Parthian Vengeance (3 page)

By the time he had relayed all this information we had reached the gates of his mansion.

‘I would like to meet this mysterious woman of yours,’ I remarked casually.

‘And I would like you to meet her, Pacorus.’

We strolled across the courtyard flanked by stables, storerooms, a small barracks and an armoury that held the weapons of the governor’s guards.

‘Perhaps you could bring her to the palace one evening.’

He paused at the foot of the mansion’s steps leading to the columned entrance.

‘I have a better idea, why don’t you bring Gallia here and I can entertain you both.’

I smiled at him. ‘That would be most excellent, my friend.’

Godarz smiled. He was clearly very happy and I was happy for him. He was extremely diligent in the execution of his duties as governor and his workload had increased substantially after Dura had become a major trading hub in the western part of the empire. At that moment a figure appeared at the top of the steps, a man I estimated to be in his mid-twenties with dark brown shoulder-length hair and a powerful build. He walked down the stone steps and bowed his head to Godarz.

‘Ah, Pacorus, this is Polemo, my new headman. Polemo, meet your king.’

Polemo placed his right hand on his chest and bowed his head to me.

‘Highness.’ His voice was deep and severe. He was certainly an imposing figure, broad shoulders, thick chest and strong arms protruding from the short sleeves of his blue tunic.

‘I assume my presence is required,’ Godarz said.

‘Yes, lord,’ replied Polemo, ‘the city’s chief engineer is awaiting your presence, concerning the water supply to the caravan park.’

Godarz sighed. ‘It seems a governor’s work is never done. Thank you, Polemo. Tell him I will be with him shortly.’

Polemo bowed his head once more and disappeared up the steps and into the mansion.

‘Well, duty calls,’ said Godarz.

‘What’s the story with Polemo?’

‘Oh he’s been with me for a few weeks now. Turned up unannounced at the gates one day and asked for an audience. He used to work in the palace at Zeugma until old Darius took a fancy to him, so he ran away and pitched up here.’

I shuddered. It appeared Darius’ tastes had now extended to more mature prey.

‘He was a slave?’ I asked. ‘He looks like a soldier.’

Godarz shook his head. ‘He’s as gentle as a lamb. Reads poetry, would you believe? He’s freeborn but his parents got him into the royal residence at Zeugma so he could learn to be a clerk. He can read and write Greek and Latin as well as Parthian. Darius’ loss is my gain.’

Gallia was standing by the entrance to Remus’ stall as I rubbed him down. It was a task that could have been performed by any one of the stable hands but I found that physical labour prevented me from dwelling on things, in this case Mithridates. I always took Remus out in the morning to the training fields where I put him through his paces, and afterwards rode him back to the Citadel’s stables. Now I stood brushing his long white tail.

‘I know that you think that your refusal to pay tribute will prompt Mithridates to march against you, but he will not and you know it.’

‘Do I?’ I unwittingly tugged on Remus’ tail, causing him to grunt in protest and turn his head towards me.

Gallia shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t take it out on Remus. It’s not his fault that you can’t get what you want.’

I decided to change the subject. ‘Where are our daughters?’

‘Isabella and Eszter are with their nurses and Claudia is with Dobbai.’

‘Claudia spends too much time with Dobbai. I shudder to think what she is learning from her.’

Gallia frowned. ‘You know they are close. They like spending time together.’

‘Too close. Dobbai is probably filling her head with nonsense.’

Gallia’s expression hardened. ‘The same nonsense that got you made king; that saved your crown and tells you the future? Is that the nonsense you allude to?’

I threw down the brush. ‘All I am saying is that a young girl should not spend so much time with her; that is all.’

I began shovelling freshly produced dung into a wheelbarrow, just one of the treats I allowed myself each day.

‘What do you know of this woman Godarz is seeing?’ asked Gallia, changing the subject.

I wiped my sweating brow on the sleeve of my shirt.

‘About as much as you do. Her father is a rich head of a trade guild based in Anauon.’

She raised an eyebrow at this. ‘That is a long way from here. Why would she suddenly arrive in Dura?’

