Blood of Kings

by Andrew James

  Nor was he any nearer to finding Parmys, and the repeated setbacks had brought him close to despair. He wondered where Ardu and Vivana had gone? They were now the key. Vakauka said he had sent them away. The only place Darius could think of to look for them was Pathragada. He remembered Vivana’s family lived in the city. Failing that, he could try Vakauka’s palace there. Perhaps Ardu had visited and left word.

  Showing his Imperial pass he was given bread, wine and shelter at each of the twenty-three pirradazish post-houses on the road to Pathragada, and saluted through the military checkpoint at the Persian Gate. In sight of the city walls, his war charger pushed through the crowds, her tall withers and broad beam forcing aside carts, asses and men. The stretch of Royal Road between Susa and Pathragada was the finest in the Empire, and therefore in all the world, but right now this well-laid pathway was more crowded than Darius had ever seen it. Embassies, petitioners, fortune seekers, nobles hoping for positions at the new King of Kings’ court, all were flocking west from the Imperial city towards the fortress at Sikayauvatish. Hard on their heels came the carts of traders and artisans, and the bawling camels of wealthy merchants, all hoping to make money keeping the castle supplied and serviced. Again it struck Darius as mysterious that the new king should hide himself away, far from Pathragada where everything was available.

  Why would he do that, unless he had something to fear?

  Coming home to Pathragada after so long in foreign lands was like a dream. After the dirt and squalor of Siwa, he’d forgotten how neat everything in the Imperial city was. So clean, so sparkling, so civilized. Passing a tree-lined square, he turned left into a narrow lane covered with baked brick arches to keep off the sun, and lined with solidly constructed mud-brick houses. From the lane, all Darius could see of them were the bluff walls of their outer courtyards, but he knew these houses well. One of them belonged to Hystaspes; it was the house where his family lived.

  Halfway down the lane, Darius stiffened at the sight of a data of soldiers. They were standing outside Hystaspes’ house, guarding a train of ten camels, the riders squatting in a circle on the ground talking, the beasts kneeling as they were loaded with crates and bundles. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered. Cautiously, Darius walked his horse over for a closer look. Humming cheerfully to himself in his best gown, Hystaspes was supervising the loading of their furniture. Around him were several trunks which Darius recognized as containing his father’s weapons and armour, clothing and personal effects, and a few precious heirlooms from the palace of the ancient kings. Hystaspes was running through a list scribbled on a scrap of old linen in his hand, so intent on his work he didn’t notice his son approach.

  Darius wanted to ask what on earth his father was up to, but hesitated. The last time they had spoken was when Hystaspes threw him out of this same house on the day of Cambyses’ coronation, three years earlier. He wouldn’t apologize for that. He never did. Why should Darius be the one to climb down? Darius decided to go and speak to him all the same. He was burning with curiosity about the camel train. And although Hystaspes had never been much of a father, he was the only one Darius had. His life had been difficult. He had probably tried his best. There was no point letting wounds fester.

  ‘Father? You’re leaving!’

  Hystaspes lowered the list, turned around and amazed his son by smiling. That smile unsettled Darius. He had never seen such pleasure on the deep, craggy lines of his father’s face. Somehow it didn’t suit him. Hystaspes’ eyes flicked briefly over the scars on Darius’s face but he was too wrapped up in his own joy to ask questions. He put a hand into his gown, pulled out a clay tablet and waved it under his son’s nose. To Darius’s astonishment it was a decree bearing the royal seal. Hystaspes’ voice was thick with emotion. ‘Verkana, son. Bardiya has appointed me the new satrap.’

  ‘Father! You’re not going to serve under Bardiya?’

  Hystaspes’ smile disappeared. ‘Not serve under Bardiya?’ he said roughly. ‘What new madness of yours is this? Of course I am.’

  ‘He is killing people! Hundreds of them.’

  ‘Kings always kill people. Justice demands it.’

  ‘Not justice, murder! Innocent men. Nobles who have committed no crime.’

