Papyrus. How the pith of the papyrus plant had shaped our world. Words scribbled on papyrus sheets had altered the course of history on many occasions, causing alliances to be forged, kings to be betrayed and the destinies of empires to be changed forever. The courier must have set off before dawn to reach Dura to deliver the roll of papyrus bearing a horse head wax seal. I had been on the training fields with Klietas to judge how his archery skills had been progressing, and in truth they were improving markedly. Each day, just after dawn when the sun had turned the eastern horizon blue and purple, he had ridden from the Citadel in the company of the Amazons to train. Gallia had initially been hostile to him joining her all-female group, but as he lived in the palace, in the servants’ quarters, it made sense for him to join her and the Amazons before he began his duties. The squires of the cataphracts lived in various barracks in the city but Klietas was my manservant and his presence was required in the Citadel, so she relented.
They treated him appallingly, barely speaking to him save to ridicule him for his poor archery skills. But he endured their scorn and indifference like a Greek stoic, and of course to be with the Amazons meant being near Haya. But today he was with me. I had neglected my archery training, the new irrigation system and the arrival of Karys’ and Kewab’s followers having absorbed all of my time. But spring had arrived, the floodwaters of the Euphrates had been contained, controlled and channelled to serve the interests of the kingdom, and the thousands of new arrivals were being listed and organised for the same purpose. I could finally relax, just at the moment the papyrus scroll arrived from Hatra.
The courier arrived in the company of two horse archers, just to ensure he was not an assassin. But the note he carried was like a dagger to the heart of my plans to live a quiet life. The Amazons had left the training fields, the straw-filled targets that dotted the area shredded by their arrows. Later, the Daughters of Dura would travel from the city to repair the targets, so they would be ready for the following morning. Sporaces’ horse archers had also been using the targets, hundreds of men performing battlefield drills to hone their response times and quicken their reactions to commands relayed by signallers. They too would return later to repair and replace the targets they had destroyed.
Train hard, fight easy.
‘Bad news, highborn?’
I had been reading Gafarn’s letter, going over the words again and again, my mood darkening with every reading.
I looked up at him, sitting on his horse beside Horns, still holding his bow though we had finished our shooting practice.
‘How are your reading and writing lessons coming along?’
He looked downcast. ‘Not good, highborn, my tutor is quick to anger and shouts at me.’
‘How I envy you, Klietas,’ I said, staring at the letter, ‘to be unable to read would keep me in blissful ignorance, at least for a while longer.’
‘Highborn?’
‘Nothing. As you train with them, what do the Amazons divulge about the goings-on in The Sanctuary.’
‘What does “divulge” mean, highborn?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It is a great honour for me to ride with the Amazons, highborn.’
‘Even though they treat you coolly.’
‘They are warriors, highborn, whereas I am a poor farmer. I have to earn their respect. But the gods willing, I will prove myself to them on the battlefield.’
‘I thought you already had proved yourself, with your expedition to Zeugma.’
He shook his head. ‘Haya told me it is easy to kill a defenceless person when they feel safe, but only on the battlefield is a person’s true worth tested.’
‘That did not stop her, though, did it?’
‘No, highborn,’ he responded proudly.
‘Well, you will be pleased to know you will have the chance to prove yourself on the battlefield, Klietas, though you might like to remind Haya and any of her she-devil friends, that you have proved yourself, at Irbil. But I must tell you there is no honour in being an assassin. You understand?’
‘Yes, highborn. We are going to war?’
I examined his youthful features and saw the glint of excitement in his eyes. To him war was all about glory and the prospect of slaying enemies. He did not consider death, defeat or injury, only victory and a chance for personal advancement. I had been the same at his age. Only over the years did the illusion of glory fade, to be replaced by a marked reluctance to unsheathe a sword in anger. But peace meant no amusement for the gods, and so the immortals ensured the minds of young men and women were filled with a lust for bloodshed.
‘It seems we are, Klietas.’
At the Citadel I showed Gallia the letter and convened a special meeting of the council, inviting both Kewab and Karys to attend. Chrestus was about to leave the city that afternoon, together with the cataphracts, horse archers and the soldiers of Kewab and Karys, for a large-scale desert exercise. This was to both take advantage of the presence of an additional seven thousand professional horsemen in the kingdom, and give said soldiers something to do rather than sit around in camp brooding.
I tossed the letter on the table, the eyes of all the attendees on the sheet of papyrus.
