Parthian Vengeance (26 page)

Vardan stopped moving when we entered.

‘Ah, Pacorus, thank the gods you are here.’

I bowed my head. ‘At your service, lord king.’

‘Yes, yes.’ He pointed at a servant. ‘Fetch us refreshments. Have you eaten, are you hungry? And wine, we must have wine.’

He became aware of the others with me and walked over to Orodes and embraced him.

‘Forgive me my lack of manners, lord prince.’

He turned to Nergal and embraced him too. ‘And my thanks to you King Nergal, the sword that guards Babylon’s southern border.’ Nergal, unaccustomed to the etiquette of kings, was momentarily surprised by Vardan’s show of affection but quickly recovered. ‘It is an honour, lord.’

Vardan kissed Gallia and Praxima, hailing them as close friends of his daughter, Princess Axsen. His complexion became ashen at the thought of his only child in peril.

Slaves brought in silver jugs, poured wine into jewel-adorned silver cups and served them to us from gold trays. If only Vardan spent as much on his army as he did on his rich living! A blast of trumpets signalled the arrival of my father as more slaves positioned a large rectangular table with ornately carved legs in front of us. It was at least six feet wide and over double that in length. Upon the table was unrolled a beautiful tapestry that depicted the entire Parthian Empire. The base colour was a rich yellow, with the course of the Euphrates and Tigris rivers depicted in blue and cities and towns marked with black thread. It must have taken months to create such a masterpiece. But awe-inspiring as it was, the money and resources devoted to creating it would have been better spent on soldiers and weapons for Babylon’s army.

My father was shown into the throne area and he embraced Vardan. He had brought Vistaspa, who bowed stiffly to the King of Babylon. Gafarn, who accompanied my father, smiled and laid his hands on the king’s shoulders, assuring Vardan that we were all here to help him and he should not worry. My brother’s words seemed to have a calming effect on Vardan, if only for a while. My father pointedly ignored Nergal and me. I had heard from Gafarn that my father had taken a dim view of my placing Nergal, formerly an officer in Hatra’s army, on Mesene’s throne. He thought even less of Praxima, a former whore, becoming Parthian royalty. I did not care; they were my friends and I trusted them both, which is more than I could presently say of Hatra.

More slaves brought silver platters heaped with pastries, sweet meats, yoghurt, dried fruit and bread as we all gathered round the table. At its head Vardan stood with arms folded, staring glumly at the map of the empire. His eyes were fixed on his city of Babylon. My father stood halfway down the table, resting his hands on the edge, flanked by Vistaspa on his right and Gafarn on his left. I stood across the table, directly opposite my father, Orodes on my right and Nergal on my left. Praxima stood next to her husband with Gallia on her other side. Thus four kings, two queens and two princes stared at the map lying before them. Vardan looked at one of his officers.

‘General Mardonius, you will be our guide.’

A man in his late fifties with thick grey hair handed a slave his helmet and walked to the table, a long cane in his right hand. He bowed his head to Vardan and pointed the end of the cane at where Babylon was marked on the map.

Vardan sighed deeply. ‘My friends, word reached me earlier that Babylon is now encircled by the forces of Narses and Mithridates. Axsen managed to send a messenger alerting me to her peril before the city was closely invested. It appears that the enemy has also destroyed many villages on their march south from the Tigris to Babylon. As well as being encircled by the enemy the city is awash with refugees from the surrounding area.’

‘It grieves me to hear such news, my friend,’ said my father. ‘Hatra’s army is at your disposal.’

‘As is Dura’s,’ I announced.

‘And Mesene’s,’ added Nergal.

Vardan’s mouth showed a slight smile. ‘I thank you all. I shall be marching south at once along the Euphrates.’ Mardonius moved the end of the cane from our present position, approximately eighty miles north of Babylon, down to the Euphrates and then along the river to Babylon. Three days’ march, more or less.

‘Sensible,’ agreed my father.

I looked at the map and saw another possibility present itself.

Vardan looked at my father. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

I looked at the map, to where Dura was marked on the western bank of the Euphrates. From my city the great river travels south for a distance of around fifty miles before changing direction to run directly east for nearly a hundred miles. The waterway then changes course again, this time southeast for another hundred miles, before resuming its southerly course once more. Our present location was near where the river changes direction from southeast to directly south. We were within a day’s march of the Euphrates and two days away from the Tigris.

