He turned and nodded to the three butchers who disappeared and then reappeared moments later, bringing the ox, boar and ram into the tent. The priest sprinkled wine and salt over the animals’ heads while the flautist played a rather pleasant tune. Then the priest picked up what looked like a small cake off the floor and sprinkled bits of that on the heads of the animals.
‘That is sacred cake made from flour and salt,’ whispered Byrd.
‘Why the flute?’ asked Gallia, fascinated by the proceedings.
‘To drown out any ill-omened noises. The priest wears a veil to shut out evil influences from his eyes.’
‘He means you, Pacorus,’ said Malik, grinning.
The priest had been mumbling prayers as he anointed the heads of the animals and when he had finished he stepped back and nodded to the three butchers, who each held a mallet in their right hands. In a flash each one struck their beast on the top of the head with it. The animals grunted and their legs buckled by being stunned thus, then the men dropped the mallets and pulled their knives to expertly slit the animals’ throats. Blood gushed on the ground as the beasts collapsed, dead. The butchers then went to work with their knives to disembowel each beast; the priest examining the entrails of each one carefully to see that there was nothing untoward.
‘This is the most important part of ceremony,’ said Byrd. ‘Bad insides mean god not pleased.’
The smell of blood and guts reached my nostrils and I recoiled somewhat. But after a few minutes the priest spread out his hands to us once more.
‘Father Mars has blessed Lucius Domitus and his marriage.’
Afterwards, as the vital organs of the three dead animals were thrown onto a burning brazier to the accompaniment of music from the flautist, we all congratulated Domitus on the auspicious omens. I had never seen him so happy, now secure in the knowledge that his god was smiling on him. I saw Byrd give a large pouch of money to the priest once he had finished consigning the vital organs of the slaughtered animals to the fire and removed his veil. Malik also saw it.
‘The blessings of the gods do not come cheap, it seems.’
As the priest, his flute player and the three butchers, who had also come from Syria, took their leave us of and began the journey back to Antioch with their Agraci escort, Domitus embraced Byrd.
‘Thank you for your most generous gift, my friend,’ said Domitus.
‘Think nothing of it,’ replied Byrd. ‘I glad that you are happy.’
As the tent was dismantled and packed onto a camel, Byrd, Noora and Malik joined us for the journey back to Dura to attend Domitus’ wedding. We travelled with the rest of the Companions and Domitus. Thumelicus, unused to riding, jumped onto his horse’s back and slid off the other side.
‘Pull yourself up using the saddle,’ I told him as Domitus and Kronos, both of them no masters of horsemanship, laughed at him.
After several more attempts and more laughter he eventually managed to hoist himself into the saddle and we began our journey. His large frame looked slightly ridiculous perched on the back of the medium-sized mount of a horse archer, which fortunately had a docile nature. It did not take long, though, for the mischievousness of Thumelicus to surface.
‘So, Domitus, you are to become a Jew?’
‘I am being married by a Jewish priest,’ Domitus replied, ‘but I will not become a Jew.’
‘I have heard that Jewish males have the ends cut off their manhoods.’
Gallia frowned and Noora looked most uncomfortable. Domitus rolled his eyes and shook his head.
‘Begging your pardon, ladies,’ said Thumelicus.
‘The thing is,’ he continued, ‘my gladius is very sharp and you know I am always willing to help out a friend.’
‘Be quiet,’ ordered Domitus.
‘Imagine the shock that Miriam will get tomorrow evening.’
Domitus halted his horse. ‘That’s enough!’
Thumelicus held up his hands and we resumed our journey, Drenis shaking his head and Noora maintaining a stoic silence. We had not gone three hundred paces when Thumelicus continued his ribbing of Domitus.
‘I can do it now if you wish, shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. Mind you, a gladius might be too big. I’ll use my dagger instead.’
