Carrhae (7 page)

The party of enemy horsemen met a score of Agraci riders in the middle of no-man’s land as I waited with Haytham. The king was in a sullen mood and spoke only to Gallia, reminding her that she was to kill Mark Antony if Rasha had been murdered. Any ebullience or bravado Mark Antony may have had evaporated as we waited for the king’s men to return to our position. He waited on his horse looking ahead, unblinking, small rivulets of sweat running down his noble face. The riders returned to report that King Sampsiceramus himself would meet with Haytham to ensure that the exchange of prisoners went smoothly, but could the meeting be held away from the stench of dead bodies as the king had had a full breakfast and the aroma of decomposing flesh would be offensive to his nose?

I noticed that Haytham’s grip on his horse’s reins tightened as he was informed of this request and for at least a minute afterwards he said nothing. I looked at Malik who wore a stony expression, and when I caught Yasser’s eye he merely shrugged. The rider looked at his king in confusion and then at the group of Agraci and Emesians who waited for an answer.

At last Haytham spoke. ‘He comes into my kingdom uninvited, he kills my warriors and now he complains that their rotting flesh offends him. Perhaps I should slaughter his army so that the stench is so great that it will deter him from entering Agraci territory ever again.’

His lords behind him murmured their approval and several drew their swords. Though it was not my place to do so, I spoke.

‘Lord King, let me parley with Sampsiceramus on your behalf.’

Haytham looked at me. ‘You?’

‘I would consider it an honour.’

Yasser and the other lords looked at each other in confusion, and even Malik looked perplexed.

‘Why should you care if the King of Emesa lives or dies?’ asked Haytham.

‘I do not,’ I replied, ‘but I do care about the life of Rasha who is like a daughter to me.’

‘Why do you, a great warlord, go out of your way to avoid bloodshed?’

I did not dare tell him that it was because I believed that he might lose. ‘Because I value your daughter’s life over my quest for glory.’

Haytham considered for a moment.

‘Very well, for my daughter’s sake and the friendship between Palmyra and Dura I will grant you your wish.’

The rider was sent back to the Emesians and an hour later I was riding with Gallia, Vagises, the Amazons and a hundred other horse archers to meet with the enemy. The venue was two miles to the north, well away from yesterday’s battlefield where ravens and flies were already feasting on dead flesh. Mark Antony rode behind Gallia and me and in front of Vagises, who had his drawn sword resting on his shoulder for the entire journey. We slowed when we saw the enemy party approaching us and then halted as we awaited our guests, the Amazons forming into line behind us and the other horse archers on either side of them. It was now blisteringly hot and windless and I wanted negotiations to be concluded as quickly as possible.

That was a remote hope as the Emesian party inched its way towards us, preceded by at least fifty members of what I assumed were some sort of royal foot guard. Each man was wearing a cuirass of silver scales that shimmered in the sunlight, a bronze helmet adorned with twin silver feathers, his features obscured by a mail face mask. On his left side he carried an oval shield faced in burnished bronze and in his right hand was a javelin. Silver greaves, red tunic and leggings and a long sword completed his appearance.

Behind these sparkling soldiers came a large chariot pulled by four black horses carrying the King of Emesa himself, a huge fat man in a great silver robe that covered his massive bulk. As the chariot edged closer I saw that Sampsiceramus was almost bald aside from two clumps of hair just above his ears. His robe was the size of the eight-man tents used by Dura’s army and there was hardly enough room to accommodate the chariot’s driver.

Beside the chariot walked a muscular black man in his early twenties I estimated, who carried a large silver parasol on the end of a long pole that he held over the chariot so the corpulent king was shaded from the sun. Behind the barefoot black man walked a member of the royal guard holding a great whip in his hand, while on the other side of the chariot walked a tall, wiry man in a white robe with white sandals on his feet. Behind them all tramped an additional two hundred members of the royal guard. The entourage halted around fifty paces from us. Then the man in the white robe moved closer to the chariot where he was spoken to by the king. Moments later he shuffled over to us and stopped in front of me. His long face wore a serious expression and his brown eyes darted from me to Gallia and then Mark Antony. He looked back at me in confusion.

