Parthian Dawn (36 page)

‘And Mithridates and his mother control Phraates, who controls his son, Orodes. So you see, Mithridates exerts a great influence over the empire still,’ said Dobbai as she sat with us on the palace terrace late one afternoon. The day had been stifling, but as the evening approached the heat had diminished and a light easterly breeze made the temperature pleasant. I watched travellers on the road from the east approaching Dura — people on foot, camels loaded with wares and mules pulling carts full of goods. I was always amazed at the volume of people on the road, but Egypt had an insatiable desire for silk and China had a seemingly never-ending supply of the material. And Parthia lay between seller and buyer and grew rich by dint of geography.

‘So, Mithridates has crawled back to his mother,’ said Dobbai, chewing the last morsels of meat from a rib.

‘It appears so,’ I replied.

‘A viper returns to its nest.’

Rasha stopped eating and looked up at Dobbai. ‘When we find a viper we kill it. They are poisonous, you know.’

‘You see, son of Hatra, how even a small child grasps the importance of ridding the world of Mithridates.’

I waved my hand at her. ‘I am not going to kill Mithridates.’

She grinned at Rasha. ‘Not yet.’

‘We should visit your parents, Pacorus,’ mused Gallia, bored of talk of Mithridates, ‘before I am too fat to fit in a saddle.’

‘You are right. I will organise it.’ And it was also an opportunity to get away from Dobbai’s incessant nagging.

‘Can I come?’ asked Rasha, smiling innocently at Gallia.

‘Of course, as long as your father agrees.’

He did, and so we set off seven days later. I left Godarz as my deputy and told Domitus to begin the process of recruiting new legionaries, both to replace the few who had been killed at Surkh and to establish a replacement cohort. I had been toying with the idea for a while of a formation that would act as a sort of permanent garrison at Dura but at the same time would also train new recruits and act as a pool of battle replacements. In this way the legion would always be at full strength because new legionaries could be ferried from the replacement cohort to the legion in the field. I had read that the Persians who had once ruled these lands had a royal guard called the Immortals, whose strength had always been maintained at ten thousand men. I wished the legion to be similar. Domitus thought the garrison cohort a good idea, but raised an eyebrow when I informed him about the Immortals.

‘Where are these Immortals now?’ were his only words on the matter.

I took Nergal and Praxima with me to Hatra, plus the Amazons, who had been disappointed that they had missed the battle against Narses. I left Domitus and the legion behind, taking only a score of my cataphracts along for the journey, who left their armour behind. Like me they carried only swords and bows, always our bows.

It was good to see Hatra again, its dozens of stone towers glistening in the sun, each one topped by a flag bearing my father’s banner. Vistaspa met us with an escort about a mile from the city, two hundred cataphracts in full armour and pennants flying from every
kontus
, and as we entered the city’s south gates Kogan’s soldiers lined the streets to the palace.

‘A most impressive reception, Vistaspa,’ I remarked, ‘though my father need not have troubled himself.’

‘The visit of another king is a serious occasion, majesty,’ he replied sternly. ‘Protocol must be observed.’ Same old Vistaspa, hard as granite.

My parents waited for us at the top of the palace steps, and I noticed for the first time that my mother had flecks of grey in her hair. She still looked regal and glamorous, her arms adorned with gold armlets and bracelets and a gold braid belt around her waist. My father was dressed in a white robe and looked stern. And standing next to them were Gafarn and Diana. My brother smiled at me, still the irrepressible Gafarn, though Diana looked very different from the plain-looking kitchen slave who I had known in Italy. Now she was dressed in a fine white dress, with gold rings upon her fingers and gold barrettes in her hair, which was now shoulder length. She wore make-up around her eyes and on her lips and exquisite gold earrings dangled from her ears. Her appearance befitted her status as a princess of the empire. And standing beside her, clutching her hand, was a small boy, the son of Spartacus. He was nearly three years old now, and I saw in him the strong jaw and intelligent face of his father, his hair as black as his mother’s had been.

After we had all embraced each other, Gallia and Diana sharing a long and tearful reunion, I knelt beside the boy.

‘This is your Uncle Pacorus, Spartacus,’ said Diana.

