Parthian Dawn
Authors: Peter Darman
Parthian Dawn
By Peter Darman
Contents
Chapter 1
‘H
e may be old but his mind is as sharp as ever. I don’t suppose you refused his generous offer, did you?’ My father, King Varaz of Hatra, was far from happy. He paced up and down the council chamber while everyone else sat at the large rectangular table looked decidedly uncomfortable.
‘No, father, I accepted his most kind gift.’
My father, now in his late forties, had a smattering of grey in his short-cropped hair. But he still looked every inch the warrior he was — tall, muscular and imposing — his hands clasped behind his back as he continued pacing up and down in front of the large hide map of the Parthian Empire on the wall. The veins in his neck were bulging and his face was red; he was indeed far from happy. He eventually sat in his chair and began rapping his fingers on the table, which only added to everyone’s feeling of unease. He looked at me across the table.
‘You are the heir to Hatra’s throne, not the commander of some ramshackle desert outpost across the Euphrates.’
‘Hardly that, majesty,’ interrupted Addu, Hatra’s royal treasurer, a rather gaunt man in his fifties. ‘Dura Europus is a prosperous commerce centre at the junction of both the east-to-west and north-to-south trade routes.’
Dura Europus was a city built on a high rock escarpment on the west bank of the Euphrates. It overlooked the great waterway, which formed the western frontier of the Parthian Empire, and controlled a strip of land on the western side of the river for a distance of one hundred miles north and south of the city, as well as all ferries and bridges across the waterway for an equivalent length. The revenues raised from the endless trade caravans that passed through Dura’s lands were considerable, as were the dues raised from the charges levelled on the aristocratic landowners who farmed the rich Euphrates plain. And now the city belonged to me.
If Addu had sought to soothe my father’s temper he was sadly mistaken.
The king banged his fist on the table. ‘Dura Europus is on the west bank of the Euphrates, Lord Addu, which means that if an enemy attacks from the direction of Syria, then Dura Europus will be the first the fall.’
‘We have heard of no threat arising from that quarter, lord.’ It was the first time that Vistaspa, the commander of my father’s bodyguard and the head of Hatra’s army, had spoken. Five years older than my father and treated like a brother by the king, he had a lean, bony face and dark, cold eyes. He had always treated me with a detached aloofness bordering on disdain and had made little effort to garner my affection. He was utterly loyal to my father and absolutely contemptuous of everyone else, but his qualities as a commander ensured that Hatra’s army was one of the finest in the Parthian Empire.
My father leaned back in his chair. ‘Perhaps not yet, but they will come, of that I am certain.’ He shot me a glance. ‘The more so when they learn that the new King of Dura Europus is none other than the man who fought beside the leader of a slave rebellion in their own homeland.’
He spoke of my time in Italy with Spartacus, gladiator, slave and for three years the master of all Italy, and a man I was proud to call friend. Before that I had been raiding in the Roman province of Cappadocia under the command of Lord Bozan, at the time leader of Hatra’s army, but Bozan had been killed in battle and I and many other Parthians had been captured by the Romans, then put in chains and sent in boats to be slaves in Italy. It was there that we had been rescued by Spartacus and his men on the slopes of a sleeping volcano called Mount Vesuvius. Thus began a three-year campaign in Italy where I had led Spartacus’ horsemen, and where we had defeated the Romans on many occasions.
‘I do not fear the Romans,’ I said.
My father laughed. ‘You should, because when they hear that King Pacorus, formerly the friend of a slave general who terrorised Italy, is now the ruler of a small city within touching distance of their eastern provinces, they might be tempted to send an army to the walls of Dura Europus.’
‘I’ve beaten Roman armies before, father.’
‘Ah, yes, I forgot, you laid waste to their homeland. But correct me if I am wrong, they defeated you in the end, did they not?’
‘I am made king by Sinatruces, father. That is now law. What is done cannot be undone.’
My father stared at the table before him. ‘No, indeed. Vistaspa, you will take five hundred of Hatra’s garrison and camp them across the river from my son’s new kingdom, just in case he needs to call upon additional troops.’
Lord Kogan, garrison commander at Hatra, raised his eyebrows at this. In his mid-fifties, his shoulder-length hair and thick moustache streaked with white, his broad frame was still impressive. Tall and serious, he guarded his garrison with the tenacity of a hawk keeping watch over its nest.
‘That is many soldiers, majesty.’
‘I agree, Kogan,’ replied my father, ‘but I fear that many covet Dura Europus and I want Pacorus to enjoy his new position, at least for a while.’
‘I have troops enough to garrison the city, father.’
My father smiled. ‘Really? And who would they be?’
‘Those who came with me from Italy.’
‘A hundred and twenty, including the women?’
My father was referring to the twenty women horse archers who had fought beside me and were led by a Gallic princess named Gallia, the woman who was soon to be my wife. She had called her women warriors Amazons, named after a race of martial women who had lived on an Aegean island called Lemnos. Many people, including most in this meeting, thought they were ridiculous. But I had seen them fight in Italy and knew that they had earned their right to bear arms. I would trust them with my life; indeed, Gallia herself had saved my life once in southern Italy with her proficiency with a bow. It seemed like another life to me now.
‘Yes, father, including the women. And Gafarn, if he will accompany me.’
My adopted brother smiled at me. Two years younger than me, he had, since the age of five, been a slave in my father’s palace at Hatra. Taken as a captive in war, he had become my personal servant. He too had been captured in Cappadocia, subsequently freed by Spartacus when we had joined his cause, and then fought alongside me in Italy. During that time he had become like a brother to me, and I was glad that he been formally made so by my parents upon our return to Parthia.
‘Of course, who else is going to watch your back?’