He winked at Gallia. ‘It’s a good job that I’m not becoming a Jew, otherwise you would require the services of a two-handed axe. You know what they say about Germans, don’t you?’
‘Yes, their brains are in their balls,’ she replied.
‘Brains?’ said Domitus. ‘I have heard that German brains make grains of sand look large and ungainly. That is why their heads are so thick, they don’t require space for anything else.’
Thumelicus looked hurt. ‘What is this, gang up on Thumelicus day? That’s the thanks you get for trying to help a friend.’
The next day Domitus and Miriam were married under a white canopy in Godarz’s old mansion. I had discussed with Gallia what we should do about the empty residence and it had been she who had suggested giving it to the couple as a wedding gift. Rsan was now the city governor but he had his own mansion and Domitus needed his own home. Technically he was homeless as the headquarters building in the Citadel was a depository for records and filled with offices and the tent that he occupied in camp became mine on campaign, so it made sense that he should have a residence that befitted his high rank. It was a most enjoyable day, made more so when Aaron announced that Rachel was pregnant.
‘You will be a granddad,’ Thumelicus said to Domitus, beaming with delight.
Three weeks later Gallia and I rode with Domitus and Miriam to Palmyra to attend Malik’s wedding. This was an altogether more lavish affair and was attended by all the Agraci lords in Haytham’s kingdom. Palmyra was bustling and full to bursting when we arrived. Haytham had set aside two tents for us near his as the wedding ceremony lasted for a week. The Agraci are a people that favour black for everyday wear but for Malik’s wedding there was a profusion of colours as the lords dressed their best camel riders in red, yellow, orange and blue to take part in the races that took place on a daily basis.
We saw little of Haytham or Malik in the days before the actual ceremony, though Rasha took great delight in informing us what was happening. She was maturing into a beautiful young woman now and was also becoming aware of her status as Haytham’s daughter. She still dressed in leggings and boots but also wore the black robes of her people on her upper body and a black headdress draped around her head and under her chin to cover her throat. She carried the bow that Gallia had given her in its hide case on her saddle with her quiver slung over her shoulder. Behind us rode a dozen Agraci warriors, her permanent bodyguard. The daughter of the king of the Agraci was too important to be allowed to travel without an armed escort, even through the tents of his capital.
She rode a magnificent young black stallion that was obviously bred from the finest stock with his wedge-shaped head, broad forehead, large brown eyes and nostrils and small muzzle. He had the distinctive bulge between his eyes that marked him as a horse of the desert people. Called a jibbah, it gave him additional sinus capacity to help with the dry desert climate.
‘I like your horse, Rasha,’ I said, admiring its compact body with its short back, deep, well-angled hips and laid-back shoulders.
‘It was a gift from my father. He said that he suited my temperament.’
‘What is his name?’ asked Gallia.
‘Asad,’ she replied, ‘which means lion.’
‘Most appropriate,’ I agreed.
We arrived at the tent of Byrd and Noora to discover more large camel corrals in the area behind it and many herders tending to the animals. Byrd’s commercial empire was growing apace.
We spent the next few days in his and his wife’s company, the excited Rasha acting as our guide to the wedding ritual.
‘First Lord Vehrka and my father will sit down with each other and work out the marriage agreement. After that is concluded the bride’
s hands and feet will be decorated with henna.’
‘To symbolise beauty, luck and strength,’ added Noora as we ate mansaf – rice covered with stewed lamb cooked in a sauce made from dried yoghurt – with our fingers from huge metal dishes.
‘One day your friends will be painting your hands and feet, Rasha,’ said Noora.
Rasha screwed up her face. ‘I am going to be an Amazon and ride beside Gallia in battle. Is that not correct, Gallia?’
Gallia smiled at her. ‘Let us not talk of war at the time of your brother’s marriage, Rasha.’
I leaned over and kissed my wife on the cheek. ‘A most diplomatic answer.’