I shrugged. ‘Same reason why all the other merchants and traders come here – to make money.’

I finished shovelling the dung and pushed the now full wheelbarrow out of the stall. It would be taken to the large tannery several miles south of the river and would be used in the process that turned animal skins into leather vests for the legionaries, belts and horse furniture for the cavalry and a host of other useful items.

‘In any case,’ I continued, ‘we will be meeting her soon. Godarz has invited us to dine with them.’

‘He should have said something to me,’ said Gallia, ‘we are his family, after all.’

I went to put my arms on her shoulders but she recoiled from me, seeing my sleeves smeared with dung.

‘I think not.’

I walked over to a bucket of water on the floor opposite the stall and washed my hands in it.

‘He has told us, or at least me. Besides, he has his life and we have ours. He doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone.’

‘I know that,’ she snapped.

I was not entirely unsympathetic to her viewpoint. I suspected that she was disappointed that he had not confided in her regarding his new love.

‘I am sure he would have told you himself once he became used to the idea,’ I said. ‘After all, he probably hasn’t been in love in an age, and it was Domitus who brought up the subject at the council meeting, much to Godarz’s discomfort.’

‘Well he should have told me, that is all.’

I fastened the gate on the stall and looked at her.

‘Does he need your approval?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

She frowned deeply. ‘I have better things to do than gossip to you.’

She didn’t really, but I could tell that she had been stung by Godarz’s secrecy and once her blood was up there was no chance of her seeing sense. She sighed, turned and waved her hand at me.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To see Godarz, of course. I might as well talk to Remus than you for all the sense you are making.’

With that she was gone. Poor Godarz, an afternoon being interrogated by my wife lay ahead of him. Truth be told the romantic life of my governor fascinated me not at all, however the affairs of powers beyond Dura’s borders did, in this instance an invitation to Palmyra from King Haytham of the Agraci.

So a few days later I rode from the city with a small escort that included Orodes and fifty horse archers. We headed west and into the territory of the Agraci. They were a tribe of nomads who inhabited the northern part of the Arabian Peninsula; the tribe named the Bedouin populated the southern part. When I had first come to Dura open warfare had existed between my kingdom and the Agraci, but I had made peace with their king and ever since that time our two realms had prospered. The trade caravans passed through Dura on their way west through Agraci territory and then on to Egypt where they sold their precious wares. Of course Haytham charged them for the privilege of travelling through his domain, but in return he guaranteed their safety. He made a profit, they made a profit and everyone was happy, though many in the empire openly criticised Dura and its king for making peace with the accursed Agraci. Lord High General Narses had even boasted that he would rid the earth of the Agraci, but that had been over three years ago and since then neither them or I had seen hide or hair of him.

We rode at a steady pace, partly to spare the horses in the heat but mostly because the track west was literally heaving with traffic. Camels, mules, donkeys, carts and wagons stretched ahead as far as the eye could see. I smiled to myself. Most of the people on the road were Parthians – when there was money to be made people could always be relied upon to put their differences and prejudices aside.

Eventually we left the highway and rode parallel to it, a column of riders in white long-sleeved shirts and floppy hats, our helmets swinging from our saddles. Our bows were also hanging from our saddles while our quiver straps were slung over our shoulders. As usual I wore my Roman leather cuirass and the helmet on my saddle was Roman with a white goose feather crest. These items were gifts from a friend and were almost as dear to me as the sword that hung from my belt. This was also Roman, a cavalry sword called a
spatha
. Brown leggings and leather boots completed my appearance.

Orodes rode beside me, his leather cuirass covered in bronze and iron plates shimmering in the sunlight. He too wore a simple wide-brimmed hat on his head, his richly appointed helmet jangling on his saddle. I always felt extremely guilty about the circumstances that Orodes found himself in; made worse by the fact that he never complained or resented the ill hand that the gods had dealt him. I swore that one day I would make it up to him.

‘I’ve never seen so much traffic on the road, Pacorus. So much for my stepbrother’s orders that all trade through Dura should cease.’

‘I heard that the Chinese emperor himself had complained to Mithridates about such a demand,’ I replied.

