. My daughter leaned forward and Dobbai spoke into her ear as tears ran down Claudia’s cheeks. She next spoke to Gallia who held the old woman’s skeletal-like head in her hands and gently kissed her on the forehead. My wife was also deeply upset and shaking with anguish, trying to suppress the heartache that was threatening to erupt like an angry volcano. Dobbai whispered something to Gallia and my wife nodded. She rose from her chair and walked over to me.

  ‘She wants to speak with you.’

  Alcaeus smiled at Gallia and gently placed his arm around her shoulder, reassuring her that she was doing everything she could. My drained and distraught wife looked far from the fearless warrior the world knew.

  I sat in the chair and leaned forward as Dobbai once again opened her eyes to look at me.

  The fire had gone out of them and they were now dark pools of world-weariness. She moved her hand towards me and I reached out and took it, the fingers cold and bony.

  ‘My time has come, son of Hatra. My ancestors are waiting for me on the great eternal steppe.’ Her voice was very faint. ‘It will be good to see them again after so many years. Burn my body on a northern wind to quicken my journey.’

  Her grip tightened slightly. ‘You must stay strong and determined to save the empire. Have faith in the gods, son of Hatra, for they have not forsaken you and will give you what you most desire when all has been settled. That will be your reward for your service to the empire.’

  Her voice became even fainter and I had to place an ear next to her mouth to hear her words.

  ‘Thank you, Pacorus, for allowing me to share your home and your family, I have known peace here and for that you have my gratitude. Everything I have done has been for your and their welfare. The gods keep you safe.’

  I continued to hold her hand as she close her eyes for the last time and Dobbai, a woman of the Scythian people and sorceress of King of Kings Sinatruces, departed this world. Claudia buried her head in her hands and sobbed as a distressed Gallia comforted her.

  We burned the body the next day after Gallia and Claudia had washed it and dressed it in a white silk gown. Thousands gathered on the other side of the Euphrates, opposite the Citadel, where the great funeral pyre was sited. Dobbai had spent countless hours sitting on the palace terrace gazing across the river and so it seemed fitting that she should be cremated on this spot. I held the torch as an ocean of faces stared at me – civilians, merchants, servants, legionaries, cataphracts, squires and horse archers. Though none of them had known her they had all known of her and her reputation. They knew that she had commissioned the stone griffin statue that stood sentry at the Palmyrene Gate and had heard of her prophecy that no army would take the city while it remained there. And every legionary in the Durans knew that his beloved golden griffin standard had been Dobbai’s brainchild, as I knew that it was she who had given me the griffin as an emblem when she had sent me my battle flag even before I had seen Dura. The Durans and Exiles sported griffin wings on their shields and the kontus of every cataphract flew a griffin pennant. So they all came to pay their respects and say farewell to her.

  I stood with an ashen-faced Gallia and our children, along with Alcaeus, Domitus, Chrestus, Vagharsh, Vagises, Marcus, Aaron, Peroz and Rsan. The light was fading by the time everyone had gathered around the pyre. It had been a warm, windless day but as I held up the lighted torch I saw the flame flicker and felt a slight breeze on my face. A wind from the north increased as I thrust the torch into the great pile of logs soaked in oil. I stood back as flames erupted around the pyre and the wind picked up to carry her soul back to the resting place of her ancestors.

  ‘Farewell, safe journey.’

  I watched the flames consume her body and stayed until nothing was left but a great pile of ashes as the crowd dispersed. Gallia took our children back to the palace and the soldiers went back to their duties.

  ‘She was very old, you know,’ the words of Alcaeus came from behind me.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What I mean is,’ he continued, ‘old people die and when they do so it does not mean that the gods have taken her as payment for their favours.’

