Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (20 page)

She was shorter than Dobbai, being no taller than five foot, and though she was also wearing a black
abaya
, a long black robe, it was obvious that she was plumper. She was wearing a
tarha
, a black shawl, over her head but I could see that she had a round face. Gallia made to walk down the steps but I stopped her.

‘I think not, my sweet. We are, after all, monarchs and not her servants.’

Dobbai brushed past us. ‘You are so pompous sometimes, son of Hatra.’

She walked down the steps as the commander stepped back and bowed to me. The two black-clad women exchanged formalities and then walked together up the steps. Samahe ascended two of them before stopping and turning to the commander.

‘Come here, boy.’

He looked at her and then me, unsure what to do. I nodded to him and he walked to her. She reached into her
abaya
, pulled out a small rolled parchment and handed it to him.

‘At the next full moon read the words on this document and then burn it. The woman you desire will be yours.’

He blushed but attempted bravado. ‘I know not what you mean, lady.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ she said loudly. ‘It is written all over your face for the world to see that you are in love with one who does not return your affections. Now take it and be thankful.’

He took the parchment.

Samahe turned and walked towards us. ‘Young men in love are so predictable.’

‘All men are predictable, sister,’ said Dobbai.

Our portly guest reach the top of the steps, smiled at me and bowed deeply, then did the same to Gallia.

‘Hail, King Pacorus of Dura and his beautiful queen, Gallia of the Gauls. Slayer of Lucius Furius, Porus of Sakastan and Chosroes of Mesene, victor of Surkh and saviour of Uruk. I salute you for your courage and choice of queen, for though I, like many, have heard of the beauty of Queen Gallia only now do I fully appreciate her grace. The gods smile on you, King Pacorus, and on this fair city of Dura.’

I had to admit that her words were gracious but before I could reply a delighted Gallia stepped forward and took Samahe’s hands.

‘You are most welcome, Samahe, and tonight we will hold a feast to honour your arrival.’

‘We will?’ I said.

Gallia turned and fixed me with her blue eyes.

I smiled at Samahe. ‘A feast sounds a most excellent idea. Please enter our home. Quarters have been prepared for you. You must be tired after your journey.’

‘That’s you out-manoeuvred,’ Domitus said to me.

Samahe linked her arm in Gallia’s and Dobbai did the same on my wife’s other side as all three walked into the palace’s reception porch, Samahe’s voice filling the chamber.

‘Wherever I went all I heard were the names King Pacorus of Dura and his blonde-haired wife Gallia. You two have been the talk of Apamea for months.’

Apamea was a city in Syria on the right bank of the Orontes River. The site of a settlement since ancient times, it had been greatly expanded by Seleucus Nicator, one of Alexander of Macedon’s commanders and the founder of the Seleucid Empire. That had been over two hundred years ago and now the city boasted a population of over one hundred thousand people. Like every other settlement in Syria, however, it was now under Roman control.

‘I was wondering, King Pacorus,’ said Samahe as we all walked into the reception hall, ‘if you could spare a morsel to eat for a poor traveller whose throat has been turned into dry tinder from all the dust inhaled during the journey.’

‘Of course,’ I told her, ‘you are free to avail yourself of Dura’s hospitality.’

‘You are most generous,’ announced Samahe as we left the reception hall and entered the throne room.

‘Now, where was I? Oh yes, Apamea. Of course the man responsible for making your highnesses the chief topic of city gossip was Pompey, of course.’

‘Pompey?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Samahe, whose voice seemed to be getting louder by the minute. ‘He was most taken by you. Told the governor that you dressed, acted and spoke like a Roman. He believes that you will become a client king of Rome. He told me that you are halfway there already.’

‘You spoke to Pompey?’ I said.

‘Of course. Nice enough man but I fear he will end badly. He’s honest, you see, and honest men always end up disappointed and with a dagger in their hearts, that or their throats slit.’

‘How many soldiers do the Romans have in Syria?’ asked Domitus bluntly.

Samahe stopped and turned her head to take a long look at the army’s commander. He met her gaze with cold, brown eyes.

‘This is the Roman you told me about, sister?’ she said to Dobbai.

‘It is,’ replied Dobbai.

‘It doesn’t matter how many soldiers they have, Roman,’ replied Samahe, ‘because they pose no threat to Dura. The Jews are proving rebellious and so the might of Rome is turned towards them.’

‘It was ever so,’ remarked Dobbai caustically.

Samahe continued to walk towards the dais. ‘But if you really wish to know how many soldiers there are in Syria,’ she called to Domitus, ‘then I will ask the governor of Apamea. He is a nervous wreck, convinced that he will be poisoned. He calls me to his palace every week, insisting I prescribe him healing potions and antidotes. He is so bland and uninteresting that no one really notices him, so the idea that anyone would poison him is preposterous. A combination of nerves and rich food is responsible for his stomach cramps.’

‘He might not be so keen to employ you when he learns that you are here,’ I said.

She laughed. ‘I told him I was coming here. He asked me to give you a message.’

‘What message?’

‘That he hopes you will visit Apamea soon. He says that any friend of Pompey is his friend also.’

Domitus laughed and Rsan looked alarmed.

‘I am
not
Pompey’s friend,’ I stated. ‘I am Parthian.’

‘Is he always like this?’ Samahe asked Dobbai.

‘Always, sister. Everything is always black or white to the son of Hatra. You are either his enemy or his friend. There is no middle course.’

‘That is a shame, lord king,’ said Samahe. ‘You dress like a Roman and should act more like them. Diplomacy can sometimes achieve more than the sword.’

‘You mean duplicity and betrayal,’ I answered.

‘You see, sister,’ said Dobbai, ‘he is a hopeless romantic.’

