Determined to see for myself what took place within the walls of ‘The Sanctuary’, I walked with Klietas from the Citadel the next morning after riding out to the training fields to watch my squire being put through his paces by a company of horse archers, and afterwards eating breakfast alone on the palace terrace. Gallia was still maintaining her resentful demeanour and decided to eat breakfast with the Amazons, at least those who were not guarding their secretive headquarters. The duty centurion allotted a score of Exiles to provide an escort for the trip into the city. The streets were heaving with people, carts, camels and donkeys, making the going slow as we left the main street to head towards the city’s central square, leading off of which were side streets where the majority of Dura’s brothels were located.
The Exiles used the non-lethal end of their javelins to usher people out of the way, who tended to stop and stare when their commander shouted, ‘make way for the king’. Klietas, sling tucked in his belt and a wicked knife in a sheath next to it, looked around nervously.
‘Is someone after you?’ I asked.
‘No, highborn.’
‘Then why do you look like a rabbit frightened of being seized by an eagle?’
He shook his head. ‘You should not wander the streets, highborn, there are dangerous people about.’
‘I am not wandering the streets, as you quaintly put it. I am taking a stroll in the city I rule. Any king who cannot walk around his own city is either a fool or a tyrant. Have you been to this Sanctuary?’
‘No, highborn, men are not allowed inside.’
‘Is that what Haya told you? I hear you are fond of her.’
He beamed with delight. ‘Yes, highborn, she would make a fine wife.’
I laughed. ‘I have no doubt, and I assume you are the one who wishes to marry her?’
‘If I prove worthy, highborn, yes.’
I wondered if she had told him about the mortal wound she had suffered at Irbil and her miraculous recovery afterwards.
‘I am informed your horsemanship and archery skills are improving by the day,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘You are doing well, Klietas, but you must not let distractions interfere with your training.’
‘Distractions, highborn?’
‘Thoughts of marriage and getting involved in the schemes of the Amazons,’ I told him. ‘If the queen approaches you again about anything, you must inform me immediately.’
‘Yes, highborn.’
‘We are here, majesty.’
I turned to see the commander of the party of Exiles pointing his javelin at the former brothel now den of the Amazons. I was surprised at its spruced-up appearance. The last time I had seen it was when Salar, my son-in-law, was in the city and had wished to see the place where his now dead mother and father had first met. It had always been an impressive two-storey building, with twin oak doors fronting the street it was located in, though when I had seen it last the plaster on the walls was peeling and the doors were cracked and in need of a new coat of paint. There was also a sign over the door depicting a scantily clad buxom woman reclining on a couch. But the sign had gone, the doors were freshly painted, and the plaster was new. The roof tiles, formerly cracked and aged, had also been replaced. The motto of the Amazons – behind every strong man there is a stronger woman – had been chiselled into a dark-grey marble plaque mounted above the doors. Adjacent to the building was a wide alley that led to stables at the rear of the establishment, formerly for the convenience of wealthy clients visiting their favourite whores, but now used for the comings and goings of Amazons. Two of them stood guard either side of the alley’s entrance, another two outside the closed doors of The Sanctuary.
We were spotted immediately, one of the guards at the doors disappearing inside the building and the other taking up position in front of them. The street was empty, which was surprising because when the building had been a brothel it was always bustling with customers at all hours. I told the Exiles to stay where they were and walked up to the doors, Klietas beside me.
The Amazon bowed her head. ‘Majesty.’
‘Who is in charge here?’
Before she could answer one of the doors opened and Minu appeared, wearing mail armour, sheathed sword at her hip. The Amazon who had disappeared into the building followed and assumed her prior position. Klietas smiled at Minu but she ignored him, bowing and focusing her attention on me.
‘How can I help you, majesty?’
‘I wish to see inside The Sanctuary.’
‘Men are forbidden to enter,’ she told me.
‘On whose orders?’
‘The queen’s, majesty.’
I jerked a thumb behind me.
‘You see those soldiers behind me?’
‘Yes, majesty.’
‘I could order them to force an entry if you continue to bar my way.’
‘That would be unfortunate, majesty.’
I lost my temper. ‘Unfortunate! I could have you executed for your insubordination. How dare you speak to me as though we are equals. I am your king and commander and I order you to stand aside.’
‘What’s going on here?’
The sound of horses’ hooves on the dirt and the jangling of harnesses and bits averted my gaze from the rock-like Minu to see Gallia at the head of a score of Amazons, the queen dismounting and striding towards me. She interposed herself between me and Minu, speaking in a low tone.
‘So, poking your nose where it is not wanted. Men are not allowed to enter The Sanctuary, which is called thus because it is a place of refuge from male boorishness.’