  ‘Darius, all my life I have craved recognition. Now it has come and I will not turn it down. They say the satrapal palace at Zadracarta is magnificent. I will have a guard of a thousand spearmen. Slaves, gold, feasting. Boar in the forests just waiting to be hunted, sturgeon waiting to be pulled out of the Hyrcanian Ocean. Just imagine – fresh caviar! It is a paradise, all a man could desire. Would you really want me to spend my declining years here,’ he jerked a thumb at the old house where he had lived for so long, ‘rather than in luxury?’

  ‘No,’ Darius sighed. ‘Enjoy it, while it lasts.’

  Hystaspes gave Darius a glare so resentful he nearly didn’t ask his next question.

  ‘Tell me, Father, when was the last time you actually spoke to Bardiya?’

  ‘What difference does that make?’ Hystaspes asked suspiciously.

  ‘None. I’m just curious.’

  Vaguely he shook his head. ‘Three years ago, perhaps a bit longer.’

  ‘He didn’t appoint you as satrap face to face?’

  ‘No need to see him, boy! He is a busy man, he cannot go rushing around to all his satraps. The edict came by Imperial courier with a letter.’ He pulled out a second tablet. ‘See, here,’ he indicated the wedges in the clay with his forefinger and read aloud triumphantly. ‘“Your appointment will be some recompense for the harsh treatment you have endured over the years. May it usher a new period of amity between our houses. I am in any case firmly convinced you are the best man for the post. Steadfast, worthy, loyal to the Empire …”’

  As Darius suspected. A few flattering words had gained the new king a loyal supporter. But still Darius had found no one who had actually seen Bardiya and survived.

  Picking his way past the kneeling camels Darius turned his horse to leave, saying nothing of his plans to rid the Empire of its new despot. He couldn’t face the long, bitter accusations of ruining his father’s happiness that would follow.

  He hadn’t gone ten paces before Hystaspes called him back. ‘I nearly forgot. Vakauka’s son was looking for you yesterday. He left this.’

  He reached into a pocket of his gown and handed Darius a scrap of sealed parchment. Darius’s heart was thumping as he tore it open. At last, news of Parmys! The message was dated the first day of the month of Bagayadish. Today was the second. It was very short and to the point. ‘Darius. Am at Otaneh’s palace. Ardu.’ Darius read it twice. No one could accuse Ardu of wasting words. He might have said a little more.

  Otaneh’s palace was on the riverfront, not far from the Royal Palace. Each time Cyrus promoted him, Otaneh had added another wing. Now the tall, elegantly panelled walls swept back from the white stone facade to form a perfect square, with a fountain and a well-planted courtyard in the centre. Riding through the gatehouse, Darius was greeted by familiar staff and offered wine in an ante-chamber while Otaneh was found, then shown into a tasteful salon where, to his surprise, not just Otaneh, Ardu and Vivana were waiting, but also Vinda, Gobryas and Megabyzus. Otaneh wore a look of quiet fury. Greeting Darius politely he seemed distant and didn’t say what was wrong. Darius clasped wrists briefly with Vinda, Gobryas and Megabyzus, then drew Ardu and Vivana aside and took each in a close embrace. They were smiling. Darius was smiling. It was wonderful to see them. It had been too long. Two and a half years, though it seemed like half a lifetime. There had been moments in Egypt, and again in Siwa, when he thought they would never meet again. Delighted as Darius was at their return, he had only one question. ‘Where is she?’

  Ardu swallowed hard. ‘She’s safe, Darius. We had to leave her, but she’s safe.’

  The blood drained from his face. ‘Leave her? Where?’

  ‘Bardiya’s men were after her.’ Ardu told Darius of the mutilation a
nd murder at Bardiya’s palace that Parmys’s letter had mentioned, of Parmys’s distress at the fate of the people around her and of her father’s persistent refusal to see her. At last she had stormed into Bardiya’s private rooms. ‘I warned her to keep away. Those who went to see him rarely came back. We hung around nearby. When we heard screaming we found her being chased through the palace by magi. We fought them off and narrowly escaped.’ He told of a frantic race across open country on horseback, then of long months spent hiding at Vakauka’s pistachio plantation until the magi finally found them. ‘They took us by surprise while we were out hunting. We had to leave her in a peasant village in Carmania while we shook the pursuers off.’

  Horrified, Darius cut in. ‘You left her in Carmania? Alone?’

