Location via proxy:   [ UP ]  
[Report a bug]   [Manage cookies]                
Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Sons of the Citadel
    Sons of the Citadel
    Sons of the Citadel
    Ebook544 pages10 hours

    Sons of the Citadel

    By Peter Darman

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Did you think the gods would leave you alone, Pacorus? Did you truly believe the Romans would forget the humiliation of Carrhae and not rest until they had won back their lost eagles?

    Pacorus had believed the defeat of Crassus would signal the end of Roman interest in Parthia and for many years his kingdom knew peace and prosperity. But the vindictiveness of Queen Cleopatra of Egypt draws him and the Parthians into a new war, one in which they would be fighting for their very existence when her husband Mark Antony invades the empire at the head of over one hundred thousand men.
    At first the new high king of the Parthian Empire refuses the assistance of Pacorus and his famed army, but as disaster follows disaster only Dura’s soldiers can save the empire from being swallowed whole by the Romans. An older, wiser Pacorus is forced to take the field against the might of Rome once more in a war that will be a turning point for him, the empire and his family.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPeter Darman
    Release dateSep 24, 2016
    ISBN9781370321506
    Sons of the Citadel
    Author

    Peter Darman

    I was raised in Grantham, Lincolnshire and attended the King's Grammar School after passing the Eleven Plus exam. In the latter I clearly remember writing an essay on Oliver Cromwell – my first piece of military writing. Then came a BA in history and international relations at Nottingham followed by a Master of Philosophy course at the University of York. The subject was the generalship and cavalry of Prince Rupert of the Rhine, my boyhood hero, during the English Civil War. The year I spent researching and writing at York, Oxford and at the British Library in London was a truly wonderful time. I moved to London and eventually joined a small publishing company as an editor. Thus began my writing career. I now live in Lincolnshire with my wife Karen.

    Read more from Peter Darman

    Related to Sons of the Citadel

    Titles in the series (15)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Historical Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • UNLIMITED

      Greek Knowledge Of The Scythians

      Dec 8, 2023

      Greek Knowledge Of The Scythians
      8 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Armed And Dangerous

      Aug 5, 2021

      Armed And Dangerous
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      From Stirrups To Longbows

      Mar 23, 2021

      From Stirrups To Longbows
      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Emperor Did Not Rule Alone

      Sep 8, 2023

      Emperor Justinian was both celebrated and castigated as the ‘sleepless’ emperor, who kept a tireless vigil and worked constantSo dedicated to his work was he that, according to at least one contemporary, the emperor could not even endure his bed, but

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Nomad Kingdoms A Fast Flowing History From Ancient Times To Tamerlane Through Gore And Civilisation On The Steppes

      Aug 18, 2023

      On the southern steppe of Ukraine in 512BC, the envoy of Scythian King Idanthyrsus delivered a frog, a mouse, a bird and several arrows to Darius, mighty king of Persia. Then, without saying a word, he departed. Darius was confident the nomadic Scyth

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Empire Of The Greats

      Apr 14, 2022

      Empire Of The Greats
      9 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Women On The Wall

      Jul 7, 2022

      Women On The Wall
      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      How Religion Affected Coinage

      Sep 18, 2019

      How Religion Affected Coinage
      8 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      In The Court Of The Mughal Emperor

      Mar 30, 2023

      THE LATE SIR CHRISTOPHER MEYER, the closest thing modern British diplomacy has produced to a public figure, enjoyed comparing his trade to prostitution. Both are ancient trades and neither enjoys a wholly favourable reputation. Any modern diplomat wi

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Against The Odds, A Royal Wedding Worth Watching

      May 19, 2018

      Normally, royal weddings are like the Oscars: a lot of pomp, but no real surprises. But when Prince Harry married Meghan Markle, the TV audience sat up and took notice.

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Life As A Pharaoh

      May 12, 2022

      Life As A Pharaoh
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Way Of The Future

      Jun 8, 2021

      The Way Of The Future
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Khanate of Crimea

      Dec 28, 2023

      The Khanate of Crimea
      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The World’s First Superhero

      Oct 28, 2021

      In 321 BC, a very strange procession set out from Babylon. Alexander the Great was on the move. He had died two years earlier, in 323 BC, at the age of 32. Over the course of a few brief years, this astonishing soldier and statesman had transformed t

      8 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Karma For Cleomenes

      May 30, 2022

      Karma For Cleomenes
      9 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Debunking The Spartans

      Aug 5, 2021

      Debunking The Spartans
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      ‘The Enemies Of Rome’ Shows The Underdogs’ View Of The Empire

      Jan 27, 2020

      Stephen P. Kershaw tells of a thousand years of resistance to Rome, with portraits of the most celebrated adversaries from across the known world.