‘I am not just any man,’ I retorted. ‘I am the king and as such I may go where I will.’
‘You will not enter The Sanctuary,’ she growled in a low tone.
I could sense her rising temper and saw her nostrils flare. But my own disposition was confrontational, and a loud argument was now inevitable. Or at least would have been had not a runner arrived to divert our attention. The man, sweating and panting, went down on one knee before us.
‘Speak,’ I said.
‘The Princess Claudia has arrived at the Citadel, majesty.’
Gallia was shocked, ‘Claudia, here?’
Instantly her anger and confrontational attitude disappeared, to be replaced by concern. I too forgot about The Sanctuary and thought not of my daughter but rather of a high-ranking Scythian Sister and adviser to King of Kings Phraates. Something must have happened to prise her away from Ctesiphon, something calamitous, perhaps.
‘I will meet you in the Citadel,’ said Gallia, returning to her horse to regain the saddle before leading the mounted Amazons away.
I followed, my leg beginning to ache as I retraced my steps hurriedly, the commander of the Exiles slowing down his men so as not to embarrass their king. Like the runner who had sprinted back to the Citadel to keep pace with the queen, I arrived sweating and panting at the palace. In the courtyard Claudia’s escort – two score of Babylonian mounted spearmen superbly equipped in dragon-skin armour and burnished helmets adorned with purple plumes – were leading their horses to the stables. The Amazons had also dismounted, a stable hand leading the queen’s mare away.
‘Fetch me a towel,’ I told a remarkably fresh-looking Klietas, my squire bounding up the palace steps to disappear into the porch. Ashk, the palace steward, frowned at him as he passed, bowing to me as I walked slowly up the stone steps.
‘I showed the princess to the terrace, majesty, where she and the queen are waiting. Refreshments have been ordered.’
‘Thank you,’ I panted.
‘It is good to see the princess back at Dura, majesty,’ he smiled.
‘Indeed.’
A sharp pain suddenly shot up my leg, causing me to collapse on the stone slabs. The guards standing next to the pillars supporting the porch roof rushed to me, but I waved them back, taking a few seconds to regain my dignity before standing, Ashk lending a hand. A towel was thrust at me.
‘The leg, highborn?’
Klietas was wearing an impious grin.
‘Do you want a walking stick, highborn?’
‘What I want is for you to attend to your duties. Go the stables and assist the staff unsaddling the Babylonians’ horses.’
‘Why can’t they do it?’ he asked.
‘Just go, damn your hide.’
He bowed, turned on his heels and sprinted away. How I envied his young mind and limbs. Ashk, who was no young man himself, assisted me from the porch to the entrance hall and into the throne room, the pain in my leg diminishing to allow me to walk unaided past the dais to the door to the rear of the chamber that led to the palace’s private quarters.
‘Perhaps walking around the city is inadvisable, majesty,’ he suggested, ‘bearing in mind your age.’
I was going to scold him but realised he was right.
‘I will take your advice, Ashk.’
There was a time when Claudia was a striking young woman, with a mischievous smile, a keen mind and her mother’s high cheekbones. She was not beautiful like Gallia but nor was she plain. Once her thick light brown hair tumbled to her shoulders and she wore leggings that hugged her womanly figure and light-coloured tunics and dresses that accentuated her feminine qualities. But that was before her terrible ordeal at the hands of Prince Alexander’s soldiers, her subsequent healing and induction into the Scythian Sisters, the secretive, powerful sect of sorceresses that was a force to be reckoned with in Parthia.
When I walked on to the terrace to greet our oldest daughter the young, carefree woman was long gone, just a fading memory. In her place was a formidable woman clothed entirely in black, with black hair and cold eyes. She smiled at me, but it was in a purely obligatory fashion, planting a kiss on my scarred cheek and noticing my limp.
‘The hero of Irbil,’ she remarked mockingly, ‘alas, father, the reality before me is far removed from the myth currently circulating within the empire.’
I hobbled to my chair beneath the awning and eased myself into it.
‘Have you come to Dura just to mock your father?’
Gallia, who had remained seated during my entrance, sipped at her fruit juice. A servant offered me a cup of the same beverage and I took it gratefully. Others placed small silver plates containing pastries, sweet meats, grapes, pomegranates, figs, apples, raisins and almonds on the low tables between our cushioned seats.
I picked up a pastry. ‘Is your journey one of pleasure or business?’
Claudia sat and nibbled on a grape. ‘The high king wonders why you have been ignoring his letters, father, especially after he was so concerned to hear of your trial at Irbil.’
‘A trial he orchestrated,’ remarked Gallia coolly. ‘Did you also have a hand in encouraging Atrax and the Armenians to invade Parthia, which led to the death of Rasha?’