‘Even the king of kings thinks twice before interfering with the empire’s trade.’

‘He’s not the king of kings,’ I said, ‘he’s just a thief and murderer who occupies the high throne only temporarily.’

Orodes smiled at me and shook his head. ‘Alas, my friend, I fear you are wrong. Mithridates is high king and is accepted as such by the other kings of the empire.’

‘Not this one,’ I retorted.

He laughed. ‘No, not you, nor I for that matter, but we are in a minority, I fear.’

But Orodes was only half right, for I had the support of those kings who ruled the western part of the empire, plus the allegiance of the two kingdoms that guarded Parthia’s northeastern border, Margiana and Hyrcania. On the other side of the Euphrates to Dura lay the Kingdom of Hatra between the Tigris and Euphrates – my father’s kingdom. The waters of these two great rivers irrigated his land and grew the crops that were ripened by the great sun god Shamash, which meant that the people prospered. And He had blessed my father’s kingdom further by ensuring that the great Silk Road ran through the middle of Hatra.

‘We have many supporters across the Euphrates, Orodes. We are not alone.’

‘None of the other kings will march against Ctesiphon,’ he said. ‘No one wants another civil war.’

It took us five days to reach Haytham’s capital, a vast desert settlement of tents around the oasis of Palmyra. There was once a time when a column of Parthian horsemen would have been intercepted long before it reached Palmyra, but now our Agraci allies received us warmly enough. Haytham’s soldiers, black-robed men with black tattoos adorning their faces, policed the Silk Road through his territory. A party had joined us not long after we had left Dura, more for the company than for reasons of security. Their leader was a wiry man with a brown face and light brown eyes, his horse a magnificent grey mare.

‘Do you have any problems on the road?’ I had asked him.

He shook his head. ‘No, lord, perhaps an argument when a collision has happened but nothing more serious than that.’ He looked almost disappointed.

‘A far cry from the years when your people and mine were at war.’

His eyes flashed with enthusiasm. ‘Yes, lord. Then the desert ran red with blood when we raided Dura’s lands.’ He stopped, a mortified look on his face.

‘Forgive me, lord, I did not mean...’

‘It is quite all right,’ I assured him. ‘There was war and now there is peace. Let us hope it lasts.’

He looked away into the vastness of the desert. ‘You have the friendship of my king and his children and the respect of my people. If someone had told me before you came that Agraci and Parthian would sit together round a fire and share a meal I would have thought them mad. But it is so and yet…’

He cast me a sideways glance, as if reluctant to continue. ‘Speak freely.’

He nodded. ‘But when you and my king have left this world, will Parthian and Agraci shed each other’s blood once more?’

‘Let us hope that will not be the case,’ I replied.

He was right about the present, though. The only threats to the peace were the wretched caravan dogs that barked, growled and snapped at all and sundry. They were a menace to friend and foe alike. We said our farewells to our escort a day from Palmyra and made the rest of the journey unaccompanied. The landscape of the Tadmorean Desert is desolate, but the settlement of Palmyra in which it lies is green and lush, fed by the water that springs from the earth. Haytham’s son, Prince Malik, met us at the outskirts. He was tall and lean, his face adorned with black tattoos; dressed in a black robe he presented a fearsome appearance. He halted his black stallion in front of us and beamed with delight.

‘Hail Pacorus, hail Orodes.’

I reached over and shook his hand. ‘It is good to see you again, my friend.’

Orodes greeted Malik similarly. It was a happy reunion of friends who had fought together many times. He rode beside us as we walked our horses through the heaving tented city that was Palmyra where the trade caravans, their personnel and animals were housed in a separate area to the south of the main settlement. After we had brushed the dust from our clothes and rested we were shown to Haytham’s tent, situated in the middle of Palmyra. Our horses were taken from us and guards escorted us inside. Like King Haytham the tent was big and imposing. The central section was cool and light, courtesy of a ventilation hole cut in the top of the roof. The king rose from the cushions on the carpet-covered floor and we bowed our heads to him. He looked in a relaxed mood in his baggy black leggings and white shirt, his black hair hanging loosely around his shoulders.