The Cursed Kingdom

by Peter Darman

  He really did not want to discuss King Pacorus with Aliyeh. He had heard it a hundred times before, how her brother had brought shame on her family, had been responsible for the death of her father, of the wounding of her late husband and his later unfortunate death; of how he had married a slave and had allowed his former slave to become king of Hatra. Most of it was true but it was so tiresome. In any case after saving half his empire Phraates no longer despised King Pacorus. Well, not at the moment.

  Aliyeh, sensing Phraates was becoming irritated, changed tack.

  ‘You need a new lord high general, that much is true.’

  Phraates nodded. He was going to tell her he had offered her brother the position but thought better of it. In any case King Pacorus had declined the offer.

  ‘I have taken measures to safeguard the eastern frontier of the empire.’

  She persevered. ‘But the position of lord high general remains vacant?’

  ‘It does.’

  She left her couch to sit beside the high king, below them slaves in the hold sweated in the rising heat as they pulled at their oars, though mercifully for them it was a pleasure cruise so the speed of the boat was slow. Aliyeh began toying with Phraates’ hair.

  ‘My son stands ready to serve you, great lord.’

  ‘King Darius?’

  She began to lick and kiss his ear. ‘He would make a good lord high general. He is young, brave and pure Parthian.’

  He pulled away from her. ‘I am tired of hearing about Parthian purity, Aliyeh. It was not Parthian purity that defeated the Kushans; it was your brother and his friends and allies. Queen Praxima, Queen Rasha and King Malik are not Parthian but they fought to preserve my crown. I see little point in drawing attention to the fact they were not born within the empire.’

  ‘They create discourse within the empire,’ she said.

  Now he stood and began pacing on the deck.

  ‘Do they? It was your son Alexander who was responsible for the defilement of Princess Claudia, which prompted King Pacorus to march into Persis with his army to remove its satrap. You were the one who persuaded me to march at the head of an army to Persis to confront King Pacorus, only to find his friends had rallied their forces to join him with their armies. It was only the good grace of the King of Dura that a civil war was avoided.’

  ‘A war you would have won easily, lord.’

  He stopped and glared at her. ‘Would I? You were not there and I can tell you that the morale of my army crumbled when it beheld the might of the opposition.’

  ‘With my son as lord high general you would have absolute control over the armies of the empire.’

  He stopped and fumed. ‘I say again. Would I? Would King Darius have control over the armies of Dura, Hatra, Gordyene, Elymais and Mesene? No, he would not. And it is those armies, dear lady, and the kings that lead them that are the powerbrokers in the empire. Your request is denied.’

  She took the rebuff like the highborn lady she was, politely bowing her head and asking Phraates to retake his couch, especially as the heat was rising. They enjoyed a delightful lunch in a secluded date palm grove five miles south of Ctesiphon and that evening shared an intimate meal together in the high king’s private apartments. But there now existed an invisible wall between them, which grew thicker and taller when Aliyeh informed Phraates that she had a headache and would not be sharing his bed.

  The next morning, he summoned Ashleen to his office to inform the chief of court he had no desire to see the Queen Mother of Media that day.

  ‘It would be best if she left Ctesiphon immediately.’

  Ashleen, who had always resented Aliyeh’s influence over the high king, could hardly believe his ears.

  ‘Yes, highness, of course.’

  He hurried as fast as his short legs could manage to the commander of the high king’s bodyguard, a young noble of Babylonian stock who had never seen a battlefield but who was an expert when it came to flattery and sycophancy. He had some difficulty persuading the commander of the need for some of his soldiers to accompany him to Aliyeh’s quarters to inform her that the high king was indisposed that day. But eventually he cajoled him and four of his men to march with him to her door.

  She made them wait for at least half an hour before beckoning them into her chambers, which comprised nearly an entire wing of the rear of the palace.

  ‘King of Kings Phraates will not be available to you today, majesty,’ Ashleen could barely conceal his delight.

  Aliyeh, surprised and annoyed by the portly man’s appearance, maintained an icy demeanour.

  ‘It took a party of soldiers to relay this to me? Are you frightened one of my slaves might attack you, chief of court?’