  Ardu frowned in indignation. ‘Of course not! We mounted a peasant lad on her horse and lured the magi away. Then we returned, took Parmys, a string of remounts and a few of my father’s retainers, and came west. But we were ambushed by more magi with soldiers not far from Susa. They have spies on all the roads.’ He and Vivana rolled up the sleeves of their gowns and showed Darius the healing wounds Vakauka had spoken of. ‘Luckily we’d expected trouble there, because of my father’s palace, so we’d stashed Parmys at a friend’s hunting lodge in the mountains and ridden on alone. After getting some gold and more men from my father we collected her and made a dash for it to Pathragada. We got through by the skin of our teeth, magi on our heels all the way. They were frantic to get her. They even forced their way in here to try to search Otaneh’s palace.’

  Now Darius understood Otaneh’s anger. ‘I can vouch for that,’ the former spadapati said, striding to join them, radiating fury at the memory of the intruders. ‘Found them searching the courtyard, bold as brass. If we hadn’t been armed I doubt they would have left.’ His voice was still shaky, which didn’t surprise Darius at all: high-ranking Aryans were not accustomed to having armed men rampaging through their palaces.

  Thinking of the danger they had endured on his behalf, Darius drew first Ardu then Vivana to him in a second embrace. ‘Thank you for looking after her, both of you. I am in your debt. But where is Parmys now?’

  Ardu swallowed and looked at Vivana. Vivana told Darius where they had put her. Again Darius went pale. ‘There are gangs of magi roaming the streets, sir! It were the only place we could think of where they’d never look, see?’ Vivana explained. Darius didn’t like what he heard, but he could see the sense in Vivana’s explanation.

  With the urgent question answered, Darius stepped back and looked more closely at his two friends. Both were dressed in Eastern-style headgear and wore magnificent sets of armour. Darius would expect Ardu to have the very best – ‘A present from my father,’ he said proudly – but it was Vivana’s that took his breath away. It had gold-plated buckles on the shoulder straps and scales of blue-grey iron rather than bronze. ‘Where on earth did you get it?’ Darius asked.

  ‘He’s been killing people again,’ Ardu quipped, pointing out a skilfully repaired gash over the heart.

  Vivana acknowledged the laughter with a small smile of his own. ‘One of Bardiya’s magi, would you believe? Tried to get in our way.’

  Darius shook his head. ‘I’ve seen magi carrying weapons now, but when did they start wearing armour?’

  ‘A lot has changed in Persia while you’ve been away, sir,’ said Vivana darkly.

  As he spoke, Darius noticed the gravity in him that hadn’t been there before. Vivana was definitely more confident and assured, and Ardu had become a man, his beard full and neatly curled, his shoulders broader, his eyes less intense, more piercing. Both were a little sunburnt from their time in the East but otherwise seemed well.

  The others were sitting in a group, talking intently about how to tackle the new crisis. Otaneh was calling the three men to join them. ‘Wait,’ Ardu insisted, taking Darius’s arm in a strong grip. ‘What in the name of the Holy Fire is Vinda doing here?’

  Darius told him of the awful time in Siwa, the relentless heat, the uncouth, deceitful tribesmen, the rescue by the Prophetess. ‘The experience has mellowed him. He even helped plan Cambyses’ demise.’

  Ardu was aghast. ‘After all he did to have you condemned, you made your peace with him?’

  ‘Or he made his peace with me, I’m not sure which. When you share the same enemy, it’s hard not to be friends.’

  Ardu didn’t sound convinced. ‘How do you feel about it, Vivana?’

  Vivana’s imperturbable face showed a slight downturn of the mouth. ‘The miserable sod is following Darius and I’m following Darius so we’ll have to get on. Just tell him to keep his mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for him.’

  Smiling at his bluntness, Darius promised he would.

  Otaneh called again. ‘Come, Darius. I have an important announcement.’

  Carrying his wine cup over to join the group, Darius couldn’t resist stealing Otaneh’s thunder. ‘You’re going to tell us it’s not Bardiya sitting on the throne?’

  The red eyebrows shot up. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Lots of small things didn’t add up, but now I know he refused to see Parmys I’m certain of it. The real Bardiya died years ago. Cambyses was telling us the truth.’

  Bursting with impatience, Ardu astounded them all. ‘Surely everyone knew that already?’ he said. ‘It’s obvious.’