‘This arrived earlier from King Gafarn of Hatra. It reports that Armenian troops are massing on the northern border of Media, prior to launching a second invasion of that kingdom. It would appear King Artaxias of Armenia, having failed in his first attempt to kill King Akmon of Media, is determined to try again.
‘My brother informs me that King Spartacus of Gordyene is currently mustering his army, which he will march to the Araxes River to deter the Armenians. He also reports that Hatra’s army is being mobilised to support Gordyene and Media.
‘Having been in Irbil when the rebel army, financed by Rome and granted passage through Armenia, attacked the city, and having survived that close-call, subsequently being nearly killed on the Diyana Plain where Artaxias himself fought us, the queen and I are resolved to support Hatra and Gordyene in their efforts to protect Media. This is not only to honour the alliance we made with Akmon, but to put Artaxias firmly in his place, seeing as no one else has a mind to do it.’
Chrestus, Karys and Kewab rapped their knuckles on the table top to show their enthusiasm. Rsan’s brow creased with concern and Almas appeared thoughtful, no doubt regretting he would not be able to ride north with the army. I stood and turned to the hide map of the empire on the wall, pointing at Hatra.
‘King Gafarn will march directly to Irbil to reassure Akmon and Lusin of Hatra’s commitment to Media. I intend to do the same, where Lucius Varsas will re-join the army prior to marching north.’
Rsan cleared his throat to indicate he wished to speak. I retook my seat and nodded to him.
‘Forgive me, majesty, but in the rush to war might it not be prudent to try to seek a diplomatic solution to the problem?’
‘I am all ears,’ I said.
He brought his hands together. ‘As Armenia is in the Parthian sphere of influence, surely the intercession of High King Phraates will be enough to bring King Artaxias to heel without recourse to war.’
‘The high king has no interest in defending Media,’ said Gallia. ‘It was Phraates himself who began this sorry episode, for he encouraged Atrax to attack Media.’
Rsan was shocked. ‘I cannot believe…’
‘Believe it,’ I interrupted. ‘I saw the letter from Phraates to Atrax myself. There is no use appealing to the high king to intervene, and in truth I have little appetite to involve Ctesiphon in this matter.’
‘Phraates is more interested in a new crusade against the Kushans,’ said Gallia, ‘notwithstanding his dismissal of the man who offers the only hope of achieving victory against Kujula.’
She tipped her head at Kewab who bowed his head in appreciation. Gallia’s blue eyes focused on Karys.
‘The high king has displayed poor judgement of late, and it is highly unlikely his acumen will improve any time soon.’
Rsan was squirming at our disrespect towards the high king but both Gallia and I were disappointed to say the least at Phraates’ attitude and actions towards those who had showed him nothing but loyalty.
‘Dura is pledged to defend Media and it will honour its commitments. Chrestus, assemble the army.’
‘It is already assembled, majesty,’ he told me, ‘though replacing the garrisons of the forts along the Euphrates with veterans will take a few days.’
‘See to it,’ I instructed him.
Thus far Aaron and Ira had been conspicuous by their silence, the two clerks always attending my chief treasurer as usual frantically recording every utterance on papyrus. I would have expected Aaron to side with Rsan regarding his appeal to the high king to avoid conflict, but instead he stared at the table top, only diverting his gaze to look at the map when I had been standing.
‘What is your opinion, Aaron?’ I asked.
‘I concur with your majesty that Armenian aggression cannot be allowed to go unanswered.’
I was shocked. ‘You do?’
‘Yes, majesty.’
‘Even with all the attendant costs involved in a military campaign?’ said Chrestus.
‘Wars are expensive, general, I agree,’ replied Aaron, ‘but Dura must be seen to uphold its obligations.’
This was all very disconcerting. I doubted Aaron cared a fig for alliances or pledges of support. He worried only about safeguarding the flow of trade caravans through the kingdom and citizens paying their taxes. During his long career at the treasury he had always been critical of the army regarding its size, excessive equipment use in peacetime and overall drain on the kingdom’s resources. But his next question revealed he had not suddenly changed his mind regarding the army’s worth.
‘Will satraps Kewab and Karys be accompanying the army, majesty?’
‘That is their decision,’ I answered, ‘though I am mindful they and their followers came here not to fight Dura’s wars but to find a home.’
‘Dura’s wars are our wars, lord,’ said Karys, ‘when you march, the soldiers of King Nergal and Queen Praxima will be marching with you.’
Kewab, who now looked less tired after a period of rest, leaned back in his chair.