Claudia’s eyes darted between us. She finished eating the grape and picked up another.
‘I grieved deeply when I learned she had died. And to answer your question, no, I had no hand in Phraates’ encouragement of Atrax.’
‘I thought Phraates was a puppet of the Scythian Sisters, a man who is high king but answers to your sisterhood.’
Claudia rolled her eyes.
‘I am merely an adviser to the high king, father, not his jailer.’
‘More’s the pity,’ remarked Gallia. ‘Thanks to his plotting, Rasha is dead. That will not be forgotten.’
‘Phraates did not kill Rasha, mother; rather, it was Spartacus who brought about Atrax’s invasion of Media.’
I laughed mockingly. ‘I saw the letter signed by Phraates himself, which encouraged Atrax to invade Media.’
Claudia turned a third grape in her fingers.
‘If Spartacus had not invaded Armenia, King Artaxias would never have allowed Atrax to march his army through his kingdom, notwithstanding any letter that Phraates may have signed.’
‘ Did sign,’ I said.
‘His scheming nearly cost Akmon and Lusin their lives,’ added Gallia, ‘though we have taken measures to safeguard both their lives and their reign.’
Claudia stopped toying with the grape.
‘Oh?’
I had to admit I enjoyed revealing to her the details of the alliance between Media, Hatra and Dura, partly to remind Phraates that he was not the only one who could plot, but also to remind Claudia and her black-robed sisters they did not rule the Parthian Empire.
‘You should tell your master,’ I said with relish, ‘that our three kingdoms can easily put one hundred thousand men into the field.’
‘More than enough to send the Armenians fleeing back to their homeland should they be tempted to cross the Araxes again,’ added Gallia.
Claudia sipped at her fruit juice. ‘My congratulations, I am glad to discover you still remain diligent concerning the defence of the empire.’
‘Which is more than can be said for Phraates,’ sniffed Gallia.
I raised my cup to her, but Claudia’s temper was beginning to fray.
‘Phraates is concerned with safeguarding the empire. It is Spartacus who acts like a brigand and in so doing places Parthia in danger. However, with regard to Media, it seems it was never in danger and nor were its rulers.’
She rose and walked to the balustrade, placing her hands on the stone to stare at the blue waters of the Euphrates below. I looked at Gallia who shook her head.
Claudia turned to face us. ‘Curious is it not?’
‘What is?’ I asked, eating a second pastry.
‘That the King and Queen of Dura happened to find themselves in Irbil just before Atrax and his army appeared before its walls.’
I shrugged, avoiding her eyes. ‘Mere coincidence.’
‘Mere coincidence,’ she repeated. ‘Let us accept for the moment it was so. That you just happened to find yourselves in Irbil, though who informed you the city was in peril remains a mystery.’
‘Lucky for Parthia we were there to aid Akmon and Lusin,’ said Gallia.
Claudia walked back to her seat.
‘At Ctesiphon we heard stories of the King and Queen of Dura wearing magical armour, against which the weapons of the enemy were useless. And you can imagine my surprise when I heard other tales of King Pacorus and Queen Gallia having more vigour and stamina than people half their age, like demi-gods, if the anecdotes are to be believed.’
‘Back-street tittle-tattle,’ I retorted, ‘I am surprised you listen to such idle gossip.’
‘Can I see it?’ asked Claudia.
‘What?’
‘The armour you wore at Irbil.’
I had had enough. ‘I am not here to be interrogated, Claudia. You forget who you are talking to.’
‘You should have more respect for your parents,’ said Gallia sternly.
Claudia leaned back and stared up at the awning.
‘A while ago, Phraates told me of a troubling dream he had experienced, though nightmare would be a more accurate description. He disclosed to me that Shamash himself appeared to him and revealed he had offered the high crown to the King of Dura.’
‘Are you an adviser or fortune teller?’ Gallia taunted her.
Claudia ignored her. ‘The dream alarmed Phraates greatly, and consequently he is taking measures to curtail the man he believes has for too long cast a shadow over Parthia, and indeed his own reign.’
She fixed me with her cold eyes.
‘Me?’ I exclaimed.
‘You, father. It is not lost on Phraates, or indeed the empire, that you are an influential figure in Parthia.’
‘If he is,’ said Gallia, ‘it is because your father has dedicated his life to serving Parthia.’
‘And Phraates is grateful for that service,’ smiled Claudia, ‘but try to see things from his point of view. Dura, Hatra and Media have an alliance; Kewab, a protégé of Dura, is a powerful satrap in the east of the empire; Karys, the Jew, rules Mesene; and Salar, King of Sakastan, is married to your daughter, Isabella.’