I knew that in two summers’ time Haytham would be looking for a husband for his daughter, no doubt the young son of one of his lords. But for the moment all eyes were on his son, and with the successful conclusion of the negotiations between the two fathers the week culminated with the Al Ardha, a war dance performed by dozens of warriors with swords and whips, after which the guests presented Malik and his bride with gifts in celebration of their union. Dura’s gift was a thousand camels that Rsan thought was excessive, but both Gallia and I believed it to be the least we could give in view of Malik’s service to us.
We stood next to Vehrka as thousands of Agraci watched their prince and his new wife leave for the desert to spend some time alone together, and hopefully their intimacy would not be spoiled by the three hundred warriors, fifty camel riders and three score servants that accompanied them. Malik and Jamal rode on a pair of richly attired camels, and Jamal’s had silver bells round its ankles.
‘They make a handsome pair, lord,’ I said to Vehrka as we watched the royal couple and their entourage ride into the desert south of Palmyra.
‘Your shipments all reach their destination without harm,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the long line of camels diminishing in size on the horizon.
‘I am sure they do, lord, though that was not my immediate concern.’
He regarded me out of the corner of his eye. ‘Of course it was. That’s the only reason you came over to stand by me. Well, as I said, the shipments all reach their destination.’
I was slightly taken aback by his brusque manner, but then he was an Agraci lord and they were not known for their diplomacy.
‘It is good that we aid our allies, lord.’
He looked at me with a bemused expression. ‘Allies? I don’t care if the Jews live or die, Parthians too for that matter. It is a business arrangement, that is all.’
‘And a lucrative one,’ I added.
‘For you too,’ he said, ‘unless you are doing it out of the goodness of your heart.’
‘Of course not.’
‘How long will you be sending weapons to the Jews?’ he asked.
‘A few more months yet.’
‘And you hope that they will slaughter the Romans and save you the trouble.’
He really was quite perceptive. ‘I hope that they are able to win their freedom.’
He curled his lip. ‘Only the strong have freedom. The weak and the vanquished do not deserve it. It has always been so.’
There was little point in pursuing this line of conversation so I went back to his daughter’s new husband.
‘Malik is your new son, Vehrka.’
‘He is a brave warrior and will produce many fine sons. I hear that you have no sons.’
‘The gods decreed it thus,’ I replied.
He looked at Gallia. ‘Your child-bearing years are over.’
She bristled at his effrontery. ‘That is an impertinent question. I assume your balls are withered like your face.’
His eyes narrowed for an instant then he smiled at her. ‘I meant no offence, lady. But a man should have sons, especially a great warrior like your husband.’
She sneered at him and then stomped off. I made to follow her but Vehrka grabbed my shirt.
‘I have two more young daughters, very fertile, should you wish for a new queen.’
‘A most generous offer, lord, but I could never leave my queen.’
‘Women are put on the earth to bear children, nothing more. When they can no longer do that then they become worthless. Think on my offer and visit my camp some time. It would be a great honour for one of my daughters to bear the sons of a famous warlord such as yourself.’
He looked at Gallia walking away from us.
‘But come alone next time.’
After Malik’s departure we too left Palmyra and headed back to Dura, and a month later we were in Babylon for the wedding of Orodes and Axsen. Gallia was very happy during this time as the marriage meant that she could be with Praxima and the rest of the surviving Amazons once more. Viper had risen to be Gallia’s second-in-command now, a position that never failed to amuse me, as she still resembled a teenage girl with her small breasts and lithe figure. She rarely heard from Surena, none of us did, but both Vata and Atrax sent me frequent messages that they had regularly supplied his men in Gordyene so at least he was still alive. He had been in the kingdom for nearly a year now and I was considering recalling him; after all, twelve months was long enough for a husband to be separated from his wife, and Gallia did not wish Viper to go to Gordyene and live like ‘a beggar among a bunch of thieves’ as she so eloquently put it. But all that could wait until after the wedding.