‘As I told you, majesty, those who came with me from the east did so in the hope and expectation of fighting beside Dura’s army. They will be delighted to learn their hopes are about to be realised.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ira give Aaron a congratulatory smile and it suddenly all made sense. If the newcomers marched north with the army they would be leaving Dura, at least for a few weeks and perhaps permanently if they fell in battle or found a new home. Either way, they would not be making demands on Aaron’s treasury in the near future.
‘Ever considered working for the treasury at Ctesiphon, Aaron?’
‘Majesty?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I will write to Gafarn and Akmon to inform them Dura’s army will be marching in four days.’
Gallia was delighted, Chrestus was delighted and Kewab and Karys were looking forward to marching with the army again. The next day Malik arrived at the Citadel. I thought his visit was a coincidence but I was wrong.
He stood like a black stone statue in the throne room, staring at the griffin banner hanging on the wall behind the empty thrones. I had been talking with Farid about the camel train, the chief cameleer being his usual complaining self, but I would not have anyone else in charge of the army’s fifteen hundred camels and their drivers. He and they were veterans of many campaigns and were an essential part of Dura’s war machine. As soon as word reached me that the King of the Agraci was at the palace I hurried to the Citadel.
‘My friend.’
He turned to face me when I walked into the throne room, giving me a half-smile before we embraced. His hair and beard were now heavily streaked with grey, offset by his black facial tattoos favoured by the menfolk of his people.
‘Have you been offered no refreshments?’ I said, looking around for Ashk.
‘Your steward was most attentive, but I told him I wished to stay here, where it is quiet. How are you?’
‘Old. Come, let us take the weight off our feet. You might be able to stand for long periods, but my leg won’t take it.’
We walked to the door at the rear of the chamber giving access to the palace’s private quarters. As we did so, Malik came straight to the point.
‘You march against Armenia?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish to accompany you, to avenge Rasha.’
I could have argued that we were going on campaign to curb Armenian hostility towards Media, according to the pact between Dura, Hatra and Akmon’s kingdom. But so irritated was I with Phraates, King Artaxias and indeed Octavian for funding Atrax’s rebels, that I saw no point in trying to dissuade him.
‘You would be most welcome, my friend.’
‘My son will stay at Palmyra to ensure there is a successor should I fall,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Hopefully it won’t come to that.’
He shrugged. ‘Death comes to us all. Far better to meet it when cutting down enemies.’
We reached the terrace and within minutes Ashk and a small group of servants were around us, ensuring we were settled into chairs stuffed with cushions and under the awning, so we were in the shade. Refreshments appeared, followed by Gallia, hot and flustered but glad to see Malik. He stood to embrace her, my wife holding him long and whispering into his ear. His hard features showed sadness and gratitude and then the warrior Agraci returned when she released him and they both sat. Ashk proffered a cup of water, which she quickly drained, a servant refilling it immediately after.
‘Malik is joining us on our campaign,’ I told her.
She beamed with delight. ‘How did you discover we were marching north? Talib?’
Malik shook his head. ‘Spartacus wrote inviting me to join him in punishing the Armenians for the murder of my sister. I agreed and rode here to request passage through Dura and Hatra for myself and the two thousand warriors accompanying me. But I saw the preparations in your legionary camp and knew Spartacus had also appealed to you.’
‘Not to us,’ I said, ‘but to my brother at Hatra. But the result is the same. It will be good to have you by our side again, old friend.’
I heard Ashk’s voice behind me.
‘The king and queen are in a private meeting.’
‘They will see me, I’m family. Get out of the way before I throw you off this terrace. It’s me, princess.’
I raised my eyes to the heavens when I recognised Kalet’s voice, but Gallia waved him past the protesting chief steward.
‘Bring wine,’ commanded my chief lord, whose eyes lit up when he saw Malik.
The Agraci king rose and they clasped forearms before Kalet waited until a chair had been stuffed with cushions for him before sitting himself down. He looked at me.
‘So, off to war without telling me. A campaign to punish the Armenians, I hear.’
He rubbed his hands. ‘Plenty of plunder to be had in Armenia.’
‘Have you ever been to Armenia, Kalet?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘Then how do you know there is much to plunder?’
He tapped his nose. ‘It’s common knowledge the Armenians paid a high price in gold for the return of the girl who married Spartacus’ son. Bad business.’
‘I’m glad you do not approve of the abduction of young girls,’ said Gallia.
Kalet was studying an attractive servant girl pouring wine into his cup, encouraging her to fill it to the brim. When she had done so he gave her a lascivious wink. He raised the cup to Gallia.
‘Very bad business. Paying gold to get her back only to lose her again to the son of the man who had taken her in the first place. Not very clever.’