I had to admit the list was impressive, though I had never considered it a power bloc to challenge the authority of the high king.
‘Phraates should remember those who came to his aid when Tiridates deposed him,’ growled Gallia.
Claudia smiled at her mother but did not reply to her.
‘Phraates believes a realignment of power within the empire is long overdue,’ she continued. ‘He has decided to replace Karys with Sanabares and to abolish Kewab’s rank of Satrap of the East.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Another one of Phraates’ sycophantic courtiers?’ sneered Gallia.
‘He is the satrap of Susiana, mother, and is a loyal and conscientious ruler, if a little dour. But more to the point, he is not a Jew.’
‘What does than matter?’ I said. ‘I have never questioned a man’s faith or judged him on his race or parentage.’
‘But you follow our gods, father, and have always prayed to Shamash, the Sun King, the God of Truth, Justice and Right. You also honour Ishtar, Marduk, Erra and Girra.’
Gallia laughed and gave me a knowing look. If only Claudia knew of our shared experience. What would she make of it; what would she make of us? I too chuckled. She would probably think we were mad.
‘It is no laughing matter,’ she rebuked us. ‘The Jews are loyal above all to Yahweh.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘How ignorant you are, father. Yahweh, also called Tzur Yisrael, Avinu Malkeinu and Melech ha-M’lachim, is the god the Jews worship, pledging their loyalty to him alone, irrespective of whether they are ruled by a pharaoh, king of kings or the Roman senate. No Parthian kingdom should be ruled by a Jew because they are unreliable.’
I raised my eyes to the heavens. ‘I used to hear the same rubbish from Dobbai all those years ago.’
‘Sage advice,’ said Claudia.
‘Karys was trusted by Nergal and Praxima and that is good enough for me,’ stated Gallia.
‘Me too,’ I agreed.
‘Nergal and Praxima are dead,’ replied Claudia.
Gallia erupted, jumping from her chair and pointing accusingly at her daughter.
‘Dead because of that pompous jackass who sits on Ctesiphon’s throne, who now seeks to eradicate their legacy by appointing his own lackey to rule Mesene. And he is going to dismiss Kewab, the man who saved the eastern half of the empire? That’s ingratitude of the highest order.’
Taken aback, Claudia sought to soothe her mother’s anger.
‘Kewab’s appointment was always a temporary measure, mother. Surely, you did not think he would be made King of Aria?’
‘Then who will be?’ I asked.
‘Altan,’ she said softly.
Her answer did nothing to calm my wife down.
‘Altan? The snake who helped Tiridates forge the alliance that toppled Phraates.’
She looked at me. ‘You should have killed him when you had the chance.’
I nodded. ‘I am apt to agree.’
Claudia threw up her arms. ‘How easy it is to criticise from the safety of Dura, a thousand miles from the empire’s eastern border. You think Phraates wishes to appoint Altan, a man whose life you argued should be saved, father? No. But he recognises that Altan comes from an old and influential Arian family, one that holds great power in his kingdom. Of all the surviving lords of Aria, he is the logical choice to be crowned king to unite those lords in the face of the Kushan threat.’
‘The Kushan threat has diminished greatly,’ said Gallia.
‘But it still exists, mother, and will no doubt flare up again in the future, which is why Phraates needs to plant the seeds of loyalty on his eastern frontier.’
‘I did not know you had become a poet, Claudia,’ I said sarcastically.
She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘The kingdoms of the east are in a weakened position following their defeat at the Battle of Ctesiphon.’
‘Are we supposed to feel sorry for traitors?’ hissed Gallia.
‘You and father defeated the army of Tiridates and in so doing butchered thousands of the eastern kings’ best soldiers.’
‘That is the nature of defeat,’ I remarked smugly. ‘The losing side suffers high losses.’
She ignored me. ‘And let us not forget the kings of Anauon and Yueh-Chih also fell at Ctesiphon, which meant of the six kingdoms guarding the empire’s eastern frontier, only Antiochus of Drangiana and Salar of Sakastan are left alive to provide leadership against the Kushans.’
‘Your arithmetic is faulty,’ I told her, ‘for you forgot about Phanes who rules Carmania.’
Now it was her turn to laugh.
‘Phanes is a drunken fool who spends his days raging against the world, though by all accounts he is quite mad. He is fortunate to have a capable son, Babak, to keep the kingdom in some sort of order. Rumour is civil war is about to break out in Carmania.’
‘Can’t you send one of your witches to cast a spell of harmony over the kingdom?’ I jested.
She gave me a condescending stare.