After Samahe had examined and expressed her admiration for my griffin banner that hung on the wall behind our thrones, we walked to the banqueting hall where I ordered food to be brought for our guest. She sat on the top table as bread, fruit, cheese, sweet meats and pastries were brought from the kitchens. Out of courtesy we sat with her as servants filled our plain cups with wine and water.

Samahe’s appetite was amazing and I soon appreciated why she was overweight. She devoured great quantities of bread, cheese, yogurt and honey before servants brought slices of freshly roasted chicken, camel and grouse. Meat juices dripped from the corners of her lips as she shoved one piece after another into her mouth, all washed down by liberal quantities of wine. And all the while she never stopped talking.

She picked up a chicken wing and looked at Orodes. ‘My sister has told me of your predicament, prince. But you must not despair for you will reclaim your inheritance and more.’

‘More?’ said a curious Orodes.

Samahe began pushing the chicken into her mouth ‘All will be revealed in time.’

She chewed the meat and looked at her greasy hands. She turned to a servant, a young girl holding a bowl of water in her hands, a towel draped over her lithesome right arm.

‘Slave,’ she called, ‘come here.’

The girl blanched with alarm and made to hurry to Samahe’s side but I held up a hand to stop her.

‘There are no slaves here,’ I said to our guest.

Samahe’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘No slaves?’

‘All who work in the palace are free and are paid for their services.’

Samahe’s eyes widened as she looked at Dobbai.

‘It’s true, sister. The son of Hatra fights not only to rid the empire of Mithridates but also to make the world a better place.’

‘So you see, Samahe,’ I said, ‘as a friend of slaves I would not be welcome in Apamea, or any part of Syria, I think.’

The servant looked at me, unsure at what to do. I nodded so she could offer the bowl to Samahe. The old woman washed her hands and dried them on the towel, all the time keeping her black eyes on the girl’s, who looked terrified.

‘What is your name?’ Samahe’s voice was soft and kind.

‘Farimah, lady,’ she answered in a tremulous voice.

‘Glorious moon,’ said Samahe. She reached into her robe and held out her hand to the girl. It contained some sort of silver charm.

‘Take it child, by way of an apology. Keep it close at all times and you will see your children grow into adulthood.’

The girl’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, lady. But I have no children.’

Samahe smiled, though her fat lips created more of a smirk.

‘You will.’

The girl bowed and retreated to the kitchens. Samahe sat between Gallia and Dobbai, opposite me, and she now leaned across the table. Her breath reeked of wine.

‘Pretty girl, if a little timid.’

‘Did you see her destiny in her face?’ I asked.

She belched, the distasteful aroma blasting my face.

‘All I saw was an attractive young girl who most likely will succumb to the charms of a lustful young man. They will marry, she will fall pregnant and her first child will kill her.’

‘You can predict the destiny of something that is not yet born?’ said Godarz, his forehead creased with disbelief.

‘You are an old man,’ Samahe said to him, ‘and you probably did not see her thin hips. A child could split her in two with ease, poor girl.’

‘So you gave her something to widen her hips? Are you a god?’ asked Domitus derisively.

‘They say that you can take a Roman out of Rome but never Rome out of a Roman,’ remarked Samahe. ‘The charm will save her life when she gives birth, Roman, that is all I am prepared to say on the matter. I did not come here to give charms to young virgins.’

‘And why did you come?’ I asked.

‘Not that we are not glad to have you here,’ added Gallia, who seemed fascinated by everything about Samahe.

Samahe rested a hand on my wife’s arm. ‘My sister said that you were gracious and wise and I can see that it is so.’

She turned to me with a slightly haughty demeanour.

‘I have no idea why I am here, only that the gods gave me a clear sign that I had business in Dura.’

‘What business?’ sneered Domitus, who seemed to have taken a dislike to her.

‘It will be made plain at the appropriate time.’

‘Did you not hear my sister tell you, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai sternly, ‘that you and Gallia are the talk of Apamea.’

‘What of it?’ I answered.

Dobbai looked at Samahe and shook her head.

‘What of it? You must know that the gods use people to convey their messages. What clearer message can there be when thousands of voices are speaking your name? Where Dura and its king are heard on every corner, in every home and marketplace? Even a dullard would know that the gods were telling my sister to come here.’

It was all very ambiguous and frankly ridiculous, but out of politeness I did not press the point further. So Samahe consumed more meat before progressing on to slices of watermelon and grapes. She then declared that she would like to retire and rest before the evening’s feast. Gallia and Dobbai escorted her to the room that had been set aside for her, leaving the menfolk at the table.

‘She is obviously mad,’ declared Domitus.

‘Eccentric, certainly,’ said Orodes.

Rsan was concerned about more practical matters.

‘I hope the kitchens have enough food for this evening, majesty.’

We refilled our cups and laughed at the thought of this fat old woman from Apamea consuming Dura’s entire food stocks.

We left the banqueting hall as the first preparations for the evening feast began, servants arranging the tables that were usually stacked against the walls in rows at right angles to the top table and benches alongside them. The hall could seat five hundred people and at least half that number was in attendance by the time I took my seat alongside Gallia, Dobbai and Samahe, who declared to being ravenous after her nap.

Domitus sat down at a table with his senior officers and a select number of centurions. The former were technically tribunes as the Durans and Exiles were organised along Roman lines. However, it was common knowledge that Domitus despised the rank of tribune due to his experience of them during his time with the Roman army, and so they were simply referred to as officers. Orodes sat at another table with the senior horse archer and cataphract commanders. And at a further table were the Amazons. Everyone stood as four trumpeters blew their instruments to signal our arrival, taking their seats after we had done so.