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Steve Toussaint

      Jul 26, 2022

      Steve Toussaint
      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Classical Corner

      Jun 15, 2023

      Classical Corner
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Peace! (at The Point Of A Sword)

      Jul 6, 2023

      Peace! (at The Point Of A Sword)
      9 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Sons of the Citadel

    4/5

    2 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Sons of the Citadel - Peter Darman

      Sons of the Citadel

      Peter Darman

      Copyright © 2016 Pete Darman

      All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

      Formatted by Jo Harrison

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

      Contents

      Map

      List of characters

      Introduction

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Epilogue

      Historical Notes

      List of characters

      Those marked with an asterisk * are Companions – individuals who fought with Spartacus in Italy and who travelled back to Parthia with Pacorus.

      Those marked with a dagger † are known to history.

      The Kingdom of Dura

      Aaron: Jew, royal treasurer at Dura Europos

      *Alaric: German, soldier in Dura’s army

      *Alcaeus: Greek chief physician in Dura’s army

      Azad: commander of Dura’s cataphracts

      *Byrd: Cappadocian businessman resident at Palmyra

      Chrestus: commander of Dura’s army

      Claudia: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura

      *Gallia: Gaul, Queen of Dura Europos

      Kewab: Egyptian, officer in Dura’s army

      Marcus Sutonius: Roman, quartermaster general of Dura’s Army

      *Pacorus: Parthian, King of Dura Europos

      Rsan: Parthian, governor of Dura Europos

      Scelias: Greek, head tutor of the Sons of the Citadel

      Sporaces: commander of Dura’s horse archers

      Talib; Agraci, chief scout in Dura’s army

      The Kingdom of Hatra

      Adeleh: Parthian princess, youngest sister of Pacorus

      *Diana: former Roman slave, now the wife of Gafarn and Queen of Hatra

      *Gafarn: former Bedouin slave of Pacorus, now King of Hatra

      Pacorus; Prince of Hatra, son of Gafarn and Diana

      Other Parthians

      Aliyeh: Queen of Media and sister of King Pacorus

      Aschek: King of Atropaiene

      Atrax: King of Media

      *Nergal: Hatran soldier and former commander of Dura’s horse archers, now the King of Mesene

      †Phraates: King of Kings of the Parthian Empire

      *Praxima: Spaniard, former Roman slave and now the wife of Nergal and Queen of Mesene

      Silaces: King of Elymais

      Valak: commander of King Silaces’ bodyguard

      Non-Parthians

      Malik: King of the Agraci

      †Mark Antony: Roman triumvir and husband of Queen Cleopatra of Egypt

      Noora: Agraci wife of Byrd

      Rasha: Agraci, Queen of Gordyene

      Spartacus: adopted son of Gafarn and Diana, King of Gordyene

      Introduction

      Asher finished the last roll of papyrus and rubbed his eyes. The mansion was quiet; everyone aside from him was asleep. The flames of the oil lamp on his desk did not flicker, for there was not a trace of a breeze. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine. From his study he could see the black outline of the Citadel framed against a starlit sky. A few torches dotted the ramparts where sentries patrolled the walls. He closed his eyes and sighed. Like everyone else he had known the sorry story of Queen Claudia, of how happiness had been cruelly snatched from her. But the other half of the story had been unknown to him, until now. It was a measure of the man that King Pacorus had not carried a grudge in his autumn years. But still….

      Asher rolled up the papyrus scroll bearing the king’s words and placed it back in the wooden box with the others. In the morning he would take the container to the Citadel to present it to the queen. They were the final words of her father, a great king who should have been king of kings of the empire. If he was unlucky he would encounter the centurion who had taken a dislike to him and delighted in ridiculing him for his faith. Asher the Jew, grandson of Aaron the Jew, the man who had been royal treasurer to King Pacorus. It was a great shame that such sentiments existed in Dura, a city known throughout the Parthian Empire and beyond for welcoming people of all religions and races, irrespective if they were highborn or low.

      He chuckled to himself. Notwithstanding the opinions of brutish men like the centurion, Dura had been kind to him and his family. He had grown rich thanks to his thriving papyrus business, his wife lived and dressed like royalty and his children had the best Greek tutors that money could buy. He stared at the box. It had all been made possible because of King Pacorus and his wife Queen Gallia. A simple licence, that is how his business started, allowing him to purchase a plot of land to the north of the city, next to the River Euphrates. An unpropitious stretch of marsh had been turned into a highly profitable area where papyrus reed was grown and cultivated to produce writing material. Over the years he purchased more marshland to become the supplier of papyrus not only to Dura but also Hatra, Syria and even Egypt.

      In kingdoms such as Media and Susiana, Jews were merely tolerated and were certainly not granted licences to establish businesses. Jews were even discriminated against in Judea, their homeland where the Romans were overlords. But in Dura he and his family were treated no differently from those who were Parthian, Greek, Pontic, Syrian or even Agraci. Many said the legacy of King Pacorus was his prowess on the battlefield, but Asher believed the harmony with which different races and religions lived side by side in the Kingdom of Dura would be his lasting achievement. How ironic it was that a man of war should usher in a period of long-lasting peace and prosperity. He was not old enough to remember Pacorus the warlord and so had difficulty associating the kindly, stooping old man in the floppy hat who rode in a cart pulled by a donkey with the famed victor of Surkh, Susa and Carrhae.