‘How childish you can be at times, father. If Carmania descends into civil strife, Phraates will request King Salar to assist Prince Babak, as the two have been in correspondence for many months. I am hopeful they will form an alliance, which will secure the southern sector of the eastern frontier.’
‘So, the only obstacle to your little plan is Phanes,’ I said. I looked at Gallia. ‘Expect him to be poisoned in the coming months.’
I could see Claudia’s expression harden but she did not let anger get the better of her. Instead, she picked up an apple and bit into it, chewing for a few seconds before speaking.
‘Phraates considers the recent campaign led by King Ali to have been a success, though not a triumph. He believes another expedition led by Ali would…’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘No more of Dura’s soldiers will be riding east, and I can state with some certainty that you will receive the same answer in Hatra and Vanadzor.’
Claudia was shocked. ‘The Kushans are the enemies of Parthia, father, and you have always been the first to defend the empire.’
‘Not any more,’ I stressed, ‘I am retiring.’
‘ We are retiring,’ said Gallia, conveniently forgetting about her ambition to assassinate Dura’s surviving enemies.
I smiled at Claudia. ‘There you have it. For forty years we have ridden hither and thither in the defence of Parthia, fighting battles too numerous to mention and in the process losing thousands of soldiers. Dura’s soldiers will no longer be falling on foreign soil; they will exist purely to defend the interests of this kingdom.’
Claudia was shocked and for a split-second I detected fear in her cold, calculating eyes. She took another bite of her apple, placed the core on a dish and brought her hands together.
‘I was not born when you marched against Porus and defeated him on the other side of the Euphrates, before assisting the current high king’s grandfather in defeating Narses at the Battle of Surkh. As you say, since that time Dura’s army has been at the heart of efforts to defend the empire. Today, that army is a living legend and I have heard its mere presence on the battlefield is enough to cower an enemy.’
‘Not in my experience,’ I said bluntly.
‘Be that as it may, father,’ she snapped, ‘if you retire from the empire’s affairs then Parthia will be weakened, for it is known that Hatra follows Dura’s lead. At a stroke, the two most formidable armies in the empire will no longer be available to the high king.’
I stood and walked to the balustrade, the ache in my leg having finally subsided.
‘The high king has relied on Dura for too long, Claudia, and in any case, he has a new lord high general to fight his wars.’
‘King Ali is not Pacorus of Dura,’ she replied.
‘That’s true,’ I agreed, ‘he’s younger, fitter and full of energy. I am old, Claudia, and have no desire to see the face of battle again.’
I used my fingers to count the number of kingdoms Ali could call upon to form a very large army.
‘Babylon, Persis, Atropaiene, Susiana and Gordyene, all able to put at least twenty thousand men into the field, which totals one hundred thousand soldiers. More than enough to fight the Kushans and reinforce the armies of the eastern kings.’
‘And I daresay Media, once it has recovered, will be more than willing to contribute to the defence of the empire,’ added Gallia.
Claudia sank into a sullen silence, eating an almond cake, her honeyed words having failed to win us over. Ashk appeared on the terrace, bowing to me, smiling at a now miserable-looking Claudia and then bowing to Gallia before whispering in my ear.
‘Show him in,’ I said.
When he disappeared, I leaned in closer to Claudia.
‘Elymais is also part of our self-defence league, just in case Phraates, in a moment of vindictiveness, decides to murder Cia and her infant son.’
My daughter frowned. ‘You are forgetting the demi-god Prince Pacorus of Hatra is her guardian, father. The irony being Cia is in more danger from him than Phraates.’
‘Impossible,’ I insisted.
‘It’s no use uttering a bad word about your father’s namesake,’ said Gallia, ‘he won’t hear of it.’
‘Well, you can be assured that Phraates has no ill intentions towards the infant or his mother,’ Claudia assured us.
Ashk escorted Almas onto the terrace, the former commander of horse archers bowing to us as I rose from my seat. Despite his great wealth, he wore a simple white tunic and tan leggings, a pair of brown leather boots completing his appearance. In fact, he looked like an ordinary horse archer and I wondered if he deliberately dressed in such a manner to preserve the memory of his time in Dura’s army. A simple leather cover strapped around the wrist concealed the stump on the end of his left arm.
‘Claudia, this is Almas, the city’s deputy governor.’
He bowed to her and she in turn fixed her stare on his stump.
‘Almas is a veteran of the army,’ I told her to save any awkward silences.
She stood and walked over to the tall former army officer.
‘You lost your hand in battle, sir?’
‘Yes, highness, at the Araxes River during the Phraaspa campaign, nearly ten years ago now.’
She reached inside her robe and pulled out a chain at her neck, hanging from which was a lock of hair.
‘We all lost precious things during that campaign.’