He looked at Malik. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I am accompanying the king and queen to Armenia.’
Kalet took a large gulp of wine. ‘Me too.’
‘That is a decision for me to make,’ I said sternly.
He looked genuinely hurt.
‘I was fond of Rasha, too.’
Malik nodded his head and I knew I had been outmanoeuvred. It was true Kalet and his lords had liked Rasha. She had known many of them, having spent much time in her youth in Dura, and I daresay the old rogue did have a soft spot for the Agraci princess turned Parthian queen. But he was like a hunting dog when it came to the possibility of killing and plunder: he was unrelenting. I looked at Gallia, who gave an indifferent shrug.
‘King Malik is bringing two thousand warriors with him,’ I said to Kalet, ‘so you may select a similar number to ride north with you.’
‘That few?’ he complained.
‘And no Dalir or Eszter,’ said Gallia. ‘This is the first time Dura’s army will be leaving Parthian territory and we do not know if it will be coming back.’
Her words silenced the conversation and I realised that, save for the raid into Kushan territory after we had attended Salar and Isabella’s wedding, no Duran troops had ever left the empire.
‘What’s the objective?’ asked Kalet, smiling at the servant girl with the jug of wine and beckoning her over.
It was an excellent question. For Malik, there was no doubt.
‘Revenge.’
Kalet sipped at his wine.
‘Fair enough, lord, but what does that entail? Burning the Armenian capital, killing the Armenian king or taking hostages for ransom. If I may be so bold, I would recommend the latter option.’
‘You would,’ I said.
But he had raised an important point. What would we do once we had invaded Armenian territory?
‘There is someone who will be able to provide an answer,’ I announced.
Malik was unconcerned about campaign objectives. As an Agraci he had no concern for treaties, territorial acquisitions or Parthian honour. All he wanted was to spill blood to avenge the death of his sister and Spartacus had given him an opportunity to do so. Gallia also wanted revenge, along with the head of Prince Atrax, an objective I was also a supporter of after his dreadful behaviour at Irbil. As for Kalet, now Dura had become a kingdom where the law ruled, and it had peace with the Agraci, his only chance to reprise his raiding days was when he joined the army on campaign.
We sat eating and drinking for too long, Malik’s stern disposition being replaced by the more easy-going man I had known for forty years, helped by Kalet whose infectious humour and carefree attitude helped to lighten the mood. Afterwards, Kalet being assisted to a guest bedroom to sleep off his drink-induced stupor and Malik accepting our offer of hospitality to stay in the palace, I went to search out Kewab. It was night, the air humming with the sound of crickets and filled with mosquitoes. To keep the insects at bay we smeared our limbs and necks with eucalyptus oil, though others used cinnamon oil or basil. The Citadel was unusually busy for the late hour, Rsan’s clerks working late in the Headquarters Building organising the issuing of supplies and weapons for the forthcoming campaign.
I saw Almas talking to Kewab outside the armoury, both ceasing their conversation when they saw me approach.
‘I would have a word with the satrap, Almas,’ I smiled.
The deputy governor bowed his head, nodded to Kewab and took his leave.
‘Logistical matters?’ I enquired.
‘No, majesty, we were reminiscing about the Phraaspa campaign. Seems like only yesterday.’
I felt a pang of guilt. ‘I did not invite you and your followers to Dura just to reinforce the army, Kewab, but it seems events have dictated otherwise.’
‘When I briefed my officers on the coming campaign, they were absolutely delighted and relieved.’
‘Relieved?’
‘Many who came with me from the east have known nothing but war for the past few years. They have developed a taste for it, and to be fair they are very good at it. They are eager to test themselves against the Armenians.’
‘As you know, the Armenian army is massing just north of the Araxes River, prior to launching a fresh invasion of Media. Ideally, if they do we can intercept and destroy them before they reach Irbil.’
‘As soon as they discover three of Parthia’s finest armies are converging on them, majesty, more likely they will retire north.’
‘That is what I fear. The least desirable outcome is a summer spent chasing Armenians around their own homeland.’
‘Fortunately, there is a way to shorten the campaign to our advantage, majesty.’
I looked at him in anticipation, above us the sounds of guards reporting to the duty centurion as he made his rounds of the battlements.
‘Take the siege engines and march directly to Artaxata.’
‘The Armenian capital?’
He nodded. ‘We do not need to take the city, but it is the royal seat of power and sooner rather than later the Armenians will have to mount a relief attempt; either that or try to intercept us before we reach their capital.’