  ‘I know,’ I replied without conviction for I knew that the gods had taken Dobbai just as they had seized Drenis and Kronos. I was suddenly fearful for Domitus, Vagises, Thumelicus and Vagharsh who had also taken part in the ceremony. I prayed to Shamash that He would take me before them should the gods demand more souls. Alcaeus placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and then departed to leave me standing alone in front of a pile of ashes. I bowed my head to the ash, turned and walked with head bowed back to the city. There was a sudden gust of wind that buffeted my cloak. I looked back and saw that there were no longer any embers where the funeral pyre had stood, just a patch of black earth.

  As I wandered back over the pontoon bridge and then along the edge of the deep wadi that stood in front of the city’s northern wall, I decided that Peroz and Roxanne could make their home in Dura should his father disown his son. Orodes had been a landless prince once and had made his home here so why not Peroz? I walked through the Palmyrene Gate and looked up at the stone griffin above mounting his unceasing guard over all of us.

  That night a pall of gloom hung over the palace as I sat with Gallia and we ate in silence. She picked at her food and snapped at servants who went about their duties with heads bowed. Claudia had locked herself in her room as soon as she had returned to the palace and Isabella and Eszter had also been taken to their rooms.

  Gallia shoved aside her plate of meat and rice and leaned back in her chair.

  ‘Life here will never be the same.’

  I nodded. ‘Her departure leaves a void that cannot be filled, I agree.’

  ‘Do you think that her magic died with her?’

  ‘I do not know,’ I replied.

  ‘The ritual, I mean, when she sent the girls and me away. Do you think that now she is dead the gods will not honour her spells?’

  I thought of Crassus’ legions in Syria and the Armenian hordes in the north. ‘I hope not, I sincerely hope not.’

  Chapter 13

  Soon after Dobbai’s death the old year also died and Byrd rode to Dura with news that Crassus had taken some of his legions south to crush a rebellion that had suddenly flared up in Judea. I asked Aaron to be present as we sat with Domitus and Gallia in the headquarters building and Byrd recounted what he had heard from his sources in Antioch and Damascus, of how Alexander’s rebels had terrorised the local population and had been forced back into the hills by Crassus, who had gone on to sack Jerusalem and its temple. I avoided Aaron’s eyes as Byrd related how Crassus had plundered the temple and taken away gold to the value of eight thousand talents. It was an incredible sum and a gross insult to the Jewish people and I knew that it had been my fault because I had sent mercenaries to Judea so that Alexander could continue his war against the Romans. I also knew that I did not care and was glad that Judea was being laid waste and not Parthia.

  A visibly shaken Aaron left the meeting after Byrd had relayed his tale of woe and we relaxed and talked about Haytham, Malik and Emesa.

  ‘Fat king very subservient to Haytham,’ said Byrd, ‘send him gifts and offer of one of his daughters, one very young and a virgin.’

  ‘How disgusting,’ spat Gallia.

  ‘Haytham said no,’ said Byrd, ‘he say she probably fat like her father.’

  ‘So the border is quiet?’ I asked.

  Byrd shrugged. ‘It is common knowledge that
Crassus will cross Euphrates into Parthia as soon as Judea is quiet. He says he will conquer Palmyra after he has subdued Parthia.’

  ‘How many men has he recruited in Syria?’ I asked.

  ‘Three thousand horsemen and four thousand foot. He also awaits his son who will bring a thousand more horsemen.’

  ‘His son?’ complained Gallia. ‘Is not one Crassus enough?’

  Byrd cracked a smile. ‘His name is Publius Crassus. My office in Antioch inform me that he has been fighting with another Romani named Caesar in Gaul.’ He looked at Gallia. ‘Your people are still killing Romans.’

  ‘They are not my people, Byrd,’ she replied, ‘the citizens of Dura are my people.’

  Byrd reached into his tunic and pulled out a piece of folded calfskin.

  ‘This is for your squire, Spartacus’ son.’

  ‘What is it?’ I enquired.

  He twisted his mouth. ‘Not know.’

  I called for a guard and told him to go and fetch my squires who would be in the stables after their morning training sessions. They arrived a few minutes later, with dirty faces and smelling of horse dung. I pointed at Byrd.