He bowed his head to me. ‘Hello, your majesty.’

I smiled at him. ‘Hello, Spartacus, I was a friend of your father.’

He smiled at me but I think the words meant little to him. All he had known was Hatra’s palace, a world far removed from the one lived in by his parents.

‘It is good that you tell him of his parents,’ I said as I walked beside Diana through the sprawling palace that was Hatra’s seat of power.

‘I have told him about Spartacus and Claudia but he does not really understand. Why would he? He is being raised as a prince in a far-off land.’

‘One day he will understand, I hope. I promised Cannicus that I would tell him.’

Diana stopped and looked at me. ‘That’s a name I have not heard in an age.’

‘Do you remember Castus and his Germans, Diana? All hair, beards and boasting. But they made good soldiers.’

‘I remember,’ she said. ‘I remember it all.’

‘I miss those days, Diana. When we were fugitives in a foreign land with a host of Romans after us. But how we gave them a good run for their money.’

She shook her head. ‘I think you remember some of those times, not all of them. Besides you should be looking forward, what with a baby on the way. Gallia looks very happy.’

‘She is, and so am I.’

My father’s frostiness towards me had disappeared and the next day we went to the training fields outside the city to shoot our bows. We all took part in a competition called the ‘five targets’ — five small packed straw circles mounted on poles that were spaced at one hundred-yard intervals. The rules were simple. Each participant rode up the course as fast as possible, shooting at each target as he passed it. The first target was angled towards the rider, the next two were positioned parallel to the rider as he passed them, but the final two were facing away from the rider, at right angles to the course. This meant that he had to turn in the saddle and fire over the hindquarters of his horse, firing backwards in effect, to hit the targets. Gallia insisted on taking part, as did Praxima, while the men folk numbered myself, my father, Vistaspa, Nergal and Gafarn. All Parthian males learn to shoot the bow before they ride, even before they can walk. They start out on ‘baby bows’, small affairs that have almost no strength in their strings. They then progress on to more powerful bows, and by the time they reach their teenage years they are shooting full-sized recurve bows made of wood and bone, the same weapons that Parthian warriors use in battle.

As we all took turns to run the course and shoot at the targets, my father sat on his horse beside Remus and told me the news of what was happening to the north of Hatra’s borders.

‘My scouts report that many Roman troops are marching into Armenia and Pontus. They mean to finish Mithridates once and for all.’

Mithridates, King of Pontus, had been fighting the Romans for twenty years now, and although he was a great general, his kingdom was on its knees. If only his namesake, the son of Phraates, had a tenth of his courage and nobility.

‘And once they have finished with Pontus and Armenia, we will be next,’ continued my father.

I was shocked. ‘You mean Hatra?’

‘Hatra, Media, Atropaiene, it’s all the same to Rome.’

‘They have an insatiable appetite for land,’ I said.

‘Your Roman.’

‘Domitus?’

My father nodded. ‘He was right. Phraates appears weak in Roman eyes and that is bad news for all of us.’

His words must have unnerved me, for when it was my turn to shoot I missed two of the targets altogether and finished last behind Nergal and Vistaspa. Gallia and Gafarn agreed to share first place, with my father close behind them in second.

Back at the city I walked with my father and Vistaspa as they made an inspection of the royal armouries. The level of activity was feverish, with men at every forge and anvil. Quivers of freshly made arrows were being ferried to the stores and sword blades were being hammered on anvils and quenched in water. Vistaspa saw the look of surprise on my face.

‘We are preparing for the worst. The Romans will find that Hatra is not Gordyene.’

I picked up a mace from a row of racks that lay along one wall, each one filled with newly made weapons. It was a thing of beauty — a wooden shaft with leather strips around the base for grip, and steel flanges at the other end arranged around the shaft in a circular pattern. Primarily a bludgeoning instrument, the flanges could batter their way through mail, scale armour and helmets, especially if wielded from a horse by a cataphract.

‘We could always strike first,’ I suggested. ‘Pre-empt Roman aggression.’

My father took the mace from me and replaced it on the rack. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you? Another war to add glory to your name. But I think not. Hatra lies close to the Romans whereas Dura is far away.’

‘They will come anyway, father.’