‘I am Harrise, chancellor to the great King Sampsiceramus. We were led to believe that King Haytham himself would be present for the exchange.’

‘He sent me instead,’ I answered.

The chancellor clasped his hands together in front of his chest.

‘And you are?’

‘Pacorus, King of Dura, friend and ally of King Haytham.’

‘And godfather to his daughter, Princess Rasha, whom your king now holds captive,’ added Gallia.

Harrise’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped in surprise.

‘King Pacorus, of course. If your majesty would wait for a few moments while I announce your presence.’

‘Be quick about it, then,’ I said.

He bowed his head then scuttled back to his monarch. I looked at Gallia.

‘Godfather?’

‘A nice touch, I thought,’ she replied.

The reed-thin chancellor returned, sweat running down his wrinkled face.

‘The great King Sampsiceramus would speak to you personally, King Pacorus.’

‘Not until we have seen that Princes Rasha is safe,’ said Gallia forcefully.

Harrise’s brow creased in consternation at the continual interruptions from the helmeted individual sitting on my right.

I smiled at him. ‘This is my queen, Gallia, who is like a mother to the princess. Like her I desire to see that she is alive before I speak to your king.’ I pointed at Mark Antony. ‘As you can see, our prisoner is alive and unharmed.’

So he scurried back to his king once more as the sun rose in the sky and roasted our backs. When he returned his robe was soaked with sweat for the temperature was almost unbearable.

‘The great King Sampsiceramus would be delighted to meet with you, majesty.’ He then bowed his head to Gallia. ‘And you, highness.’

Gallia turned to Vagises. ‘If they try anything, kill him.’

‘Kings do not “try anything”, my sweet,’ I said, ‘it is considered ill manners.’

‘My father was a king,’ she growled, ‘and he sold his own daughter into slavery. I have little respect for royalty.’

We walked our horses ahead as the king’s chariot edged forward, and from the ranks of the royal guard behind it came the familiar figure of Rasha, who was escorted by a great brute in scale armour, helmet, face veil and carrying a huge double-bladed axe, no doubt to kill her if any mischief was attempted. She trudged disconsolately behind the chariot until she saw Gallia coming towards her mounted upon Epona.

‘Gallia!’ she shouted and raised her arm.

‘Have no fear, Rasha,’ my wife answered back. ‘We are here to take you home.’

The phalanx of guards behind her moved forward slowly to be near their king, while behind me the Amazons and the other horse archers pulled their bows from their cases and edged their horses forward, but in truth the atmosphere was not threatening. My initial impression was that the enemy wished to avoid further bloodshed.

I halted Remus around ten paces from the king’s chariot. He really was an enormous man, with a massive fat neck and a bulbous nose. His eyes were very large and protruded from his fat face so that he resembled one of the goldfish that swam in the royal ponds at Hatra. He seemed to be a rather short man until I realised that he was sitting on a chair to relieve his legs of the great strain in supporting such an enormous weight. Directly behind the chariot were half a dozen slaves, all teenage boys, carrying towels and jugs.

‘Greetings King Pacorus,’ said Sampsiceramus in a slightly quivering voice.

I raised my hand to him. ‘Greetings King Sampsiceramus.’

Gallia removed her helmet and shook her hair free. The king’s eyes bulged even more as he examined my wife.

‘And greetings to you, Queen Gallia,’ he slavered.

I could tell that Gallia was disgusted by his appearance and manner but she played the queen and gave him a dazzling smile and bowed her head, causing his heavy breathing to increase. I hoped he would not have a heart attack before our negotiations were concluded.

He nodded to Harrise who waved forward Rasha. Haytham’s daughter looked sullen as she halted next to the gilded chariot.

‘Did they mistreat you, Rasha?’ I asked.

‘No, but they stole
Asad
from me.’

Asad was a fine young stallion that had been given to her by her father. I pointed at Mark Antony sitting on his horse.

‘You see that we have allowed our prisoner to retain his horse, lord king. I would ask you to reciprocate the courtesy with regard to your captive.’

The king screwed up his giant nose but ordered Harrise to get Rasha’s horse. While we waited one of his slave attendants rushed forward and dabbed the sweat-covered royal forehead with a towel.

The king smiled at me. ‘This heat is intolerable.’