  The commander laughed, earning him a frown from his superior.

  ‘When will the high king be available?’ requested Aliyeh.

  ‘I am not privy to King of Kings Phraates’ movements.’

  Aliyeh raised one of her eyebrows. ‘Really? I thought you were privy to all the high king’s bowel movements.’

  The commander bit his lip in his efforts to keep a straight face, whereas the chief of court’s face reddened with fury. Ashleen spun on his heels and marched from the room, the commander bowing to the queen before retreating from her presence. The chief of court went straight to Phraates, reporting the insolence of Queen Aliyeh but adding that the Median queen had flown into a rage in which she denounced the high king, his court and his ability to keep foreign invaders at bay. It was a consummate performance from the king’s adviser and one designed to provoke division between Phraates and a woman many believed had far too much influence at Ctesiphon.

  That night Phraates invited Aliyeh once again to his bedchamber. Triumphant, the queen had her personal slaves prepare her so she looked like a goddess descended to earth. Her hair was brushed and laced with jewels, her white silk dress was edged with silver and gold jewellery adorned her fingers, ears and neck. She also smelled divine, her arms and neck smeared with sweet myrrh. Phraates sent the commander of his bodyguard, the same individual who had escorted Ashleen earlier, to accompany the queen to his bedchamber. This time there was no laughter as his men in their pristine uniforms marched through the palace behind the Queen Mother of Media, courtiers and palace officials stepping out of the way and bowing to the first lady of the empire.

  Phraates was all smiles and affection as he welcomed her to his bedchamber, the air heavy with the scent of opopanax. He served her wine himself, which was most surprising as the high king almost never did anything himself so lavish was his lifestyle at Ctesiphon. She reclined on the couch and noticed there was a mischievous glint in his eye. She knew his sexual demands well enough but tonight he looked different, more aloof and still a little distant. He clapped his hands and two slaves entered, both tall, their skin black as night.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Aliyeh.

  ‘They are Nubians, lady, or at least that is what the slave trader informed my master of slaves. All slaver traders lie, of course, and they probably come from a place that is nowhere near Nubia, wherever that is. But they will suffice.’

  They were both huge with broad shoulders and thick thighs, their modesty hidden only by skin-tight undergarments.

  ‘Drink your wine, lady,’ commanded Phraates, ‘you are here to enjoy yourself.’

  But a sense of foreboding began to envelop Aliyeh as Phraates emptied his rhyton and refilled it. He commanded the two slaves to stand in front of her.

  ‘Remove their clothing,’ he ordered.

  Now she was beginning to feel fear and did not move.

  ‘Your high king commands you, Queen Aliyeh.’

  ‘Why are you doing this, Phraates?’

  ‘Because I can,’ he grinned, ‘now do as you are told.’

  She stood and tried to force her way past the two slaves, but one grabbed her hair and shoved her back down on the couch. She squealed in pain and tried to resist the brute, but his grip was vice-like and he twisted her
hair to pull her head towards his groin, at the same time tearing off his clothing. Phraates’ eyes lit up as he caught sight of the Nubian’s huge manhood.

  ‘The Queen of Media has been using her mouth to make disparaging remarks about me and my trusted advisers,’ he said loudly. ‘Let us put her mouth to better use.’

  The slave dragged her to the enormous bed, the other gripping her legs to haul her on to the silk sheets.

  ‘Nooooo,’ she wailed as the second slave removed his clothing and then ripped Aliyeh’s robe open to reveal her undergarments, which he tore from her body.

  She was like a rag doll in their hands as she was positioned on all fours and the slave behind her forced his manhood into her body from behind. She shrieked in pain, allowing the slave standing in front of her, still gripping her hair, to ram his phallus into her mouth. Thus did her ordeal begin as the two Nubians abused every orifice in her body. At first she tried to resist but as pain overwhelmed her and the torment showed no signs of abating as the slaves’ thrusts had no end, she became semi-conscious, though always aware of the figure of Phraates’ standing near the bed, watching the spectacle with relish.