      He suddenly wondered if the queen ever got lonely, living alone as she did in the Citadel, but then discounted the idea. He looked at the scrolls and remembered that she was a member of the secretive and sinister Scythian sisterhood, the network of sorceresses that Dobbai had once belonged to.

      ‘Once?’ he said to himself.

      He shuddered when he thought about the old witch, now long dead but still talked about with reverence and apprehension among Dura’s citizens. Some said her ghost haunted the Citadel. His religion told him there was only one god who was all-powerful. But he had often wondered how Dura, the geographically smallest kingdom in the Parthian Empire, had become one of its most powerful under the rule of Pacorus. If not by magic, then how? It was common knowledge that Queen Claudia was a skilled sorceress who unleashed demons and curses against her enemies. How else to explain the fact that no foreign army had threatened the walls of Dura for an age?

      ‘How indeed?’ he sighed.

      And then there was the griffin at the entrance to the city. Legend had it that as long as it stood sentry the kingdom would be safe. He knew that guards at the Palmyrene Gate took money from people to allow them to climb the steps inside the gatehouse to touch the griffin for good luck. The priests of the synagogue had denounced such blasphemy but just for luck and long life, he had paid to lay his hands on the smooth, cool, reassuring statue. God would forgive him for his weakness; indeed, had forgiven him because he and his family prospered.

      He picked up the first scroll and caressed it. He had never known the old king, occasionally seeing him in one of the city’s markets. An old man passing the time of day with traders and citizens. He was escorted at all times by guards but there was little need. He had been universally respected, even loved. The greatest danger to his health was the threat of being mobbed by over-exuberant well-wishers. Dura would miss King Pacorus. He unrolled the papyrus and read again the opening lines.

      ‘It had always amused me that Carrhae has been accorded the greatest of Parthian victories over the Romans. There was another, to my mind far more significant and epoch-making and one that laid the foundations for the amenable relations that now exist between Parthia and the Roman Empire. The numbers of combatants involved dwarfed the size of the armies at Carrhae, and the stakes were far higher. It was also unusual in that it was a conflict manipulated to a large extent by women. These women were the Queen of Egypt, the Queen of Media and a princess of Dura, my daughter Claudia. I nicknamed it the War of Three Women, though no one else ascribed it this name. My accounts of Spartacus’ campaign, the Parthian Civil War and Carrhae were for posterity but this volume was written solely for Claudia, may the gods love her just as I and her mother did.’

      Chapter 1

      I tossed the letter to Gallia, too stunned to even try to explain its contents. I walked over to the balustrade and placed my hands on the warm stone structure. Below the blue waters of the Euphrates were slowly flowing south towards the Gulf as it had done since the beginning of time. I watched a small fishing boat on the river, its occupant casting a net over the glimmering surface. Beyond a camel train was making its way towards the pontoon bridges spanning the waterway – two dozen or more of the humped beasts accompanied by men on foot and others on horses. I heard a groan and turned back to my wife.

      ‘I cannot believe it.’

      I nodded glumly and walked over to her, flopping down in the wicker chair beside her. She wiped a tear from her eye.

      ‘We should have made a greater effort to see him more often, Pacorus. Now it is too late.’

      ‘Too late,’ was all I could utter in reply.

      Orodes was dead. The king of kings of the Parthian Empire, who had ruled from the Euphrates to the Indus for many years, overseeing a period of peace and prosperity after the bloodletting preceding it, was gone. History would remember Orodes as a fair and wise ruler who tried to heal the empire of its many wounds, but we would also think of him first and foremost as a dear friend. Dura had been his home for many years when he had been a landless prince; he had commanded the army’s cataphracts and had fought beside me in more battles than I could remember. Brave, honourable, jovial and compassionate, the world would be a darker place without him.

      When he had met Axsen and married her I had rejoiced, their union being blessed with the birth of a boy I hoped would grow up to be a great king. How could he not be with such fine parents? Alas Phraates, named after Orodes’ father murdered by his treacherous son Mithridates, turned out to be a disappointment. Axsen died three days after giving birth to him, a blow Orodes never fully recovered from. It was a measure of the high king he never bore any resentment against his son for the death of the love of his life. Indeed, he went out of his way to shower the boy with love and affection. The result was Phraates was indulged too much and his father became blind to the boy’s manipulative and malicious nature.

      Orodes found a way of dealing with his grief by throwing himself into the duties of high king, which meant he wore himself out travelling the breadth of the empire. Over the years we saw less and less of him and neither I nor Gallia were inclined to visit Ctesiphon when he was in residence there, partly because I had always disliked the poisonous atmosphere at the royal palace but mostly due to the sarcastic tongue of Prince Phraates. Long gone were the days when I had to bite my tongue while being insulted by cocky courtiers who had the ear of the high king. The fact the cockiest was his son made trips to Ctesiphon all the more unbearable. So we stopped going along with most of the empire’s kings, meaning Orodes had to visit them. It wore him out but perversely I think he too was glad to be away from his scheming son and his hangers-on.