Her eyes were suddenly pools of sadness and her face momentarily showed an expression of utter despair, before the cold Scythian Sister returned. I looked at Gallia and both of us remembered Valak, the dashing commander of King Silaces’ bodyguard, whom Claudia had fallen in love with. Only for their love to be cruelly ended by his murder.
‘You bring news of the new irrigation system, Almas?’ I asked, eager to change the subject.
‘Yes, majesty,’ he beamed. ‘Work will be complete in a month and in addition to reducing the damage caused by the spring melt waters, will hopefully lead to increased crop yields.’
‘You have become a farmer, father?’ said Claudia mockingly.
‘I have done with fighting, and you know what? Dirt is easier to wash off your hands than blood. For years I took Dura for granted. It was the city from which I planned military campaigns. After we had made peace with the Agraci, I gave little thought to the farmers that toiled in the fields, thinking the caravans of the Silk Road provided the wealth that enabled me to build and maintain the army.’
‘They are,’ said Claudia.
‘They provide money, nothing more,’ I replied, ‘but the real wealth of this kingdom resides in the thousands of men and woman who toil in the fields under an unforgiving sun.’
Claudia rolled her eyes. ‘You are spending too much time with Greeks, father. You remind me of Plato.’
I wracked my brains, in vain, trying to work out when I had met him.
Claudia looked at me expectantly. ‘One of the Greek philosophers that Alcaeus is so keen on dredging up. Where is he, by the way?’
‘Gone on a trip to Greece,’ Gallia informed her, ‘he wants to see Athens again before he dies.’
Another roll of the eyes. ‘I assume Athens is like any other city, being filled with noxious fumes, cripples, beggars, prostitutes and politicians. So, the army has no head of its medical corps. How remiss of you, father.’
‘On the contrary,’ I replied smugly, ‘it has a rather excellent replacement chosen by Alcaeus himself, a fellow Greek named Sophus.’
Claudia was silent for a few seconds. ‘If I am right, which I invariably am, his name means “skilled” and “clever”. I wonder if there is a Greek word for “humble”?’
‘Who is this Plato,’ I demanded to know.
She pointed at me. ‘He was like you, father, a man who grew disgusted with the bloodshed and rank incompetence of his times. He turned his back on politics to devote his life to philosophy.’
‘Not like me at all, then,’ I said.
‘You are quite like him, father, in as much as you pursue wisdom, understand that wisdom requires understanding of the world, and are determined to remain entirely apart from politics, that is, the affairs of the empire.’
‘I am determined to devote my remaining years to my kingdom, Claudia, which means improving the lives of its citizens, the same citizens who serve in the army and produce the food, weapons, clothing and animals that enable that army to operate effectively. To which end, for months now Almas has overseen the renovation and expansion of the kingdom’s irrigation systems to take full advantage of the waters of the Euphrates.’
‘Most noble,’ said Claudia. ‘But here’s the thing. You may have finished with politics, father, but has politics finished with you?’
‘As I told you, I have retired. And as Phraates is realigning the empire, he will be delighted I have done so.’
I ordered a chair to be brought for Almas and when it arrived, asked him to sit in it, pouring him a cup of fruit juice as Claudia engaged in her favourite pastime: lecturing others.
‘Interesting philosophical point, is it not?’
‘What is?’ I asked, handing Almas a platter of pastries.
‘Can a man who has devoted his whole life to war suddenly become a man of peace?’
I held out a hand to Almas. ‘Here is the living proof he can.’
‘You will forgive my bluntness, Almas,’ said Claudia, ‘but your change of profession was forced upon you when you lost your hand, though you must be a man of remarkable talents to go from being a lowly officer of horse archers to deputy governor of Dura.’
‘Your tongue is too sharp, Claudia,’ Gallia scolded her.
‘You must forgive my daughter, Almas,’ I said.
‘Not at all, majesty,’ he said, finishing a pastry, ‘normally, I would be enjoying a modest living on the pension your majesty has kindly established for wounded veterans. But the gods have been kind.’
‘Which gods?’ demanded Claudia.
‘I pray to Shamash, highness,’ he told her, ‘who has been most generous to an old soldier.’
‘The gods always reward those who pay homage to them, Almas,’ she smiled
‘Contrary to the high king,’ I lamented, ‘who has seen fit to dismiss the man who held his eastern frontier together.’
Almas was surprised. ‘Kewab has been dismissed?’
‘Phraates cannot dismiss his lord high general,’ said Gallia, ‘so instead he has made a scapegoat of Kewab.’
‘His appointment was only temporary,’ insisted Claudia irritably.
‘If only the same could be said of Phraates,’ remarked Gallia.