‘If we take the siege engines, our rate of march will average fifteen miles a day at best, which would take us a month to reach the Armenian capital. Without the siege engines, that time is reduced to around twenty days, less with a forced march.’
‘There is little point in arriving before the walls of Artaxata without the means to batter down those walls, majesty. The best course of action would be to march directly to Vanadzor and then north into Armenia.’
In the pale light cast by oil lamps illuminating the interior of the armoury I caught sight of the dagger with the solid silver griffin pommel hanging in a sheath from his belt, the same weapon that had been presented to him when he had graduated from the Sons of the Citadel. I laid a hand on his upper arm.
‘It’s good to have you back at Dura.’
As the army mustered I wrote a series of letters: to Phraates, stating my reasons for taking Dura’s army north to battle the Armenians; to King Ali of Atropaiene, Lord High General of Parthia, expressing my thanks to him for his services to the empire and to assure him I would do my utmost to ensure the northern border of his kingdom would not be violated by the Armenians; to Akmon at Irbil, stating we were marching against Armenia to put an end once and for all to Armenian designs on his kingdom; to Gafarn at Hatra, suggesting he should wait for our arrival, in addition to writing to Spartacus to beg his son to show restraint (I feared he would launch an immediate attack against Armenia); and to Lucius Varsas to get himself back to Dura to take command of the army’s siege engines.
Once put in motion, the gathering of the army was a wonder to behold. The majority of the Durans and Exiles were in the legionary camp, though some were garrisoning the mud-brick forts positioned at five-mile intervals north and south of the city along the Euphrates. Originally there had been fifty forts but the number had been increased by a further five south of the city to reflect the expansion of the kingdom’s population and the number of villages to accommodate the increase. The garrisons of those forts – forty men per stronghold – were replaced by army veterans, who were put back on the army’s payroll for the duration of the campaign. To safeguard the city itself, the replacement cohort would remain in the kingdom and Rsan could call on the lords should he feel imperilled. Additionally, Queen Jamal at Palmyra could always be relied upon to provide warriors to bolster Dura’s defence.
Her husband’s warriors arrived at Dura a day before we marched north, along with camels loaded with tents and supplies. Just prior to their arrival I was accosted by an angry Eszter and Dalir, both attempting to enter the throne room during an assembly of the army’s senior legionary commanders, Zenobia, Azad and Sporaces and their company commanders, plus Farid and his chief cameleers, the chief veterinary and his staff, and Sophus and his senior doctors. They were prevented from doing so until I had finished addressing the assembled officers, briefing them on why the army was marching, the objectives of the campaign and expressing every faith in their professionalism and talents. Some kings viewed their armies as nothing more than instruments to do their bidding and paid no heed to the welfare of their soldiers. But I did not believe in blind loyalty or ruling through fear. If I expected a man to lay down his life for Dura, the least I could do was explain to him why he was marching to war. He already knew he had had the best training and was armed with the best weapons and armour money could buy. He had a right to know his king was not treating him as a worthless chattel. Morale was high, but the spirit of an army was like a delicate flower that required constant nourishment and care. It was not an understatement to say that I loved the army, but like all commanders I faced the unpalatable prospect of destroying something I loved when I marched it to war.
Gallia sat beside me as the officers filed out of the throne room, Eszter pacing up and down impatiently and Dalir fidgeting with his hands as he waited for the chamber to empty and guards to shut the doors. Our daughter looked like she was about to erupt when they were quietly closed.
‘Why are we not allowed to go on campaign with the army?’
‘And good morning to you, Eszter,’ I smiled, ‘and to you, Dalir. I hope you are both well.’
‘Well, lord, thank you,’ replied Dalir.
‘Never mind that,’ snapped Eszter, ‘I demand an answer.’
‘Demand!’ I shouted. ‘You will remember your place in this palace.’
‘The king does not have to answer to you,’ said Gallia harshly.
Eszter, usually enjoying the full backing of her mother, was taken aback and for once in her life was lost for words.
I stretched out my aching leg.
‘It is time you assumed your responsibilities, Eszter. For too long you have behaved like a desert urchin, indulging your whims and bringing your position into disrepute.’
‘What position?’ she shot back.
‘The heir to Dura’s throne,’ said Gallia.
‘Should your mother and me fall in Armenia,’ I continued, ‘then you two will become Dura’s rulers.’
Dalir swallowed. ‘Us?’
‘Yes, Dalir, son of Kalet. You. Of my three daughters, Isabella is Queen of Sakastan and Claudia is adviser to the high king at Ctesiphon. That leaves Eszter and you. You will vacate your half-built desert home and move into the palace until we return.’