      ‘Guard,’ I shouted.

      Seconds later a legionary presented himself and bowed.

      ‘Take a massage to the duty officer to assemble the council.’

      He bowed again and disappeared. I leaned back, closed my eyes and sighed. I felt distraught and also guilty.

      ‘I should have done things differently.’

      Gallia laid a hand on my arm. ‘Orodes loved you, Pacorus, he loved all of us. You should not reproach yourself.’

      But I did. I blamed myself for allowing a gulf to develop between him and me. I should have made more of an effort to visit him, but when we did see each other the topic of conversation invariably got around to Syria. Ever since Carrhae he had become obsessed by the Roman province, convinced it could be conquered with ease. He had sent me on a campaign against Syria after Carrhae that achieved nothing, though the fact I had led a force of horsemen through the enemy province at will, confirmed in his eyes it was ripe for the plucking. He badgered me constantly to take my legions and their siege engines west to capture Antioch. He promised me tens of thousands of soldiers to reinforce my own but I always refused. I had no interest in invading Roman territory because I knew to do so would provoke retaliation, which would lead to an endless cycle of war. I saw Carrhae as a victory guaranteeing peace whereas Orodes viewed it as the beginning of a westward expansion of his empire.

      We walked from the terrace, through the palace to the Headquarters Building. The day was waning but it was still very warm, mid-summer having barely passed. Guards were standing beside pillars sweating in their mail armour, leather vests and helmets. However, in the hottest months, sentries were relieved every hour so they could refresh themselves and take off their armour. Despite it being positioned on a tall escarpment surprisingly little wind reached inside the Citadel, resulting in high temperatures inside the palace and surrounding buildings. Those standing guard on the battlements could take advantage of any wind, though they invariably roasted in their mail and helmets under a merciless Mesopotamian sun.

      It took a while for the council members to assemble in our usual meeting room, which like the other rooms in the Headquarters Building had marble floor tiles and window blinds to prevent it getting too hot. Servants brought earthenware jugs filled with water and fruit juice and placed towels on the table.

      One by one the council members arrived, bowing their heads to Gallia and me as they entered the room and took their places round the table. City Governor Rsan, old and stiff, wore a worried expression. A stickler for routine and order, anything out of the ordinary made him apprehensive and fearing the worst. I smiled at him in an attempt to reassure him.

      Aaron, the treasurer, entered in the company of two clerks carrying handfuls of scrolls, just in case the meeting concerned pecuniary matters requiring reference to past meetings. Rsan’s clerks would take minutes of the meeting. The last to arrive was Chrestus, fresh from the training fields and sweating profusely. He picked up a towel and wiped his face and neck. The commander of the army, originally a native of Pontus, had cold black eyes, a chiselled face and a muscular torso. He shaved his head and face and always carried a vine cane with him, the same cane his master, Lucius Domitus, had carried. Chrestus was a worthy successor of my dead friend and people remarked he was more Roman than the Romans, an insult the army’s leader took as a compliment.

      ‘I have called you all here,’ I began, ‘to inform you we have received word from Ctesiphon. Orodes has died.’

      They looked at each other and me in shock. Rsan was most upset.

      ‘This is a black day, majesty, not only for his friends but also the whole empire.’

      ‘The letter was from Phraates,’ I continued, ‘whom I assume will become high king after a suitable period of mourning.’

      Rsan’s crinkly forehead creased. ‘According to procedure the new high king should be decided by a meeting of the empire’s kings at Esfahan, majesty.’

      I filled a cup with water, handed it to Gallia and filled another for myself.

      ‘Let me tell you about Esfahan, Rsan. When Orodes became high king fifteen years ago…’

      ‘Sixteen,’ interrupted Rsan.

      ‘What?’

      ‘He became high king sixteen years ago.’

      Gallia rolled her eyes.

      ‘Well, be it as it may,’ I said. ‘Orodes insisted all the empire’s kings should meet at Esfahan every two years so any potential conflicts and grievances could be aired and settled without recourse to conflict.’

      ‘Most sensible,’ agreed Rsan.

      ‘Sensible and immensely tedious,’ I told him. ‘But if I learned anything, other than how uncomfortable the seating arrangements in the great tent were, it was there were no rival claimants to the position of high king.’

      ‘You will support the election of Phraates to the high throne?’ asked Gallia.

      ‘I will,’ I replied.

      ‘Even though you yourself described him as a snake?’ said Chrestus, to a sharp intake of breath from Rsan and Aaron.

      I laughed. ‘At Ctesiphon Phraates will rule like a tyrant. The palace will become an even greater nest of vipers than it is already, if that is possible.’