  Otaneh looked a little put out that his revelation was not a surprise. ‘Obvious? Why “obvious”?’

  Ardu rolled his eyes. Displaying a touch of his father’s brusqueness, he explained. ‘Because we’ve been chased from pillar to post across the Empire by magi acting in the name of “Bardiya”, but the real Bardiya wouldn’t go near a magus from month to month. Nor would he ever have threatened Parmys. Yet the guards we spoke to in Nashirmeh say the man looks just like Bardiya … so he must be one of Cyrus’s bastards.’

  ‘Impossible,’ objected Megabyzus, red-veined cheeks rippling in outrage as he shook his head. ‘If the man wasn’t Bardiya someone would have noticed by now.’

  Otaneh smiled fondly at his friend’s bluff certainty. ‘Not only is it possible, Megabyzus, it is true. I have it from my daughter this morning. She should know. Like all Cambyses’ wives, she was forced to marry the new king. She’s been trying to get word to me for months, it seems. His real name is Gaumata, a common magus from the palace whose responsibility was to gather apricot wood for the sacred flames. Whether he is one of Cyrus’s bastards I cannot say, but what I do know is that this menial rogue is feasting every night like a king, sleeping with the royal women and making fools of us all.’

  As more wine was passed round Darius wracked his brains to try to put a face to the name ‘Gaumata’. He knew the High Magus well enough but rarely took notice of the junior magi often spotted striding purposefully through the city. Beyond officiating at sacrifices and ceremonies, he didn’t even know how they spent their time. From the sound of it, plotting to seize control of the Empire.

  Who knew what dark arts they had employed? Had they suborned one of the eunuchs who controlled the Imperial correspondence? Reading the monthly intelligence reports from the King’s Eyes across the Empire, they may have realized there was a gap waiting to be filled in the East. Or had they simply put their heads together and worked out that Bardiya was missing? Ordinary men missing the prince might assume he was simply in another satrapy; in the East when they were West, or West when they were East. But the magi were a close-knit clan, a secret network spanning the entire Empire. If they compared notes, it wouldn’t take them long to work out that Bardiya hadn’t been seen anywhere for years. Safe in the assumption that he must be dead, had they set one of their number up in his palace, raised an army under his standard and marched on Pathragada, issuing edicts in his name as they went? The seal on the edicts Darius had seen looked genuine. But for men who had mastered the minds of the gods and could read the future in the sighs of the wind, obtaining a copy of Bardiya’s seal would hardly be a major obstacle. Af
ter all, Otaneh had obtained a copy of Cambyses’.

  However they achieved it, the magi had taken control. And despite sporadic violence, the man calling himself Bardiya was being acclaimed by the masses. Why should the deaths of a few hundred nobles, or the destruction of heathen temples, trouble the millions across the Empire who benefited from the remission of taxes? They were blind to everything except the prospect of peace and prosperity under their golden prince. A blindness which meant Darius knew he could not rely on popular support to oust the priests. Now he understood the reign of terror; the deaths and mutilations, the cold-blooded murder of men like Artfern, the frantic efforts to catch Parmys. It would all continue until either someone restored the rule of lawful kings or there were no family, friends or acquaintances of Bardiya left to kill. ‘This is dangerous for us,’ he said. ‘To entrench their rule, the magi need to kill everyone who knew the real Bardiya.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Gobryas sat up on his couch and threw back his bony arms. ‘You’re not going to suggest we murder another king?’

  That was exactly what Darius was suggesting, but Gobryas’s bald words had made them sound like a bunch of common conspirators, and the mood of the group grew uncertain. Darius felt it harden against assassination. Before he could find an effective reply, Ardu swung his legs off his couch and sat up, his face a reminder of his grief for his brother, Artfern. ‘There’s no choice! He’s a usurper, and he’s going around murdering innocent people!’ Darius was surprised at the power in his friend’s voice.

  Gobryas was unmoved. ‘I’m sorry about your brother, but it’s bound to happen at the start of a reign. This king, or magus, or whoever he is, he’ll settle down.’

  ‘Oh, so he probably won’t kill me and my sisters too?’ Ardu asked in a dangerous voice. ‘That’s comforting to know. If you’re scared you needn’t join us.’