  ‘Byrd has something for you, Spartacus.’

  He wiped his face on his sleeve and took the piece of folded calfskin.

  ‘From Rasha,’ said Byrd.

  Grinning like a halfwit, Spartacus carefully unfolded it to reveal it contained a lock of hair. He smiled at Gallia and then held it up to Scarab.

  ‘It is a lock of Rasha’s hair. She said she would send it to me. Now I can wear it around my neck just as the king wear’s a lock of the queen’s hair.’

  Gallia smiled back at him and Byrd looked totally disinterested.

  ‘You still banned from Haytham’s lands.’

  But Spartacus was elated and stated that he would take the lock of hair into the city this very day where a silversmith would place it on a chain, and afterwards he would wear it around his neck where it would remain until the day he died. This touched Gallia and Scarab embraced him but I reminded him that he might have a piece of Rasha’s hair but he still had much to do if he was to take possession of the rest of her. But his high spirits could not be dimmed and he went back to his dung shovelling a happy young man.

  ‘You think he will capture a Romani eagle?’ asked Byrd.

  I thought for a moment. ‘You know, Byrd, the young fool just might.’

  His chances of doing so improved slightly at the end of the following week when he was formally inducted into the ranks of the cataphracts. He had served his apprenticeship and now my nephew, the adopted son of King Gafarn and Queen Diana of Hatra, became one of Parthia’s élite horsemen. I asked him if he wished to return to Hatra to be inducted into its Royal Bodyguard but he was insistent that he wished to take the oath of allegiance at Dura. I pointed out to him that when he returned to Hatra he would have to take a new oath of allegiance to Gafarn and the city but he replied that he would always be loyal to his father and the city he had been raised in, but that he believed that if he took the oath at Dura it would increase his chances of marrying Rasha because it was nearer to her. I agreed but immediately wrote to Gafarn and Diana informing them of his decision and also begging their forgiveness. Strictly speaking I should have sent him back to Hatra but I had grown fond of him and in truth wished to keep hold of him a little longer.

  I need not have worried because Gafarn and Diana answered my despatch with their arrival at Dura. They left young Pacorus in the care of my mother and their city in the capable hands of Vistaspa and Kogan. I stood with my friends on the palace steps as twenty former squires stood on the flagstones of the Citadel’s courtyard and became cataphracts. The gates were closed and the guards on the walls faced inwards to bear witness to the sacred ceremony.

  A priest from the city’s Temple of Shamash conducted the oath taking. His building was a far cry from the grand structure of the Great Temple in Hatra but his authority was no less diminished for it. He stood in front of the row of young men and waited until the sun was at its zenith to honour Shamash, then ordered them all to kneel and bow their heads. In front of each squire was laid his suit of scale armour, complete with leg and arm protection, his helmet and his weapons: kontus, sword, dagger, mace and axe. I remembered when I had taken the oath all those years ago at Hatra when I had knelt beside my friend Vata and where my father and his general, Lord Bozan, had stood on the palace steps looking on with pride. How long ago that seemed.

  The priest, a barrel-chested man with a huge thick beard and booming voice, commanded the squires to repeat the words he now spoke:

  ‘I will never disgrace my sacred arms,

  Nor desert my comrades, wherever I am stationed.

  Nor will I take a step backwards in battle.

  I will fight for things sacred,

  And against things profane.

  And both alone and with all to help me.

  I will defend my homeland, its people, its crops and its sacred waters.

  I will obey the king, who rules reasonably,

  And I will observe the established laws,

  And whatever laws in the future,

  May be reasonably established.

  If any person seeks to overturn the laws,

  Both alone and with help I will oppose him.

  I shall protect the king in country and in town, fall and die for him.

  I shall speak with him in the truth of my heart,

  Give him sound advice loyally, and smooth his way in every respect.

  I will also honour the religion of my fathers.

  I call on the great Sun God Shamash to witness this my oath of allegiance.

  May I be struck down by Your mighty power if I fail You.’