‘Indeed, lord king. Far better for all of us to be relaxing in our palaces rather than fighting each other in this bleak desert.’

My words made him uncomfortable and he fidgeted with his plump, ring-adorned fingers while what seemed like an eternity passed before one of his horseman came trotting up with
Asad
in tow. Rasha whooped with delight as he was brought to her and she vaulted into the saddle, though her guard stood before the horse gripping its reins to deter her from riding away. I waved Mark Antony forward and the guard stood aside. Rasha nudged
Asad
as the Roman commander halted beside me.

He offered his hand. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, King Pacorus.’

I shook his hand, much to the disgust of Gallia. ‘The pleasure has been mine. I pray that you will return to Rome safely, Mark Antony.’

He walked his horse forward, passing Rasha who rode to Gallia’s side to embrace my wife.

Sampsiceramus clapped his hands. ‘All’s well that ends well.’ He gave Mark Antony a sideways glance. ‘You may retire to the rear, out of our presence.’

Antony gave him a disparaging look before riding away, while Sampsiceramus tapped his driver on the shoulder to follow him.

‘Just a moment, lord king,’ I called.

Harrise frowned and the king registered surprise.

‘Have not the terms of the exchange been met, King Pacorus?’

‘They have, lord king, but there is another matter I wish to raise.’

‘Oh?’

‘The withdrawal of your army from King Haytham’s territory.’

‘That is between me and Haytham,’ he replied haughtily.

‘I am a friend and ally of King Haytham. I consider any aggression against him to also be an assault against me.’

Sampsiceramus became flustered. ‘I make no war upon Dura, not at all.’

‘By marching your army into my friend’s kingdom you do so.’

‘I have returned Haytham’s daughter as I agreed to do.’

‘If I ride back to Haytham without your promise to return back to Emesa he will recommence hostilities. You can see the great advantage he has in numbers, and tomorrow these will increase when Dura’s army arrives.’

His eyes bulged and he swallowed and I knew I had him. ‘Dura’s army?’

‘Yes, lord king, for I am pledged to fight alongside my ally. As we speak,’ I bluffed, ‘my legions and heavy horsemen are marching towards this place, fresh from their victories in the east and eager to add more glory to their already fearsome reputation.’

The gossip that was carried by the trade caravans would have told of our great victory at Susa, of the death of Narses and the toppling of Mithridates, who anyhow was at Antioch as a guest of the Romans. As he fidgeted with his hands once more I could tell that he was very agitated. As he looked at me and then at Harrise, the parasol above his head moved slightly, allowing the sun’s rays to fall on part of the king’s head. Sampsiceramus looked daggers at the black slave who held the sunshade and then smiled devilishly as the guard lashed his back with the whip. The slave flinched in agony as the leather cut into his flesh and again the parasol moved to expose the crown of the king’s head to the sun. The guard struck the slave’s back again with his whip, making a loud crack on impact. Behind me came angry murmurs from the Amazons, many of them former slaves who had been subjected to such cruelty. The guard flogged the slave a third time, causing him to collapse to his knees and drop the parasol.

‘Kill him,’ ordered Sampsiceramus.

The guard dropped the whip and drew his sword, grasped it with both hands and hoisted it above his head to deliver a fatal blow to the slave. The arrow hit him square in the neck, just under his mail face veil, and caused blood to flood in great spurts from the wound. He collapsed on the ground while behind him the other royal guards raced forward to protect their king.

Gallia strung another arrow in her bowstring as her Amazons and other horse archers brought up their bows and aimed their arrows at Sampsiceramus’ bulk.

‘Order your men to stand down,’ I shouted, ‘otherwise you will be turned into a pin-cushion.’

The king flipped up a fleshy hand to stop his soldiers as he stared in terror at me. This was not how negotiations between kings should be conducted, not at all, made worse by him no longer having any protection from the sun that was now cooking his pink flesh.

The royal guards had locked shields and the front rank stood ready to hurl their javelins, but their king knew that he would be the first to die and so commanded Harrise to order his guards to stay where they were.

I pointed at the slave struggling to his feet. ‘He will be coming with me. What is his name?’

The king blinked, his head beaded with sweat. ‘Name?’