‘Or you receive news that we are not returning,’ said Gallia.
When he had visited Dura, Phraates had gifted the couple gold so they could build a home of their own. Eszter had taken charge of the project and had invited Greek architects to the kingdom to indulge her every whim. The home was being built by the side of a small oasis located southwest of the city, away from the main highway from Dura to Palmyra and inland from the villages and agricultural strip adjacent to the Euphrates. It was one of many such oases dotted around the desert that had in the time before Gallia and I came to Dura been the preserve of the Agraci. The gardener Adel had been brought from Hatra to arrange the vegetation around the walled villa, the extant date palms to be joined by other fruit trees: citrus, olives, peach and plum.
‘As your desert home is not yet completed,’ I said, ‘living in the palace will be more comfortable than sleeping in a tent.’
‘You will both attend council meetings, hear petitioners and ensure the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom run smoothly,’ added Gallia.
Eszter warmed to the idea of playing queen, her anger evaporating when the prospect of power was dangled before her.
‘Though all your decisions will be ratified by Rsan before they are implemented,’ I told them.
‘But, father,’ protested Eszter, ‘surely if we are king and queen, we are not answerable to anyone.’
‘You are not king and queen,’ I told them firmly, ‘rather, temporary administrators answerable to a man who has more experience of running the kingdom in his little finger than you two put together. A good king follows wise counsel, a useful lesson for you both to learn while we are away.’
A sense of dread enveloped me as the army prepared to march north. I said nothing to Gallia about it and I had no reason to doubt we would not triumph over the Armenians, in what would be a limited campaign of intimidation waged by three of the most formidable armies in the Parthian Empire, none of which had ever tasted defeat. And yet I felt something was wrong, like the taste of milk that was about to turn sour or biting into an apple that had a rotten core. But Gallia was invigorated by the prospect of visiting misery on the Armenians and exacting revenge for the death of Rasha, which became the Amazon motto for the campaign.
Before I left I visited Rsan and Almas in the Headquarters Building, both looking glum, though for different reasons. Rsan always viewed the prospect of war with dread, an attitude I had laughed at when I had been younger. But with age had come wisdom and I had come to realise that conflict was a waste – of lives, property, resources and the most precious assets of a kingdom – and was not to be entered into lightly. Almas was dejected because he wished to ride north at the head of his dragon of horse archers.
‘While I am away, I am entrusting the care of the kingdom to my daughter Eszter and her husband.’
Rsan raised an eyebrow but said nothing, thanking one of his clerks for filling the cups before us with water. His office was like him: austere and basic, with not a trace of opulence. Indeed, it was a microcosm of Dura itself.
I took a sip of water. ‘However, being fully aware of my daughter’s volatile nature, you two are hereby authorised to keep a restraint on her, and Dalir is not to be encouraged to play an active role in the government of the kingdom.’
Rsan looked contented. ‘It shall be as you request, majesty, though to be fair the princess did prove most able when news of you and the queen trapped in Irbil reached the city.’
‘That is because the emergency harnessed her talents perfectly,’ I replied. ‘But the day-to-day affairs of a kingdom are very different. I expect her to become bored, which may prompt her to do something rash.’
‘Rash, majesty?’ said Almas.
‘Such as mustering the kingdom’s other lords and riding north to join what they believe will be a glorious affair,’ I replied.
‘You fear a hard campaign, majesty?’ asked Almas.
‘It is an unnecessary campaign,’ I said bitterly, ‘and if I had my way Dura’s army would not be marching anywhere. But Armenia cannot be allowed to treat Media as its plaything and seeing as the high king has no interest in chastising it, it is left to others to do it.’
‘I will pray for you and the queen,’ said Rsan earnestly.
I stared at my cup. ‘Everyone dies, Rsan, and Gallia and I are no different. But our wish is to see the kingdom safe and prosperous. At the end of the day, that is the only thing that matters.’
‘You can rely on us, majesty,’ Rsan told me.
I stood, prompting them to do likewise.
‘This building sits on the top of a rock escarpment,’ I said, ‘but you have been the rock upon which the whole kingdom has relied on for many years, my old friend. I pray Shamash will give you many more years of life, so you may continue to be our rock, Rsan, the first minister and true son of Dura.’
I walked forward and embraced him, seeing tears in his eyes when I released him. He was lost for words, so I clasped forearms with Almas and took my leave, walking down the steps from his office to the building’s ground floor and out into the courtyard. The guards flanking the doors snapped to attention as I paced towards the palace. To my left carts were being loaded with spare weapons and armour from the armoury. I glanced right and stopped when I saw what appeared to be Claudia standing in front of the duty centurion outside the guardroom. I diverted my journey to find out more, the centurion coming to attention when he spotted me.