      ‘Not much of a recommendation,’ said Gallia.

      I shrugged. ‘Let me put it another way. As far as I know no one apart from Phraates wants the high throne, though it is not to say a rival claimant will not appear in due course. Phraates is the legitimate heir of Orodes and is recognised as such throughout the empire. If the kings vote for another then he has every right to try to win back the high throne by force, which means civil war. No one wants that.’

      ‘One of the kings might wish to try his luck and put himself forward,’ said Chrestus.

      ‘Always a possibility,’ I replied, ‘though I know for certain most will not.’

      I rose and walked over to the hide map of the empire on the wall, pointing at the kingdoms in the west.

      ‘Gordyene is ruled by Spartacus and Rasha, one the son of a slave and the other the daughter of an Agraci king. They are loyal to Hatra, Dura and Mesene above all but are viewed with disdain by other kings of the empire. I moved my finger right. Media is ruled by my friend and ally Atrax, who in turn is a great friend and ally of King Aschek of Atropaiene. And let us not forget the Kingdom of Elymais ruled by our old friend and ally Silaces.’

      I pointed at the eastern kingdoms of the empire.

      ‘We all know Margiana and Hyrcania are concerned with securing their borders against the northern nomads rather than playing politics, and the same can be said of Aria, Anauon and Yueh-Chih, though their concerns relate to incursions from the tribes east of the Indus.’

      ‘Sakastan and Carmania could conceivably be where any civil war starts, majesty,’ suggested Rsan.

      Chrestus nodded. ‘By all accounts they are nearly at war now.’

      I sighed. Of all Orodes’ successes in maintaining peace throughout the empire his one regret had been failing to reconcile the animosity between the brothers Peroz and Phenon, the rulers of Sakastan and Carmania respectively. Like many siblings they had grown apart during their teenage years and had never reconciled, despite the deathbed pleadings of their father, Phriapatus. I had met Phenon only briefly, at the loathsome gathering of the kings at Esfahan, but Peroz had spent time at Dura where he had become a close friend. He had found his wife in my city, the beautiful Roxanne, though she had been a whore working in one of Dura’s brothels at the time. But love is blind and so he had taken her as his wife. It was fortunate in the aftermath of Carrhae, when Orodes had been showering his friends and allies with favours, Peroz had been given the vacant crown of Sakastan, thus saving him from having to return to his homeland with a former prostitute in tow. But it was unfortunate Sakastan bordered Carmania, which meant the animosity between the two brothers always threatened to escalate into all-out war.

      ‘Carmania and Sakastan might go to war,’ I agreed, ‘but while their two rulers will be more than happy to meet in battle their grievances and ambitions are theirs alone. And I know for a fact King Vologases of Drangiana has no intention of allowing himself to be dragged into a war between the two.’

      I jabbed a finger at the heart of the empire.

      ‘Which leads me to my final point. Phraates now controls the kingdoms of Susiana, Babylon and Persis, which combined could raise a sizeable army if pressed.’

      ‘Though not worth much on the battlefield,’ said Chrestus.

      I raised a hand to him. ‘Just indulge me, Chrestus. If another was to challenge Phraates’ right to the high throne, then Orodes’ son would raise an army from those kingdoms and once again the empire would be plunged into civil war. As I said, no one wants that.’

      ‘Most wise, majesty,’ concurred Rsan.

      ‘War is poison to commerce,’ said Aaron, his scribes noting down every word.

      ‘Phraates will be poison for the empire,’ lamented Gallia. ‘When I met him I found him lacking in virtues but abundant in vices.’

      I walked back to my chair. ‘But he will be lacking in the one vice with the potential to split the empire in two. Ambition. It is true he might want to surround himself at Ctesiphon with young slave girls and boys and live a life of depravity. But he will have no ambition because he will already hold the highest office.’

      ‘Are you trying to convince us or yourself?’ asked a sceptical Gallia.

      ‘There is another who would make a better high king,’ said Chrestus.

      ‘Who would that be, general?’ enquired Rsan.

      Chrestus looked at me. ‘King Pacorus of Dura.’

      I held my head in my hands.

      ‘Don’t all start again. I have neither the will nor the desire to accede to the high throne.’

      ‘Everyone knows you would make a better king of kings than Phraates,’ agreed Gallia.

      I looked at her. ‘And would you be prepared to leave Dura, my sweet, to live at Ctesiphon and there reside for most of your days, only occasionally visiting this city between your other duties as high queen?’

      She was horrified at the prospect. ‘Never.’

      ‘Well, then, let us have no more talk of my becoming high king.’

      I held the eyes of each of them in turn.

      ‘And that is an order.’

      Chrestus sighed loudly and looked out of the window, Rsan nodded gravely and Aaron refilled his cup with water. Gallia was not best pleased but I knew she detested royal protocol and duties as much as I did, perhaps more.