‘May I suggest another strategy, lord?’ I said at length.

My father folded his arms and stared at me disapprovingly.

Vardan was confused. ‘Another strategy?’

I held out my palm to Mardonius for his cane. He handed it to me. I used it to point to where Ctesiphon was located.

‘You mean to march down the east bank of the Euphrates?’ I asked Vardan.

‘Naturally, it is the quickest route to Babylon.’

‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘But if we strike southeast we would be able to march along the west bank of the Tigris.’

Vardan wore a furrowed brow. ‘The Tigris?’

‘Yes, lord,’ I continued. ‘The enemy retreated across the Tigris when the armies of Hatra, Babylon and Mesene came to my aid.’ I traced the end of the cane from Ctesiphon to Babylon. ‘But then recrossed the Tigris to march southwest when news reached them that you had left Babylon to be here.’

‘All this I know,’ snapped Vardan.

‘Yes, lord,’ I said, ‘but if we strike for the Tigris and then march southwest we can trap the enemy between ourselves and Babylon.’

My father slowly placed his hands on the edge of the table once more. ‘We go to relieve Babylon, not to fight a battle. I would have thought that much was obvious.’

I handed the cane back to Mardonius. ‘The enemy has struck at Babylon believing they can take the city. But Babylon has not fallen.’

I looked at Vardan. ‘It has high walls and an adequate garrison, lord?’

‘It has a garrison, or course,’ replied Vardan. ‘But it will be hard pressed if the enemy attempts an assault.’

I shook my head. ‘They have no means to breach the walls, lord, so any assault will come to grief.’

Only I among all the kings of the empire had siege engines that could breach high and strong walls.

‘The refugees within the city will soon consume the food supplies, majesty,’ said a concerned Mardonius.

‘It is as Mardonius says,’ said Vardan to me.

But I was not to be put off by incidentals. ‘If we leave at dawn and march to the Tigris we can reach Babylon in four days. More importantly we will have severed the enemy’s line of retreat. Mithridates and Narses will be forced to give battle.’

Vardan stared at the map once more, seemingly torn between wanting to reach his capital as soon as possible and the thought of dealing with Mithridates and Narses, who had invaded his kingdom.

He sighed deeply. ‘I came to your aid, Pacorus, because you are a valiant and honourable man and also the son of my friend, Varaz.’

My father bowed his head at Vardan.

‘And Mithridates has insulted me by bringing his army into my kingdom without my permission, and has insulted me further by laying siege to my capital. But your objectives are not mine. If we march to Babylon then Mithridates and Narses will withdraw, I have no doubt of that.’

‘And after that?’ I asked.

‘After that,’ continued Vardan, ‘I will request that Mithridates pays me compensation for the ruin he has visited upon my kingdom.’

I drummed my fingers on the table, causing my father to frown some more.

‘Mithridates will never agree to that, lord. It would be better if the empire was rid of him once and for all.’

Vardan and Mardonius behind him appeared horrified at my suggestion, while my father’s face was like thunder.

‘Your quarrel with Mithridates is not mine, Pacorus,’ said Vardan at length. ‘Have you forgotten the chaos and bloodshed that followed the death of Sinatruces? The empire cannot afford another civil war, not with the Armenians and the nomads of the northern steppes causing trouble on our borders. To say nothing of the Romans.’

‘I concur with Vardan’s thoughts,’ growled my father. ‘You will not drag us into your own private war.’

I laughed. ‘How short is your memory, father. Cast your mind back to when we fought Mithridates and Narses at Surkh, or should I say when I fought them.’

The Battle of Surkh was fought east of Ctesiphon, when Narses had attempted to become king of kings by force. Phraates, the son of Sinatruces and father of Orodes, had been elected to the high crown at the Council of Kings held at Esfahan. But Narses had disagreed with the decision, believing that he should rule the empire. He had enlisted the aid of the eastern kings of the empire, plus Mithridates, who had turned against his own father, and had brought a great army to fight those who abided by the decision taken at Esfahan. The two armies met at Surkh. Domitus and the Duran Legion, supported by the Babylonian foot, had destroyed Narses’ foot soldiers, while I commanded my cavalry on the army’s right wing and had led them to victory over the enemy horsemen opposite them. The army of Hatra had been positioned on the left wing of the army and had done nothing that day but stand and watch the enemy being routed and escape to safety.