The woman was not Claudia, though she was dressed exactly like my daughter in her black robes and shemagh that she had removed to reveal her face. It was a great pity to wear such dour apparel because she was a beautiful young woman, her skin flawless, her eyes an emerald green and her hair thick and golden. If I tried to place her I would say she was nobility of ancient Persian stock, though her hair colour made it difficult to place her ancestry anywhere in the Parthian Empire. My musings were interrupted by the gruff voice of the centurion.
‘This woman says she is here to see the queen, majesty.’
‘ This woman has a name, centurion,’ she said, ‘if the king desires to know it.’
She had fixed me with her emerald eyes, which I found alluring but at the same time slightly disturbing. There was something behind the beauty that was unnerving.
‘I do not think I have had the pleasure,’ I said.
‘I am Saruke, majesty, sent by your daughter Claudia to advise Queen Gallia.’
My instincts had not let me down.
‘You are a Scythian Sister?’
She was delighted. ‘Yes, majesty, your daughter said you were very perceptive. Long have I desired to meet the famous King Pacorus of Dura.’
I doubted that, but her smile, beauty and charm were difficult to resist. She reached inside her robe, prompting the centurion to stand between her and me and lay a hand on the hilt of his gladius. She giggled and slowly removed a papyrus scroll from her tunic.
‘I would never harm such a legendary defender of the Parthian Empire.’
‘It is fine, centurion,’ I said, ‘you may return to your duties. I will escort the Lady Saruke to the palace.’
He saluted, gave Saruke a cold stare and marched back to the guardroom. I took the scroll, unrolled it and read my daughter’s words.
Father
This is Saruke, a Scythian Sister who will be an asset to mother in the months to come. Please do not pester her with questions. She has important work to do and has better things to do than answer your incessant queries.
Take care in Armenia and remember what I told you. The hunter thinks he is stalking his quarry but can unwittingly become the prey.
Claudia
Saruke was absolutely charming, listening to my questions and replying with grace and intelligence, but when we met Gallia and I had introduced the Scythian Sister to my wife and showed her Claudia’s note, I realised she had told me absolutely nothing regarding why she had ridden to Dura and what use my wife might have for a sorceress. My curiosity was aroused further when Gallia despatched her immediately to The Sanctuary with an Amazon escort, brushing away my questions as to Saruke’s presence at Dura.
‘We have a war to win,’ she reminded me as I watched the Scythian Sister ride from the Citadel flanked by a pair of Amazons.
The golden-haired beauty had been a minor distraction from the campaign that would begin the next day. The legionary camp was bursting with soldiers, wagons and mules, the siege engines having been broken down into their constituent parts and loaded on to carts prior to leaving. Farid had mustered his camel corps, the beasts corralled just south of the legionary camp, the odour of hundreds of camels drifting on the evening breeze towards the Citadel, along with the deposits of thousands of horses and mules. Azad’s cataphracts and Sporaces horse archers were camped across the Euphrates, in Hatran territory, which was sparsely populated in the southern part of my brother’s kingdom.
That night the army’s commanders, Malik’s warlords, Karys’ senior officers, Kewab’s easterners and Kalet’s lords were feasted in the banqueting hall. But the mood was sombre and subdued. Malik sat in silence, staring into space and picking at his food. There was no drunken revelry, no bravado or boasting. Even Kalet and his lords were morose, though their muted conversations were probably complaints concerning how their numbers had been limited. Ideally, they would all have stayed at Dura, but honour dictated some of the kingdom’s lords shared in the glory of their king when he marched off to war.
The feast ended early – men had to prepare for an early start when the army struck camp just after dawn. Afterwards, Gallia and I sat on the edge of our bed staring at the open chest before us. It contained the scale-armour cuirasses gifted to us by the immortals, and which had saved both our lives during the siege of Irbil.
‘I thought I would gift them to the Temple of Shamash in the city,’ I said.
‘We have need of them before you do.’
‘I vowed never to unsheathe my sword in anger again. And yet here we are, once again on the eve of a campaign.’
I turned to face her. She was still a handsome woman but now there were a few lines around her eyes and those eyes were weary, not the vibrant blue pools of yesteryear. But her skin was still smooth and free from blemishes, a result of shielding her fair complexion from the merciless Mesopotamian sun. And she still had all her teeth!