  Aliyeh lost all sense of time as the two sweating brutes grunted with pleasure as they abused her, swapping positions several times, the queen now unresisting and compliant in the hope that by doing so the ordeal would come to a quicker end. Finally, their energy almost spent, they expended their seed down her throat, one grunting like an animal as Aliyeh nearly choked on the appendage shoved violently into her mouth. She retched and wept as the second slave followed suite, cutting off her air supply as he forced all his manhood into her mouth and down her throat. He held her head in place until she had swallowed the foul liquid pumped into her, smiling with relish as he completed her humiliation.

  Phraates, holding his throbbing manhood, ordered the slaves to hold the queen’s arms as he positioned himself in front of her.

  ‘Open your mouth, lady.’

  Tears ran down her bruised face as she did as she was told and he shot his seed into her mouth. He groaned with pleasure and then stared at her, unblinking, as she swallowed for a third time. He then poured the contents of his rhyton over her bedraggled hair and ordered her to leave his bedchamber. She grabbed the remnants of her dress and staggered from the room barefoot, into the corridor where two guards stood sentry. In her numb state she barely noticed them as she fled the quarters of King of Kings Phraates, limping down corridors that were thankfully empty of people because of the lateness of the hour. For that the gods at least showed some mercy. There was no guard of honour for the Queen of Media whose honour had been taken from her, no kind words of comfort for a woman raped and beaten, only the mocking face of Phraates and his two hideous monsters who had stripped away every layer of nobility to leave a shell of a woman.

  In her quarters her slaves, distraught at her appearance, wept as they bathed her and applied ointments to her cuts and bruises. Aliyeh was not weeping now, only staring into space, a woman of power and great wealth who was totally alone in the universe, transported to a dark, cold place on the command of a young man she had thought a dear friend.

  She left Ctesiphon the next day, just after the first rays of the sun appeared over the intricate stone carvings atop the palace. There was no honour guard to see her off, no smiling king of kings to kiss her on the cheek and no courtiers to bow their heads to wish her safe journey home. Only the unending sound of chisels working stone, overseers bellowing at slaves, the sharp cracks of their whips striking flesh to herald another hot and dusty day at the palace of King of Kings Phraates.

  The high king himself slept in that day after the exertions of the previous evening, Chief of Court Ashleen only presenting himself near midday when Phraates was enjoying a late breakfast of yoghurt and fruit.

  ‘Queen Aliyeh left the palace earlier, highness.’

  Phraates dipped a slice of apple in the yogurt.

  ‘Just as well, I grew tired of her company. Have her quarters cleared of any of her effects. She will not be visiting again.’

  Ashleen grinned. ‘A wise move, highness, for too long Media has exercised too much influence at Ctesiphon.’

  Phraates looked at him. ‘There are many in the empire who believe that because of my age and inexperience I can be manipulated like a piece of soft clay on a potter’s wheel. They will learn that I am made of harder stuff.’

  Phraates noticed a papyrus scroll in his adviser’s hand.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Ashleen sighed. ‘A receipt from Lord Aaron, treasurer to King Pacorus of Dura, requesting reimbursement for the soldiers and squires that accompanied the newly created Satrap Kewab to the east, highness. Shall I refuse his request for gold?’

  Phraates ate the slice of apple and then dabbed his mouth with a cloth.

  ‘No, pay what he asks.’

  Ashleen frowned. ‘Having clipped the wings of Media, highness, might I suggest you do the same with Dura. King Pacorus, after all, did threaten you before making his recent journey to Sakastan.’

  The official was alluding to the King of Dura informing Phraates that in his absence while he attended his daughter’s wedding, his friend King Silaces of Elymais had been appointed the commander of the combined armies of Dura, Mesene, Hatra and Gordyene – a combined total of one hundred and thirty thousand soldiers – to ensure the safety of the empire.

  Phraates leaned back in his chair and stared into space, drumming his fingers on the table. He stopped and took a sip of grape juice.

  ‘King Pacorus is like a pair of scales.’

  ‘Highness?’

  ‘On the one hand he makes no attempt to disguise the fact he wields great power in the empire, power that at any time he could use to topple me. On the other hand, he was instrumental in defeating Mark Antony’s invasion and recently has almost single-handedly saved the eastern half of the empire from falling to the Kushans.’