My father looked at Vardan in confusion. ‘Surkh, what nonsense is this?’

My blood was up now. ‘If you had attacked that day Narses and Mithridates would not have escaped, Phraates would not have been murdered by his own son and we would not be standing round a table arguing how to relieve Babylon.’

My father jabbed a finger at me. ‘Have a care, Pacorus. The support of Hatra and Babylon, so freely given, can be just as easily withdrawn. How short is your memory? Just a few days ago you were surrounded and half-dead in the middle of the desert. Do not add ingratitude to your list of failings.’

Nergal and Praxima were squirming with embarrassment at this exchange, and even Gafarn appeared to be lost for words. Vardan looked very serious and Mardonius fiddled nervously with his pointing stick. Gallia gave me a look of disapproval, willing me to cease talking. But I could not let it rest.

‘I am grateful of course that you brought your army to this place, father.’ I smiled at Vardan. ‘And I esteem Babylon my most valuable and trusted ally.’ Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vistaspa bristle at the veiled insult to Hatra. ‘But eventually matters will have to be settled with Mithridates and Narses. I say better sooner than later.’

‘Hatra’s army will be marching south with King Vardan to relieve Babylon,’ said my father coolly. ‘If you do not wish to support us then I suggest you take your soldiers back to Dura. But I tell you this, Pacorus, I will not be seeking a battle with Mithridates.’

‘Nor I,’ added Vardan.

‘And if Mithridates marches north to meet us?’ I asked.

My father’s nostrils flared. ‘Then you will have your battle, Pacorus. And if you kill Mithridates then the empire will have need of a new king of kings. And that man will be Narses no doubt. And then the whole process begins again and we will have civil war in the empire once more.’

‘Not if Narses also dies,’ I remarked casually.

Orodes and Vardan stared at me in horror. My father held out his hands.

‘Just how many kings do you intend to kill, Pacorus?’

‘None that do not deserve to die,’ I retorted.

‘Perhaps you wish to be king of kings yourself,’ he remarked with sarcasm.

‘Why not?’ I answered. ‘At least then justice would rule the empire in place of tyranny.’

‘You aspire to the high crown?’ asked Vardan, his brown eyes full of anxiety.

‘No, lord,’ I said. ‘I was merely making the point that the empire would be a better place without Mithridates.’

‘That is not your decision to make,’ said my father. ‘Whether you like it or not, Mithridates is king of kings.’

There followed an angry silence as we all stared at the table and avoided each other’s eyes. The tension was unbearable. Eventually my father spoke to Vardan.

‘It would be best if we marched at dawn, Vardan, along the eastern bank of the Euphrates.’

Vardan looked up at him and nodded. My father nodded back, turned on his heels and left without acknowledging me, Vistaspa and Gafarn following. I stood back from the table, bowed my head to Vardan and also departed. Gallia, Orodes, Nergal and Praxima trailed in my wake. It had been a most unpleasant meeting and resentment against my father began to rise within me.

In my tent later, in the company of Gallia, Nergal, Praxima and Orodes and with several cups of wine inside me, I began to pace up and down in a temper.

‘We have Mithridates where we want him and my father refuses to see it. This is an opportunity sent by the gods and we ignore it.’

‘Vardan just wishes to see his daughter safe, Pacorus,’ said Gallia, ‘and so do I.’

‘Praxima and I feel the same way,’ said Nergal. ‘We are very fond of Axsen.’

I stopped and clasped a palm to my chest. ‘I love Axsen too, but no one is safe in this world while Mithridates lives. I’m half-tempted to strike for the Tigris myself and leave Vardan and my father to relieve Babylon.’ I emptied my cup and walked over to refill it from the jug that sat on the table. I did so and held it up to Nergal.

‘Are you with me, my old friend?’

Nergal looked at me and glanced at Praxima. Before he could answer Gallia stood up.

‘You have had too much to drink, Pacorus. Even I, a mere woman, know that it is foolish to divide one’s forces in the face of the enemy. Nergal is too polite and loyal to point out that to divide an army would be the height of folly.’

‘The height of folly?’ I said. ‘I think sending Surena and a thousand of my horse archers across the Tigris is more idiotic. You have, my sweet, condemned him and them to death by doing so. Surena was one of my most promising commanders and now he almost certainly lies dead in the desert, vultures picking his bones clean.’