  Thus did Spartacus, son of the slave general of the same name and Prince of Hatra, become a cataphract and thus passed into manhood.

  Afterwards all of them were entertained in the banqueting hall for this was one of the most important days in their lives.

  ‘He looks happy,’ remarked Diana after her son had embraced her and returned to his table to sit next to Scarab.

  ‘He is very happy,’ I replied, ‘though that has more to do with Dura’s proximity to a certain Agraci princess than his becoming a cataphract.’

  Gafarn sipped at his wine. ‘He is still besotted with her, then?’

  ‘Totally,’ I said.

  ‘Then perhaps it is as well that he stays here for the moment. I have enough grumbling among my lords without adding to their grievances with my heir marrying an Agraci woman.’

  ‘Your lords are restless?’ I was surprised because Hatra’s nobles were previously reckoned among the most loyal in the empire.

  ‘Nothing that cannot be handled,’ he replied unconvincingly.

  But of course Spartacus could not stay at Dura indefinitely and I told him that as he sat with his parents, Gallia and our children on the palace balcony the day after the ceremony. I felt myself glancing at Dobbai’s chair often and still felt a pang in my heart when I thought of her. I did not know why: she had always adopted a condescending attitude towards me and had openly mocked me on many occasions. And yet she had watched over my wife and children like a hawk and for that I was grateful. Claudia was very morose at this time and took to wearing black robes just as her tutor had done. She also covered her head with a black shawl that hid her hair and part of her beauty. Gallia was also withdrawn though she tried to put on a brave face.

  ‘We were sorry to hear about your sorceress,’ said Diana.

  ‘Her loss is keenly felt by the whole kingdom,’ my wife replied.

  ‘She watches over us still,’ announced Claudia, who then went and sat in Dobbai’s chair and stared east across the blue waters of the Euphrates.

  Spartacus sat next to Diana fingering the lock of Rasha’s hair that hung around his neck from an expensive gold chain. Gafarn noticed it.

  ‘A lucky pendant, Spartacus?’

  ‘Yes, father,’ he beamed, ‘a
lock of my beloved’s hair. It will keep me safe from the weapons of the enemy and means we will always be close to each other. I have sent her some of my own hair.’

  Diana smiled and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Most romantic.’

  ‘I have heard that you are banished from the Agraci’s lands on pain of death,’ said Gafarn smugly.

  ‘It is a test, father, nothing more, to ensure that I am worthy of marrying Rasha. Once I have fulfilled my quest then her father will allow me to marry his daughter.’

  Gafarn shook his head. ‘Quest?’

  ‘Yes, father,’ replied Spartacus, ‘to capture a Roman eagle and plant it in the soil in front of King Haytham.’

  Gafarn’s brow furrowed. ‘It is no small thing to capture a Roman eagle. In the whole history of the Parthian Empire only one man has done it and he sits next to you.’

  ‘I know that, father,’ Spartacus replied, ‘I have seen the eagle in the Great Temple at Hatra and have heard the tale of its taking since I was a small boy.’

  Gafarn pointed at him. ‘There was only one legion that day. I remember because I was there but it took all the guile and skill of Hatra’s army to defeat it and now there are many legions preparing to invade Parthia. What use will it serve to throw away your life on a futile adventure?’

  I agreed but said nothing.

  Spartacus thought for a moment before replying. ‘Have you ever considered, father, that it may have been fate that I came to Dura, that I fell in love with Rasha and then saved Haytham’s life? It is as if the gods have planned out my life for me and I believe that it is to be beside Rasha.’

  Gafarn looked up at the sky. ‘You saved Haytham’s life? There will be many Parthians who will be shocked that a prince of Hatra did so.’

  ‘What do I care about what others think?’ my nephew replied.

  ‘You should,’ said Gafarn, ‘there are many in Hatra who disapprove that their king is a former Bedouin slave and their queen a former Roman slave. Their displeasure will be compounded when they learn that the heir to the throne is a friend of the Agraci king.’