‘If they do, then I know that Media will come to Hatra’s assistance, and then the Romans will be facing three armies — ours plus Atropaiene’s and Media’s.’

‘And Dura’s,’ I added.

‘You may have to look to your own devices if the Romans attack you from Syria,’ Vistaspa’s eyes lit up as he considered my discomfort. He had always been a callous individual, a man who took delight in people’s misfortunes.

‘Have no fear, Vistaspa,’ I replied, ‘Dura’s defences are strong. In any case, Haytham’s men would harry the Romans’ supply lines while they sat in front of Dura.’

‘The Agraci?’ Vistaspa’s face showed disgust.

‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘the Agraci. Haytham’s son, Prince Malik, has fought by my side and the king’s daughter is in Hatra’s palace as we speak.’

‘There’s a difference between enemies who have agreed to stop fighting and allies, Pacorus,’ growled my father.

‘Is there, father? I count Haytham as a friend and have no reason to believe that he does not think of me in the same way.’

‘You should have more care in the choice of your friends,’ sneered Vistaspa.

I smiled at him. ‘Have a care, Vistaspa, one day all this,’ I gestured at the armoury with my arm, ‘will be mine and those who question my authority will have no place here.’

‘Enough!’ barked my father. ‘Prince Vistaspa is my friend and trusted lieutenant, and I will not have him spoken to thus.’

‘My apologies, father, I did not mean to cause offence.’

The rest of the tour was uncomfortable to say the least. In truth Vistaspa had done nothing wrong. Most Parthians were prejudiced against the Agraci, many hated them outright. But still, old ways and attitudes were only useful if they served a purpose, and antagonising the Agraci served none at all. The company of my mother was much more agreeable, especially as she had collected Gallia, Rasha, Diana and Gafarn as well. We all arranged ourselves in her quaint pagoda as Rasha and young Spartacus played with a set of carved wooden farm animals. Servants brought us fruit juice and pastries.

‘Been annoying your father again, Pacorus?’ asked Gallia.

I shrugged and toyed with my cup.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘Really, Pacorus,’ said my mother. ‘We see you little enough, you should not argue when you do come to Hatra.’

‘Father refuses to see the bigger picture,’ I replied.

‘Have you been painting?’ Gafarn was in an impious mood.

‘I was talking of strategy.’

‘Which involves you ordering everyone about, does it, in your new role as lord high general? By the way, is there a lord low general?’

I frowned at him. ‘It means trying to keep Parthia’s enemies at bay.’

‘You mean the Romans.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘what others are there?’

‘Don’t you think that you are becoming obsessed by the Romans, Pacorus?’ said my mother.

‘You should let it go, Pacorus,’ said Gafarn. He gestured at Gallia and Diana. ‘We all have.’

‘Let what go?’

‘Your hatred for the Romans, what else? We all escaped, we were the lucky ones. Thousands died in Italy, including our friends, but we escaped.’

‘And I should be grateful for that?’

Gafarn looked at me. ‘Why not? We all live a life beyond even the dreams of most men. What have we to be angry about?’

‘He’s right, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.

I knew he was, which made it worse, but I could never forgive the Romans for enslaving me.

‘My back carries a permanent reminder of the hospitality that the Romans extended to me. As long as they are on Parthia’s borders I shall neither forgive nor forget.’

Diana smiled at me, that sweet, disarming smile that could melt the iciest heart. Gallia was more beautiful than Diana, but Diana had a warmth and grace that endeared her to all, from the lowliest slave to the highest king whose aloofness was soon conquered by her charm. Everyone grew to love Diana, myself included, and we all reckoned Gafarn to be among the luckiest men in all the empire. I was the luckiest, of course, but he came a close second.

‘Oh, Pacorus,’ she said. ‘You are still the same proud, defiant young man whom we first clapped eyes upon on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius all those years ago. Unbending, strong and brave. Everything is black and white to you, right or wrong, no middle course. But the world is not like that, my brother, and we must weave a path through life, taking our happiness where we find it. Do not dwell on the past. Spartacus and Claudia knew this, and so do Gallia and Gafarn.’

She walked over and kissed me gently on the cheek. ‘Be content with the love of your friends and family, my brave warrior, for they are your source of strength.’