I was delighted to discover that the city of Babylon had been transformed since the last time I visited it. The refugees had been persuaded or coerced to return to their villages and the streets and buildings had been cleaned and repaired. The stench that had hung over the buildings had also disappeared and the spring melt waters of the Euphrates had washed away much of the debris that had clogged the river. The area around the city where the armies had conducted the two recent sieges was still largely flat and barren, but at least the replanting of crops and trees had begun. In addition, both my father and Nergal had sent additional troops to Axsen’s kingdom to strengthen its garrisons. Seleucia was still occupied by the soldiers of Mithridates and pointed like a dagger at Babylon but there was nothing that could be done about that at the moment. However, Mardonius reported that there had been no hostile activity along the Tigris.
I met with him, Orodes and Nergal one morning when the old commander took us on a tour of the city’s defences. Like most Parthian kingdoms Babylon had a city garrison comprising spearmen and archers, though Mardonius also commanded a large detachment of slingers. The spearmen who guarded the walls and gates of the city were dressed in purple trousers, purple tunics that covered their arms and ended just above their knees and wore turbans on their heads. They carried wicker shields, six-foot-long spears and long knives. Adequate for defending Babylon’s high walls that were protected by a deep moat, they were poor battlefield troops. Still, they had defeated two sieges so I commended the commander of the Marduk Gate when we encountered him. It was the same officer I had met following the second siege. He had looked gaunt and tired then but now he was well fed and full of energy and showed off his men to me enthusiastically. All their spears had whetted points and their uniforms were spotless.
‘The soldiers of the garrison appear reinvigorated,’ I said to Mardonius, who was now walking with the aid of a stick. Out of politeness I did not inquire if it was the result of a wound or old age.
‘We have the arrival of Prince Orodes to thank for that,’ he smiled at Orodes.
‘You are too kind,’ replied Orodes. ‘I have merely assisted when I can.’
‘Word is,’ said Nergal, ‘that the lords in Susiana and in the kingdoms in the east of the empire are unhappy with Mithridates and his lord high general. They have lost many sons and subjects these past two years.’
‘So has Babylon,’ remarked Mardonius grimly.
All of us present knew that a third invasion of Babylon would probably finish the kingdom for good. Though the Silk Road ran from Seleucia through the Kingdom of Babylon the dues raised from the caravans were insufficient to pay for the rebuilding of Axsen�
��s realm. The only way that would be possible was to capture the royal treasury at Ctesiphon, and that meant in turn taking Seleucia first, which meant plunging the empire into a fresh war.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘at least Babylon has Mesenian and Hatran troops on its territory to reinforce its own army.’
I had sent Marcus and a contingent of engineers to Babylon at the turn of the year to assist in the rebuilding of the irrigation systems that had been damaged during the last siege. The next day I found him standing on the edge of one of the many canals that emanated from the Euphrates. He looked like a vagrant dressed in his wide-brimmed floppy hat and dirty tunic. He was surrounded by a score of workers carrying spades and picks. I waited until he had finished briefing them and then walked over when they had dispersed.
‘You look like a poor farmer, Marcus.’
He raised his arm in salute after the Roman fashion. ‘Yes, sir, though master dredger would be a more accurate description.’
He took off his hat and wiped his crown with a cloth for it was a hot day.
‘How is it going?’
‘Slowly. The damage done to the irrigation system can be repaired easily enough, but some of these canals are over a thousand years old so people tell me. The farmers and villages cannot hope to maintain such an old system efficiently. I have suggested to the queen that she establish an irrigation corps to maintain the whole system.’
He pointed at the river and then moved his arm to encompass the surrounding countryside.
‘Weirs and diversion dams are what we need to create reservoirs to supply canals that can carry water far into the countryside. That and a small army of dredgers to prevent the new canals and the old ones from silting up.’
I was impressed. ‘You have been busy.’
Parthian Vengeance (The Parthian Chronicles) Page 50
