Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (5 page)

‘I’m sure Nergal will send him back to us presently,’ I replied.

Orodes leaned forward to look at Dobbai. ‘Have the gods revealed his true purpose to you?’

Dobbai flicked a hand at him, rose and walked towards the door.

‘The gods have better things to do than whisper in my ear, prince. But I will say this: Mithridates will never set foot on the western bank of the Euphrates and neither will Narses. If you wish to kill them you will have to go and get them.’

With that she opened the door and departed, mumbling to herself as she did so. Gallia was still studying the map as Dobbai closed the door behind her.

‘What is this place?’ she said, turning to Rsan who had spent his whole life at Dura. She was pointing to a settlement at the spot where the Tigris and Euphrates entered the Persian Gulf.

‘That is Charax, majesty,’ answered Rsan. ‘A port that was formerly under the control of the King of Mesene, but no longer.’

‘No longer? Why?’

‘It was established by Alexander of Macedon nearly three hundred years ago, majesty,’ said Rsan. ‘Since then its fortunes have declined sharply. It has been destroyed by floods at least twice.’

‘It is part of Mesene?’ queried Gallia.

‘Technically, yes,’ said Rsan. ‘But it has been many decades since Uruk has exercised control over Charax. Today the port exists as a sort of independent city, though only because it is out of the way and no one has the inclination to subdue it. But it too pays dues to the empire.’

Gallia was intrigued. ‘In what way?’

‘Boats dock at Charax and then sail up the Tigris or Euphrates to trade their goods in either Babylon or Seleucia where they are taxed.’

‘Who rules Charax?’ I asked Rsan.

He stroked his beard. ‘Let me see. Ah, yes, a man named Tiraios if my memory serves me correctly. The port was prosperous many years ago but the Silk Road has reduced it to a backwater in every sense of the word. Alas for Tiraios.’

After the meeting I wrote letters to King Vardan at Babylon and King Gotarzes at Elymais, both allies, alerting them of my missive to Mithridates and asking them to keep watch for any troop movements in Susiana and Persis. But with the news that Narses was travelling east to Sakastan I thought it improbable that Mithridates would attempt anything on his own. And so I waited. After two weeks nothing had happened, and after a month it became obvious that my letter had been ignored. Frequent messages came from Nergal reporting no activity on his eastern border, and from Vardan stating that nothing was happening at Seleucia. Even Gotarzes bewailed the torpor. He hated Mithridates and Narses more than I did and would have liked nothing more than a war against them. But Ctesiphon sent envoys to Elymais to maintain cordial relations with its king and pointedly ignored the Kingdom of Dura and its ruler. The army trained, the trade caravans travelled through the kingdom on their way to Palmyra and I paced the palace terrace waiting for an invasion that would never happen. I received a letter from my father, admonishing me for insulting the high king and reporting that the Romans in Gordyene were quiet. Zeugma sent protestations of peace and my mother wondered when we would be visiting Hatra again. The whole empire appeared to have been gripped by an outbreak of peace that was as infuriating as it was welcome.

The only bright spot was the gathering of the Companions.

This annual assembly was a feast for all those who had travelled with me from Italy in the aftermath of Spartacus’ defeat. As well as the survivors of the force of Parthians that I had led into Cappadocia they included Greeks, Gauls, Italians, Germans, Dacians and Thracians. After the night of revelry, when I sat on the palace terrace nursing a hangover, Byrd paid me a visit. Though he was not the most sociable of individuals he always made the effort to attend the gathering, usually ending up sitting on his own at the end of a table in the banqueting hall, alone with his thoughts.

He looked more like an Agraci in his flowing black robes, black headdress and dark, unkempt features. But then he had made his home among the desert people, residing at Palmyra with Noora who never left the settlement.

‘I trust she is well, Byrd,’ I said, pressing a damp towel to my forehead.

He nodded. ‘She well, lord.’

‘Gallia is always on at me to convince you and Noora to come and live in Dura. She has even earmarked a mansion in the city that could be your residence, should you so desire.’

He shook his head. ‘I like Palmyra.’