      ‘Rsan,’ I said, ‘instruct your clerks to write letters to every king of the empire stating Dura supports Phraates becoming high king. I will sign them prior to their despatch. I myself will write to Phraates immediately pledging my allegiance. The transition of power must be quick and smooth.’

      After they had finished recording the minutes of the meeting Rsan instructed his clerks to draw up the letters to the various kings of the empire. They would be ready by the end of the day and forwarded to their recipients just after dawn on the morrow. Parthia did not have the paved roads possessed by the Romans which had greatly impressed me when I had campaigned in Italy with the slave general Spartacus. But it did have a system of post stations throughout the empire where couriers could receive a fresh horse before continuing on their way. Usually distanced around thirty miles apart these stations contained stables, living quarters, fresh water, food and fodder. Each kingdom maintained the stations within its own territory to ensure the smooth delivery of post across the length and breadth of the empire. A letter written at the Euphrates could be at the Indus, a thousand miles away, in less than ten days.

      Gallia and I strolled back to the palace as the sun began to dip in the west, a huge red fireball casting long shadows in the Citadel’s courtyard.

      ‘Phraates will make a bad high king,’ said Gallia. ‘Why do you support his elevation?’

      I stopped and thought. ‘You are right about his character but it is what Orodes would have wanted and for that reason alone I am reluctant to object to Phraates.’

      She shook her head. ‘You are too sentimental, Pacorus.’

      I thought about Orodes. ‘It is the least I can do for our friend.’

      We turned as a horse galloped into the courtyard, guards peering down from the battlements as the brown mare was pulled up and a dust-covered rider sprang from its saddle. The figure removed the shemagh and shook her hair free, smiling at us both. She turned to the guards and dazzled them with a smile. They returned to their duties.

      ‘Where is your escort?’

      Claudia turned her smile on me. ‘Escort, father? Why would I need an escort to ride in my own kingdom?’

      ‘My kingdom,’ I told her, ‘and you need an escort because it is royal protocol princesses do not go anywhere without an escort.’

      She removed a leather bag attached to one of the four horns of her saddle and led her horse towards us, kissing me on the cheek when she reached us.

      ‘Oh, father, always so formal. I know this land like the back of my hand and anyway I took my bow with me.’

      She had a full quiver of thirty arrows slung on her back and her bow was tucked in its case by the side of her saddle.

      I looked at the bag. ‘What’s in there, more snakes?’

      An earlier trip into the desert had reaped half a dozen saw-scaled vipers that had escaped into the palace, causing wild hysteria among servants and visitors like, until they were cornered and killed by a squad of legionaries.

      Claudia held up the bag and grinned. ‘Just herbs, father, I promise.’

      She tossed back her head and laughed. She was incorrigible, a wild child of Dura who had a keen mind, a depository of great knowledge, but she refused to be tamed. Like a feral horse she went her own way and scorned conventional habits. She should have been married long ago and there had been no shortage of suitors. Claudia had inherited her mother’s high cheekbones and lithe frame and though she was not perhaps beautiful she was very striking. Now approaching her thirtieth year I despaired of ever finding her a husband.

      ‘Orodes is dead,’ said Gallia suddenly.

      Claudia’s smile disappeared. ‘I grieve for you both. He was a good king and friend to Dura. I liked him. Who will replace him as high king?’

      ‘Your father is insistent Phraates should be king of kings.’

      Claudia nodded. ‘Yes, that is the way it should be.’

      ‘How so?’ snapped Gallia.

      ‘It was foretold, mother, just as it was foretold you and father would come to Dura all those years ago.’

      She led her horse towards the stabling block, giving us both a sympathetic glance as she did so. Gallia said nothing, knowing her eldest daughter had been under the close supervision of Dobbai from her birth. The old woman had acted as Claudia’s guardian, confidante and tutor, imparting all her knowledge to her over the years. We both knew Claudia was skilled in ancient medicine and magic.

      ‘I wish Claudia could find herself a husband and focus on the world of mortals instead of the ways of the gods,’ I lamented.

      ‘Dobbai raised her,’ said Gallia. ‘We both know she is different from Isabella and Eszter.’

      ‘Indeed she is.’

      Isabella, our second daughter, was betrothed to the young son of King Peroz, and Eszter our third daughter, was currently residing in Hatra as the guest of Gafarn and Diana, learning to be a Parthian princess. Dura was a frontier city and whereas Isabella was thoughtful and Claudia mature beyond her years, Eszter was wild, quick to lose her temper and very loose with her tongue. I blamed myself for being away so much during her formative years. So Gallia and I had sent her off to Hatra’s palace where strict protocol and manners held sway. She had not written to us since her arrival out of spite but Gafarn had notified us she was doing as well as could be expected considering her undisciplined upbringing!