  ‘Such a man is dangerous, highness.’

  ‘I agree, but as the scales are currently finely balanced there is no cause for alarm.’

  ‘Can a high king tolerate such a powerful potential rival, highness?’

  ‘He is no rival for the high throne,’ said Phraates with certainty, ‘because if he had ambitions to reside at Ctesiphon he would have made his move when my father died. And there are many in the empire who would have supported him. But one thing held him back, the one thing that is the chink in the armour of King Pacorus.’

  Ashleen looked at him with a blank expression.

  ‘Loyalty, Ashleen. He is loyal to my father’s memory and loyal to the notion of a smooth transition of power from father to son. King Pacorus is a man of honour, and that more than anything else constrains his actions. I do not suffer from such inhibitions. Allow me to demonstrate.’

  Ashleen was later summoned to the barracks of the royal guards adjacent to the palace, the chief of court holding a perfumed handkerchief to his nose as he was escorted across the dusty parade ground to the rear of the armoury block where Phraates was waiting for him. The air was hot, dusty and laced with the aroma of horse and camel dung, far removed from the cool, clean interior of the palace. A slave held a parasol over the chief of court to save his skin from the burning sun but already sweat was coursing down his cheeks. He screwed up his face when he saw a low wooden platform holding two whipping posts where those soldiers found guilty of breaching military law were punished.

  ‘Another hot day, Ashleen,’ smiled Phraates.

  ‘Indeed, highness.’

  The Scythian axe men stood behind the high king with purple clad Babylonian guards flanking him. Phraates signalled to an officer who bellowed to one of his subordinates, resulting in two prisoners being manhandled to the platform. They were the Nubians who had degraded Queen Aliyeh the evening before. They were bundled on to the platform where they were shackled to the posts, which took a while as they both realised they had not been brought to this place of heat and dust for anyt
hing good. Eventually they were secured by chains and manacles, both shouting to Phraates in a language no one understood.

  ‘They are calling for mercy,’ Phraates told everyone within earshot, ‘but what clemency can be extended to creatures who perpetrated foul acts upon a queen of the empire? Let the sentence be carried out.’

  Torture had been abhorrent to his father but Phraates did not share Orodes’ distaste for it. His sadism had begun when he had been young, starting with pulling the wings off insects and proceeding rapidly to inflicting pain on small mammals. His father had beaten him once for blinding a kitten and for a while the young Prince Phraates had ceased his cruelty. It did not last and the death of his father removed any restraints on his actions. But he was always aware that even a king of kings had to be careful when it came to inflicting pain and punishment. In an ideal world he would have liked to have King Silaces of Elymais, a man known for his coarse utterances against him, seized and slowly skinned alive. But to do so would be to invite the wrath of Dura, Hatra, Mesene and Gordyene, which included Dura’s fearsome siege engines. Having repaired Ctesiphon’s walls, he had no desire to see them torn down, and even less to attend his own execution.

  The Royal Company of Torturers and Punishers had been created by Phraates himself and was based at Ctesiphon, though always accompanied the high king when he left the royal palace. Recruited chiefly from Babylon and Susiana, it comprised mostly individuals devoid of any sense of morality or concepts of right and wrong. The purple-uniformed guards looked in contempt at the leering, animal-like men of the company who came forward with razor-sharp knives and began to cut away the slaves’ clothing, the captives now screeching at the top of their voices for mercy. Their pleadings were replaced by high-pitched screams as their testicles were sliced off, Phraates licking his lips as the bloody sacks were tossed on the ground a few feet in front of him.

  Ashleen felt nauseous and wavered on his feet, the commander of the guard coming forward to steady him. The chief of court’s face went green when the remainder of the slaves’ genitals were sliced off and tossed to the ground, the torturers then focusing their murderous efforts on the captives’ bellies, thrusting their blades deep into the flesh before sawing diagonally, blood sheeting on to their blades and hands. For Ashleen it was the final straw. His flabby knees buckled and he collapsed, being saved from the hard ground by the intercession of the commander.