I eased myself back into the chair and placed my feet on the stuffed stool. The throbbing in my head was at least beginning to subside.

‘Gallia believes that living in a mansion is preferable to sleeping in a tent, Byrd.’

‘I like simple life, lord.’

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

‘You are a Companion, Byrd. You don’t have to call me “lord”. What news do you have of the Romans?’

‘Romani quiet. We hear stories of great rivalries in Rome.’

‘That’s good. If the Romans are fighting among themselves then they won’t be bothering Dura, or Palmyra for that matter.’

I immersed the towel in the bowel of fresh water on the table beside me, wrung it out and replaced it on my forehead.

‘My scouts report no activity east or west of the Euphrates,’ said Byrd.

I smiled to myself. He commanded fifty hand-picked scouts that were the eyes and ears of Dura’s army. Mostly ragged-looking Agraci, they were a law unto themselves, riding hither and thither at their own beck and call. Their refusal to obey anyone save Byrd and me drove Domitus to distraction and he was forever complaining about their appearance or non-appearance when they decided to take themselves off at a moment’s notice. But for all their shortcomings I reckoned them to be the finest group of scouts in the Parthian Empire. And to date they had always provided me with accurate information regarding an enemy’s whereabouts and strength, and the army had never been surprised on campaign. This made Byrd and his fifty scouts priceless and that is why I never interfered with their peculiar ways. Every month a payment of gold was sent from Dura’s treasury to Byrd at Palmyra to pay him and his scouts. The amount was generous, which was a bone of contention with Rsan, but I reckoned it money well spent for it provided me with information concerning what was happening beyond Dura’s borders.

‘I’m glad that your men are collecting intelligence, Byrd,’ I told him, ‘but the caravans also convey gossip concerning what is going on east of the Euphrates.’

He reached into his robes and held out his hand to me, a gold coin between his fingers.

‘What’s this?’

‘From Gerrha,’ he replied.

‘Gerrha?’

The name was vaguely familiar but I could not place it. I took the coin. It was newly minted and on one side bore the head of Simurgel, the bird-god symbol of Persis. I placed the towel on the table and sat up as I turned the coin in my hand.

‘This is the currency of the Kingdom of Persis,’ I said.

Byrd nodded. ‘Lord Yasser recently escorted a caravan carrying incense from Gerrha.’

Yasser was one of Haytham’s warlords who commanded a large stretch of territory in the southern Agraci lands. Byrd told me that Gerrha was the capital of the Kingdom of Dilmun, a domain in eastern Arabia, and Gerrha itself was a large port that traded in goods coming from east of the Indus. Its boats transported incense and spices throughout the Persian Gulf and also into Parthia via the Tigris and Euphrates.

‘Yasser imposed a tax on the caravan and then escorted it north toward Petra,’ said Byrd.

I laughed. ‘He is a merchant now rather than a warlord.’

Byrd nodded.

‘Yasser must be getting soft,’ I remarked.

‘Haytham himself visited Kingdom of Dilmun and proposed trade treaty based on the one he has with Dura. You have changed him, Pacorus.’

I felt immensely proud and smug at that moment. Perhaps future generations would view me as the Parthian who tamed the Agraci, not with bows but with words.

‘Thing is,’ continued Byrd, ‘Yasser talked to the camel drivers and they told him that many of Narses’ agents in Gerrha hiring boats with gold.’

‘Boats?’

Byrd nodded.

‘Perhaps Narses wishes Persis to become a great trading kingdom,’ I suggested. ‘Why else does he need boats?’

Byrd had no answer to my question but I was secretly pleased that Narses was occupying himself with affairs within his own kingdom, and presumably his newly acquired kingdom of Sakastan.

The next few days were a happy time as I hunted with Gafarn, Diana, Nergal and Praxima, taking with me the saker falcon named Najya that had been a present from Haytham. Gafarn, my former slave, now my adopted brother and a prince of Hatra, was in high spirits as he basked in the love of his wife, the former kitchen slave from Capua who had escaped from the gladiatorial school with Spartacus. I had hope that they would bring the young son of Spartacus with them to Dura but he had been left behind at Hatra.