      When the fierce heat of the day had abated the palace balcony was a splendid place to be, offering as it did stunning views of the Euphrates and the land to the east of the river. The vast sky was a soothing purple as the sun began to set. There was the slightest of breezes carrying the aroma of spices, and the surface of the river was like a slab of mauve marble. Refreshed and reflective, we sat with our daughters on the balcony and partook of wine, pastries, bread, cheese and strips of roasted chicken. At such times my position as ruler of Dura was irrelevant as I shared a meal with my family, a simple pleasure worth a king’s ransom, though it did not take long for Claudia to spoil proceedings.

      ‘Of course Orodes was murdered, poisoned most likely.’

      ‘How awful,’ said Isabella.

      ‘You have no evidence to suggest foul play,’ I told her.

      Claudia sipped at her wine. ‘Orodes was always destined to suffer the same fate as his father. I was told this long ago. His son has a malicious nature, you said so yourself, father, so what I have said should not come as a shock to you.’

      ‘I can believe it,’ said Gallia softly, turning her blue eyes on me. ‘Yet another reason why Phraates should not become high king.’

      ‘On the contrary, mother,’ said Claudia, ‘Phraates will make a good high king.’

      Gallia’s eyes burned with anger. ‘Because he murdered his father?’

      ‘Because he will ensure the empire will remain relatively peaceful and united against its enemies,’ replied Claudia.

      ‘I will hear no more talk of Orodes being murdered,’ I commanded.

      ‘Quite right, father,’ said Isabella.

      We sat in silence, each of us digesting Claudia’s words rather than the food. I tried to dismiss them but knew she was not one to babble nonsense or give voice to foolish opinions. I lost my appetite as what she had so glibly announced sank in.

      I heard a cackling sound above and looked up, to see a pair of eagles coming together in what I assumed was some sort of mating ritual. But the loud screeching soon convinced me the birds were not mating. We stood and craned our necks as the cawing and screeching got louder and more high-pitched, the birds tussling in mid-air in what was obviously a deadly duel. Two guards, hearing the sounds from the corridor leading to the terrace, came rushing with swords drawn. I waved them away as above came a series of high-pitched screams and something dropped towards us. Towards me to be precise. Some sort of animal had been held in the talons of one of the birds, both of them still fighting their mid-air battle. I instinctively caught the animal and saw to my amazement it was a young gazelle calf.

      The eagles separated and flew away. The calf was bleeding and paralysed with fear, all of us were stunned. I held it in my arms as Gallia and Isabella stared open-mouthed at it and me. But Claudia understood the symbolism of what had just occurred.

      She rushed to me to take the bleeding animal from my arms.

      ‘The gods send you a message, father. The eagles are Rome and the calf is Phraates. It will lie with you to save him and the empire from the clutches of the Romans.’

      I was going to speak but she rushed from the terrace, cradling the injured calf in her arms.

      ‘I will see to it the animal lives but you must ensure Phraates and the empire survive,’ was her parting shot.

      ‘Extraordinary,’ was Gallia’s only utterance.

      Claudia barricaded herself in her room for the next few days, as she was wont to do, issuing orders for warm milk to be brought to her quarters at regular intervals. After a week she reappeared with the news the calf had returned to full health and was to be kept in the Citadel. I was grooming Tegha following his morning exercise when she sauntered into the stables cradling the calf, which did look remarkably revived. A result of Claudia’s secret potions rather than just milk I surmised.

      ‘Strabo,’ she called loudly.

      Cataphracts and stable hands poked their heads from the stalls they occupied as she walked up and down the large and well-ventilated block, bowing their heads to her as she passed. I put down the brush and walked from Tegha’s stall. I heard a gruff voice behind me.

      ‘Who’s got too much to say for themselves? Oh, begging your pardon, princess.’

      Strabo, my equine quartermaster, resembled a beggar in his dirty tunic, grubby leggings and unkempt hair, but there was nothing he did not know about horses. He had once told me he found the company of people difficult and irksome, preferring to mix with horses. But I counted myself blessed he administered Dura’s stables because he and his handpicked team of veterinaries and farriers ensured my horsemen had the finest mounts in the empire. And considering Parthians were great horse lords that was no mean achievement.

      Strabo wiped his nose on the sleeve of his tunic and bowed his head to Claudia.

      ‘A gazelle calf. I thank you, princess.’

      Claudia eyed him suspiciously. ‘For what?’

      ‘For bringing me this tender young piece of meat to eat, most generous.’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘This animal is not for the cooking pot, Strabo. It is to be raised and cared for here in the royal stables.’

      He looked bemused. ‘What?’

      ‘You are to see to it no harm comes to it for it was a vessel of the gods.’

      He pointed at it. ‘That?’

      She nodded.

      ‘Much as I would like to indulge you, princess, I’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. Though I dare say one of my stable lads could take care of it until it is ready to be released.’

      Claudia glared at him. ‘Did you not hear me? I commanded you to take care of the calf and it is to live here until it dies.’

      Strabo was many things but a courtier he was not.

      ‘Clear off now before I wring its neck.’

      To avoid an embarrassing scene I stepped between them.