I laughed and Almas smiled but Claudia was far from amused. Her mission was failing but I was determined that no soldier of Dura would again be fighting in a high king’s wars. The kingdom deserved peace, its people deserved peace and their king and queen deserved peace.
‘Tell me about irrigation, Almas,’ smiled Claudia.
That night I penned a letter to Kewab telling him he would always have a home and position at Dura.
Claudia left two days later, after first visiting The Sanctuary and spending many hours inside its walls. In my quest for a quiet life I forgot about forcing my way past its doors and told Gallia as much the evening prior to our daughter’s departure for Ctesiphon.
‘I have no wish to argue with you,’ I said, ‘I have not the energy. So I surrender to your wishes.’
We were in the corridor of the palace’s private quarters, Claudia having already retired to her old bedroom to get a good night’s sleep before her journey on the morrow. The palace was quiet, the corridor being cast in a pale-yellow light produced by oil lamps flickering in recesses in the walls.
She embraced me. ‘You are right, we should not bicker, especially at our age.’
I made to go to the guest bedroom where I had been sleeping, but she pulled me back.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I thought….’
She pressed a finger to my lips. ‘Allow me to be a generous victor.’
With that she led me towards our bedroom, a sultry glint in her eye. I felt a tingle of excitement in my loins.
Careful Pacorus, your lust might be making demands your tired old body cannot fulfil.
We said farewell to Claudia in the courtyard the next day, the sky cloudy and grey to match the mood of our daughter, which had darkened when both Gallia and I had told her we would not be visiting Ctesiphon in the near future, if at all.
‘Phraates is welcome to come to Dura any time,’ I told her as her richly uniformed Babylonian escort waited in line behind her, ‘but I have little inclination to leave Dura.’
‘Me neither,’ added Gallia.
Claudia looked around the courtyard. ‘He will be disappointed.’
‘An emotion I have experienced many times,’ I said, ‘mainly due to men like Phraates.’
She suddenly looked at me. ‘Dura must remain a loyal ally of the high king, father.’
‘Dura has always been loyal,’ I replied, ‘but loyalty cuts both ways. Try to keep a muzzle on Phraates, especially his scheming against Spartacus, which almost cost the lives of your mother and father.’
She smiled. ‘It is not your destinies to die in Irbil, or any other city of the empire. I have arranged a present for you, mother. Farewell.’
She turned her horse and rode from the Citadel, her Babylonian escort forming two files behind her.
Life at Dura continued as normal, Claudia keeping us abreast of developments from her privileged position as the high king’s adviser. If Phraates had been angered or disappointed by our decision to absent Dura from the politics of the empire she did not say so, but she did report that Sanabares had been made King of Mesene and the former ambassador Altan became King of Aria. We received happy news from Sigal that Isabella was pregnant with a second child, both she and Salar begging us to visit Sakastan to meet our first grandchild and hopefully our second. We replied that we would make the journey in the autumn when the heat of summer had abated. In truth neither of us looked forward to a thousand-mile journey that would take upwards of five weeks, but it was advisable to undertake it before either one or both of us was unable to ride.
In a vision of the future, I rode in a cart with Gallia to the opening of the new irrigation system a month to the day after Almas had visited the palace to announce the date of its completion. It was not because we had suddenly become unable to ride in a saddle, but rather to keep Rsan and Aaron company. Both rarely left the city and Rsan had suddenly become very frail, his wrists alarmingly thin and his steps short and faltering. We were all very concerned about him and even Chrestus, who had been his sparring partner in council meetings for years, no longer shot his curt barbs at the governor. Indeed, on the day we left the Citadel to visit the irrigation works five miles south of the city, he assisted Rsan into the back of the cart before gaining his saddle.
As if to herald a new dawn for Dura, the sun shone from a cloudless sky and there was a slight northerly breeze to prevent the temperature from becoming too uncomfortable. Almas rode a magnificent brown stallion beside the cart, explaining the technology behind a successful irrigation system. The wagon was covered to shelter us from the sun, though the canvas sides had been raised to give us a view as the cart trundled down the city’s main street towards the Palmyrene Gate, a score of Amazons led by Zenobia following and a score of male horse archers trotting ahead.
Farmers had always used the Euphrates to water their crops, but in Dura it had been a relatively recent practice. Before I came to the kingdom there were no villages north or south of the city because of the on-going war with the Agraci. There were the walled strongholds of the kingdom’s lords positioned close to the river, around which crops grew to feed the lord and his retainers, plus their horses. But these were islands in a literal desert, a desert that was moreover filled with enemy raiders. But peace with the Agraci had meant settlements could be established the length and breadth of the kingdom. But these required safe and reliable supplies of water if they were to flourish.