‘Your mother dotes on him,’ Gafarn said to me as we rode back to the city after a day hunting desert quail. The sun was dipping on the western horizon – a golden molten ball of fire resembling Praxima’s wild red mane hanging around her shoulders.

‘I remember the night he was born,’ said Nergal.

‘The night Claudia died,’ lamented Praxima.

‘I have often wondered what would have happened if she had lived,’ said Gafarn. ‘Perhaps Spartacus would not have thrown his life away in battle the next day and we would all still be in Italy.’

‘Being chased around the country by Crassus,’ I said.

‘Or perhaps we would have defeated Crassus and ended up as rulers of Rome,’ offered Nergal.

‘I prefer our new home,’ said Praxima.

‘What is it like, being a god I mean?’ asked a smiling Diana.

‘Tiresome,’ replied her friend. ‘Total obedience gets on my nerves and no one looks you in the eye.’

‘How is Surena getting along?’ I asked.

‘Very well,’ said Nergal. ‘He has raised a good number of Ma’adan recruits who are being trained in the ways of war by Kuban and his officers. They are enthusiastic recruits.’

‘What is the view of those men who used to serve Chosroes?’ I asked.

‘They are soldiers,’ replied Nergal. ‘Those who survived our storm of the city now serve me.’

Praxima giggled. ‘Besides, we have High Priest Rahim on our side and no one dare challenge him.’

‘It was a stroke of luck you two resembling the old gods of Uruk,’ said Gafarn.

‘Dobbai would say that luck played no part in it,’ I said. ‘She would say that it was the will of the gods that led Nergal and Praxima to Uruk. That I was merely an agent of their desires.’

‘She doesn’t like me,’ said Gafarn.

‘She is very wise,’ I agreed.

‘Just as the people of Uruk believe that Nergal and Praxima were sent by the gods,’ said Gallia, ‘so do the inhabitants of Dura believe that Dobbai was sent to protect the city. She was the one who gave Dura’s army its banner, the golden griffin of the Durans and the statue that guards the city.’

‘It is always best to have the gods on your side,’ said Nergal. ‘It makes things much easier.’

‘Let us hope that the gods speedily do away with Mithridates and Narses,’ I said.

‘Mithridates writes honey-coated letters to our father, Pacorus,’ said Gafarn, ‘pledging eternal friendship and peace between Ctesiphon and Hatra.’

‘He ignores Dura,’ I stated.

‘And Uruk,’ added Nergal.

‘He seeks to isolate us from the rest of the empire,’ I said. ‘To let our two kingdoms wither and die like vines deprived of water.’

‘Like Charax,’ said Nergal.

Gallia’s ears pricked up. ‘What do you know of Charax? Its name was raised at a council meeting recently.’

Nergal shrugged. ‘A poor city built where the Tigris and Euphrates flow into the Persian Gulf. Boats from the port frequently visit Uruk to unload their cargoes for sale in the city. It is rumoured that its ruler, Tiraios, is a tyrant but he has no army to speak of, or so the Ma’adan inform me.’

‘They fight this Tiraios?’ asked Gafarn.

Nergal laughed. ‘The Ma’adan will fight anyone who encroaches on their territory.’

‘But not you, my friend,’ I said.

Nergal nodded. ‘No, they are our allies.’

That night the kitchens cooked the quail we had caught and we ate them in the banqueting hall, which seemed eerily quiet after the raucous feast of the Companions. We mostly ate in silence, Gallia, Diana and Praxima exchanging the occasional word. Though we all loved these annual gatherings the eve of journeys home was always a sad affair. Part of me wished that I still lived in Hatra with my parents and Gafarn and Diana, with Nergal and Praxima living in one of the great mansions in the city. But we all had our own destinies to fulfil and it was a futile exercise to wish for what would never be. And so we sat in silence, each mulling over their thoughts.

‘You know that you will always have a home at Dura should you so wish,’ I said suddenly to Nergal and Praxima.

They both looked at me in confusion, as did the others.