‘Do you think we will ever be able to enjoy peace?’
She cupped my face with her hands.
‘We are what we are, Pacorus. We have spent our entire lives fighting enemies, either Parthia’s or foes within the empire. It is what we do, we are good at it and it is our destiny.’
‘Like Sisyphus,’ I lamented.
‘Who?’
‘Scelias told me the story of the King of Corinth, a part of Greece, who cheated death to return to the land of the living to live to a ripe old age. To punish him, he was sent to Hades, the Greek word for the underworld, where he had to roll a huge rock up a hill, only for it to roll down again once he had reached the summit. So, he had to walk down the hill and start the whole procedure again, and so on and so on. Dura’s army is like Sisyphus – beating one foe only for another to appear, and after that another and another.’
She frowned. ‘Don’t be so morose. This is not the start of a long war; it is just a short campaign to punish the Armenians. We will be back here in no time at all, and then you can gift the two pieces of armour to the temple.’
I slept fitfully that night, trying to fathom why the Armenians, having been badly mauled on the Diyana Plain, would even consider a fresh invasion of Media. Perhaps they did not know of that kingdom’s alliance with Hatra, Gordyene and Dura. But even if they did not, they were well aware that Spartacus needed only the slightest pretext to launch a war against them. As the old saying went: if one wanted peace, prepare for war.
The morning came soon enough and with it the movement of thousands of men, horses, mules and camels, all filing across the pontoon bridges spanning the Euphrates, to begin the march north. I stood on the terrace, burnished scale-armour cuirass shimmering in the early morning sunlight, my hands resting on the stone balustrade watching the legionaries marching to war. Like the Romans they were modelled on they marched six abreast, though unlike Rome’s soldiers they wore white tunics and carried shields faced with hide painted white and embossed with a red griffin motif. Talib and his scouts had already left Dura, riding ahead, dividing into small groups and fanning out to provide advance reconnaissance. There were no hostile forces in my brother’s kingdom, but procedures were never curtailed because we were marching in friendly territory. It was same regarding marching camps: irrespective of where the army was, its soldiers, equipment and animals slept behind a ditch and earth rampart topped with stakes every night when on campaign.
I became aware of another presence of the terrace and turned to see Klietas. He smiled, bowed his head and held out my spatha sheathed in its scabbard and attached to a leather belt.
‘All clean and sharp, highborn,’ he beamed, his eyes shifting to stare in wonder at the long line of legionaries across the river. I took the sword and buckled the belt around my waist. I pointed at the soldiers.
‘That, Klietas, is Dura, the thing that keeps it safe and strong. Do you know why Dura’s army is so strong?’
‘Because you command it, highborn.’
I shook my head. ‘No, Klietas, it is because every legionary, every cataphract and every horse archer knows his place on the battlefield and what is expected of him. He knows he has the best equipment money can buy, he knows he has had the best training in the world, and he knows his commanders have been promoted due to their talents. This gives him faith: faith in the man standing beside him in the battle line and faith in the ability of his officers to make the right decisions, which will give the army victory.’
‘What of you, highborn?’
‘What about me?’
‘It is said the King of Dura has never lost a battle, that he is invincible and any enemy he faces in battle will always lose.’
‘Only a fool thinks he is invincible, Klietas.’
‘And when another silver disc is cast to decorate the Staff of Victory, highborn, I can say I was a part of the army that won it.’
He had not been listening to what I had been saying. His mind was filled with dreams of glory and conquest. When I had first encountered him, he had been a half-starved, scrawny urchin. But now he was lean, fit and his thick mop of hair tumbled to his shoulders. He had copied his king in being clean-shaven and he seemed to have grown taller since his arrival at Dura. I noticed the sling tucked in his belt.
‘Old habits die hard, I see, Klietas.’
He went to remove the sling. ‘I will discard it, highborn.’
‘Nonsense, you should carry it with you at all times to remind you of where you came from. I once told another squire of mine a similar thing. He was like you, an orphan from a poor background. Know what happened to him?’
‘No, highborn.’
‘He became a king.’
The answer delighted him, and he gave me a broad grin.
‘If I become a king then Haya will definitely marry me.’
I laughed. ‘I think you can win her over without the aid of a crown.’
‘You do?’
‘Of course, just don’t be too fawning. The Amazons respect strength and perseverance. And no slapping her on the backside.’
He was horrified. ‘It is death to molest an Amazon, highborn.’
I thought of the time when Surena had slapped Viper’s rump.
‘Course it is. Come, then, let us write another chapter in the history of glory.’