‘Having spent many hours in the company of the guild of farmers,’ Almas began, ‘I can safely say that Dura will have one of the most up-to-date irrigation systems in the Parthian Empire, if not the world.’
‘A system that has absorbed a considerable amount of money and labour,’ added Aaron.
‘Which will be repaid to the treasury ten-fold, if not more, my old friend,’ Rsan assured him.
‘As Lord Aaron says, it is not cheap ensuring water of the right quality is delivered at the right time and in the correct quantity to the fields,’ said Almas.
Chrestus wore a bemused expression. ‘Water is water, surely?’
‘Alas no, general,’ said Almas. ‘Because Dura is a very dry kingdom, water used to irrigate crops can evaporate quickly, leaving a layer of salt behind. The very nature of irrigating crops, which means water is spread out in a thin sheet, encourages evaporation. Over time, salt builds up on the surface and makes the soil infertile.’
Aaron raised a hand. ‘If irrigation is so damaging to the soil, why have we lavished a great deal of money establishing a new system?’
‘A fair question, lord treasurer,’ replied Almas, ‘but rest assured the kingdom’s money has not been wasted.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ I said.
‘The only way to deal with the problem is to apply enough water so that salt is flushed off or through the soil,’ Almas informed us. ‘Doing so means salt will not build up in the soil, though for it to work requires a large volume of good-quality water, together with rapid and efficient drainage systems.’
The cart trundled to a halt and we alighted from it to walk to a diversion dam built around two hundred yards from the Euphrates. Lined with stone, it was fed by a canal connecting it to the river. In turn, a system of irrigation ditches took water from the dam to the crops in the fields. There were gates on all the ditches to control the amount of water from them to the fields.
Sluice gates at the river were wooden and faced with copper to prolong their life, and the height of the bank had been raised to prevent any flooding when the spring melt waters came, though when they did, dams that had been built along the length of the Euphrates would be filled with water. The one we stood on was of modest size and located near the river, but others were larger and had been sited inland up to a distance of two or three miles from the Euphrates. The reservoirs were fed by wide canals, which had taken many months to dig, Chrestus loaning Almas cohorts of legionaries to speed up the work. In truth, it was still on-going, especially in the south of the kingdom where settlements were less well established. But there were now villages along the river for a distance of over two hundred miles from the city, and the new irrigation system would allow new settlements to be established further inland.
Hundreds had gathered at the spot, a century of Durans keeping the crowd at bay as we made our way to where a coterie of white-robed priests was burning incense to purify the air to welcome Shamash to the proceedings. The high priest was the same serious individual with a booming voice who had married Eszter and Dalir, his long arms rising when he spotted Gallia and me heading the official party. His voice seemed to fill the air as he began his invocation to Shamash, his eyes staring up at the heavens as he did so.
‘Shamash, judge of heaven and earth, lord of justice and equity, director of upper and lower regions, Shamash, it is in your power to bring the dead to life, to release the captive. Shamash, I have approached you. Shamash, I have sought you out! Shamash, I have turned to you!’
On and on it went, hundreds standing with heads bowed as the high priest begged for Shamash’s blessing, his voice never faltering as he paid homage to the Sun God. I searched the crowd around the reservoir, looking for a tall figure in a cowl but saw nothing. I glanced left and right to see Rsan, leaning on his walking stick, head bowed, eyes closed. Aaron, who was a Jew, wore a dignified expression, while Chrestus, who was from Pontus and had never visited the city’s Temple of Shamash, looked bored to distraction. But he was a loyal servant of Dura and its king was a loyal servant of Shamash, so I hoped the Sun God would forgive my general.
The service ended with the high priest making a libation to Shamash by pouring water taken from the Euphrates from a terracotta pot into the reservoir. After emptying the vessel, he turned to me and bowed.
‘It is done, majesty.’
I thanked him and nodded to Almas, who gave the signal to one of the army engineers who had been assigned to the project, the man picking up a red flag and waving it from left to right. Soldiers operating the sluice gates at the river end of the canal opened them. Moments later water began entering the reservoir, to cheers from the farmers and their families among the crowd and polite applause from the merchants and nobles present.
‘My leg has locked,’ I whispered to Gallia, who took my arm and helped me away.
‘Come on, old man, back to the palace for you.’
A rider appeared among the now dispersing crowd, manoeuvring his horse through the throng, jumping down from the saddle and halting before me, bowing his head and holding out a note. I took the papyrus and broke the seal showing a horse, the mark of Aria. I read the words and smiled, Rsan, Aaron and Chrestus looking at me quizzically.
‘Kewab is coming home,’ I told them.