      ‘Kindly remember where you are and who you are. It is unseemly for one of the king’s daughters to be arguing in public with my quartermaster of horse.’

      Strabo folded his arms and gave Claudia a smug impression.

      ‘Similarly it is disrespectful for said quartermaster to be rude to my daughter. Claudia you will take the calf to the temple in the city where the high priest can care for it. As you and he are well acquainted I am sure he will be delighted to hear your story and more than willing to house the calf.’

      ‘But, father…’

      I held up a hand to her. ‘That is my command. Now go.’

      She hissed at Strabo, curled a lip at him, turned and stormed out of the stables.

      ‘She needs a husband,’ muttered Strabo.

      But both Gallia and I had given up any hopes of finding Claudia a husband long ago. Some kings would have arranged a marriage for their female offspring for political reasons, which was the common practice throughout the empire. But we were loath to force our daughters to enter a union against their will, and in any case Dura did not need to hide behind the strength of other kingdoms. So the years passed and Claudia remained unmarried.

      After a month replies to the letters I had despatched to the four corners of the empire began to arrive at Dura. I assembled the council when I possessed a missive from every king to inform it of the decisions of the empire’s rulers.

      ‘Mild indifference seems to be the order of the day,’ I told them. ‘The most enthusiastic reply came from Phraates himself at Ctesiphon, who was delighted Dura wholeheartedly supports his elevation to the high crown.’

      ‘No surprise there,’ sniffed Gallia.

      ‘As expected,’ I continued, leafing through the letters, ‘Gafarn says he has no objection to Phraates, a feeling echoed by Nergal. Spartacus is totally disinterested judging from the two-line letter he wrote me; Silaces states he will also support Phraates. Atrax also goes along with supporting Phraates and Aschek states he has no objection.’

      I picked up another bundle of letters.

      ‘Of the eastern kingdoms only Margiana and Hyrcania have reservations.’

      ‘What reservations?’ asked Gallia.

      ‘King Khosrou writes it would have been better if at his birth Phraates had been thrown away instead of the afterbirth.’

      Chrestus laughed and banged the table; Rsan and Aaron winced with embarrassment.

      ‘While King Musa states Phraates is a malicious little shit and he will pray for his early death. Mere quibbles,’ I reiterated.

      ‘You are to be congratulated, majesty,’ smiled Rsan, ‘you have got your wish.’

      ‘My wish is for peace, Rsan,’ I told him, ‘that is all.’

      ‘Do you really think a seventeen-year-old boy will be able to rule the empire, Pacorus?’ said Gallia.

      ‘If he has the support of the empire’s kings, yes,’ I replied. ‘If we can all get through the torture of the coronation ceremony then I predict a smooth transition of power and the continuance of peace throughout Parthia.’

      I had put the incident with the gazelle calf to the back of my mind, though I had not forgotten it or the words of my daughter. As I waited for the inevitable invitation to attend the coronation of Phraates I decided to visit Palmyra to try to put my mind at rest that a Roman invasion of Parthia was not being planned. Gallia came with me, escorted by a score of Amazons while I took the same number of horse archers, our tents and supplies loaded on ten bad-tempered camels. The trip was hot and grimy; the many caravans on the road threw up a huge amount of dust hanging in the scorching air. We rested during the hottest hours of the day, erecting sunshades to give ourselves and our horses and camels respite from the merciless sun beating down from a cloudless sky. When the sun began to descend in the western sky we recommenced our journey, passing other caravans that had decided to travel during the midday heat but had made camp for the night.

      Most of the caravans travelling through Dura made their way to Palmyra and then on to Egypt where they sold the precious silk they had brought from China. Others went to Tyre or Antioch where Roman merchants bought the silk for onward shipment to Rome. But the caravans taking silk for the Romans usually went through Hatra rather than Dura.

      I had never been to Egypt but had heard much about its great buildings and wealth. Just as the Euphrates and Tigris watered the western kingdoms of the Parthian Empire so was the Nile the provider for Egypt. We received regular reports from Byrd concerning events beyond Dura’s borders and I had to confess I always looked forward to his correspondence. For years he had reported the Romans had been fighting among themselves. First there had been civil strife between the followers of a general named Julius Caesar and a group of senators based in Rome, one of whom was Pompey, the man I had met many years before. Pompey had been defeated by Caesar and had fled to Egypt where he had been murdered. Caesar had become the ruler of Rome but was assassinated by a group of senators, sparking more civil strife. It was all very interesting but, more importantly, it meant the Romans were absorbed in internal affairs rather then seeking to expand their empire at the expense of others. This meant the border with Syria was quiet, allowing commerce to flourish.

      The Agraci patrolled the road between my city and Palmyra as well as the land either side of it, though every caravan also had its own guards to protect its precious cargo and the gold and silver it took back to the east once the silk had been sold. Once the road had been empty of traffic and my lords and the Agraci had engaged in savage border warfare. But now trade had replaced conflict

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1