‘Not so hasty, Gafarn,’ said my father. ‘You are the brother of Pacorus, no longer his slave. You must discuss the matter with your wife first. And I may not allow you to leave. You are, after all, second in line to Hatra’s throne and I do not want both my sons embarking on a fool’s errand.’
Gafarn smiled at me. ‘As you command, majesty.’
My father shook his head. ‘No, Gafarn, you must call me “father” now.’
‘Of course, my apologies, majesty.’
My father waved his hand at him. ‘It doesn’t matter. But talk with Diana. She may not want to leave Hatra now that you that have quarters in the palace. How is the child?’
My father was speaking of the infant son of Spartacus and a promise that I had made to his wife, Claudia, to take her son with me to Parthia in the event the slave rebellion was defeated. Gafarn and Diana, formerly a Roman kitchen slave in the gladiator school where Spartacus had trained, now a princess of Parthia and a close friend of myself and Gallia, were now bringing him up. How strange fate was.
‘He thrives, majesty, er, father.’
‘When you take up residence in Dura, Pacorus,’ continued my father, ‘you will only have a handful of Parthians to protect you and your new wife, plus the soldiers led by that Roman.’
‘You mean Domitus, father.’
‘You trust this man?’ enquired Kogan.
‘With my life,’ I replied.
Lucius Domitus was formerly a Roman centurion who had struck a senior officer. As a result he was condemned to live out the rest of his life working in a silver mine. When Spartacus had captured that mine he had been freed, and had subsequently served in the slave army. He had risen to a high rank for he was a formidable warrior. He was also a forthright, loyal and brave individual, and I was delighted that he had elected to come to Parthia in the aftermath of Spartacus’ death. Now, he was busy raising a legion that would be in my service.
‘His encampment outside the city resembles a host of refugees,’ grumbled my father. ‘They need to be moved on.’
‘That may be difficult, majesty.’ It was the first time that Assur, high priest of Hatra, had spoken. Lean and possessing a somewhat severe countenance, he was now in his sixties but still commanded great respect. The guardian of the souls of the city’s population, he was the representative on earth of the god we all worshipped in Hatra, Shamash, Lord of the Sun.
‘Why is that, Assur?’ asked my father.
‘It is well known that the individuals you speak of are here for one reason only, to enlist in the service of your son, Pacorus. They believe, rightly or wrongly, that he is beloved of God, since a sage in the service of King Sinatruces foretold his return. Moreover, that he returned to us with the Lady Gallia by his side, whose coming was also foretold, has only added to the lustre that surrounds your son’s name. I would advise against making any move against our new guests.’
‘How many have
graced
us with their presence thus far?’ asked my father sourly, looking at Kogan.
‘My men have counted over five thousand thus far, majesty. And may I add that they are proving a heavy burden on the city’s resources. Most brought little or no food with them and Prince, er, King Pacorus has insisted that they should all be fed.’
‘Of course,’ I added, ‘otherwise they will starve and will be of no use to me.’
‘This matter needs attending to, Pacorus,’ said my father, ‘especially since visiting dignitaries will soon be arriving as your wedding guests. It is inappropriate that the first thing they will see of Hatra will be your band of beggars and thieves that have decided to make you a god.’
The meeting over, I made my way to my quarters in the palace to collect my weapons. I took Gafarn with me, walking through corridors teeming with clerks, servants and guards, Kogan’s soldiers, who stood like statues in front of white stone pillars.
‘I will be glad to get to Dura Europos.’
Gafarn was surprised. ‘You wish to leave Hatra?’
‘In truth, though I love my parents, I find the atmosphere in the palace suffocating. My parents are watching over me like hawks. I want to get married and then be away.’
‘Then it was fortunate indeed that you have been given your own city to rule.’
I bristled at this. ‘Fortunate! It was the least that Sinatruces could do.’
Gafarn laughed. ‘He could have had you killed and taken Gallia for himself. No one would have thought any less of him had he done so.’
I did not answer because he was right. Gafarn had a gift, which I found very irritating, of being able to sum up most situations succinctly. The Parthian Empire was made up of eighteen separate kingdoms, each one ruled by a king, but each of these kings elected one of their number to be the ‘King of Kings’, to rule over them all. In this way the empire had one voice and the likelihood of civil war breaking out between ambitious kings or factions was reduced. Sinatruces, now over eighty years old, had been King of Kings for fifty years. The great length of his rule had meant that all the kings of the empire naturally deferred to his decisions and accepted his authority without question.
‘Your father seems annoyed at your appointment. But then, hardly surprising as you are only twenty-five and he had to wait until his father, your grandfather, King Sames, died before he could wear Hatra’s crown. He was in his thirties then.’
‘Thank you, Gafarn, I know my family history.’
‘If you know it, then you must realise why he is so peeved. Add in that you have become a messiah, and you can understand his annoyance.’
‘I am not a messiah.’
He nodded. ‘Indeed you are not, but you are to those who have made the trip to Hatra.’
We picked up our swords, bows and quivers from our quarters and then walked to the stables adjacent to the sprawling royal barracks next to the palace, where my father’s bodyguard and the army’s other cavalry were quartered. The royal bodyguard consisted of five hundred of the finest sons of Hatra, all personally selected by either my father or Vistaspa, men who had been trained for war since an infant age. Like me, their whole lives were devoted to becoming expert in the military arts — riding, shooting a bow from the saddle, using a sword on foot and horseback, and a lance from the saddle. The royal bodyguard looked down on the members of the city’s professional army — a thousand heavy cavalry and five thousand horse archers — who in turn looked down on the city’s garrison: Lord Kogan’s two thousand foot soldiers, who in reality were a force for maintaining law and order in the city. God knows what they all thought of the ragged wretches who had come to Hatra with the sole intention of enlisting in my service.