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    The Slave King
    The Slave King
    The Slave King
    Ebook407 pages7 hours

    The Slave King

    By Peter Darman

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    About this ebook

    You know three things, Pacorus:
    Your ‘army’ totals only one hundred men and one hundred women.
    No help is coming.
    The gods are unreliable allies.

    Peace has been restored to the Parthian Empire.
    The king of kings graces Dura with a visit, the son of Spartacus sits on Media’s throne, a great army has been assembled to deal with the eastern threat, and Rome is no longer an implacable enemy of Parthia.
    Pacorus looks forward to enjoying a permanent cessation of hostilities. But the gods abhor peace and so to amuse themselves they lure the King and Queen of Dura to Media to face daunting odds against a mighty foe. Can Pacorus save the new King of Media, prevent Spartacus from unleashing death and destruction on Armenia, and preserve the peace between Parthia and Rome?
    ‘The Slave King’ is the tenth volume in the Parthian Chronicles and follows on from ‘Amazon’.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPeter Darman
    Release dateJun 6, 2018
    ISBN9780463097366
    The Slave King
    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

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      Book preview

      The Slave King - Peter Darman

      The Slave King

      Peter Darman

      Copyright © 2018 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

      List of characters

      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

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      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

      *Alcaeus: Greek, chief physician in Dura’s army

      *Byrd: Cappadocian businessman resident at Palmyra, formerly chief scout in Dura’s army

      Chrestus: commander of Dura’s army

      Claudia: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura, Scythian Sister

      Eszter: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura

      *Gallia: Gaul, Queen of Dura Europos

      Kalet: chief lord of Dura Europos

      Lucius Varsas: Roman, quartermaster general of Dura’s army

      *Pacorus: Parthian, King of Dura Europos

      Rsan: Parthian, governor of Dura Europos

      Scelias: Greek, head of the Sons of the Citadel

      Talib: Agraci, chief scout in Dura’s army

      Zenobia: commander of the Amazons

      The Kingdom of Hatra

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

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

      Other Parthians

      Akmon: King of Media, son of King Spartacus

      Atrax: prince of Media

      Cookes: Governor of Mepsila

      Joro: commander of Media’s army

      Parmenion: High Priest of the Temple of Shamash at Irbil

      †Phraates: King of Kings of the Parthian Empire

      Soter: chief lord of Media

      Non-Parthians

      Lusin: Armenian, Queen of Media

      Rasha: Agraci, Queen of Gordyene

      Spadines: Sarmatian, close ally of King Spartacus

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

      Titus Tullus: Roman, former tribune in the army of Quintus Dellius

      Chapter 1

      Rsan, now in his early seventies, had served the city of his birth diligently during his tenure, first as a minor official and then as its governor, replacing his friend Godarz when the latter had been basely murdered. Rsan was a curious individual: abstemious, reserved and a stickler for rules and regulations. He was also averse to war, which I explained on numerous occasions was a view I too held. But I also believed in the maxim, ‘if you want peace, prepare for war’, and so under my guidance men such as Lucius Domitus, Kronos and now Chrestus created and maintained an army that not only defended Dura but also the Parthian Empire. Despite his dislike of all things military and the chaos and destruction of warfare, Rsan was also a stern disciplinarian, urging the city magistrates to clamp down ruthlessly on crimes of violence and theft. Murderers, rapists and thieves were hanged outright, minor transgressors were whipped, and blasphemers lost a body part, usually an ear or finger, or had their tongues bored if their words were particularly disrespectful. This ensured Dura remained a law-abiding city, which in turn resulted in a happy citizenry and made Rsan a popular governor.

      It was testament to that popularity that he walked from his mansion the short distance to the Citadel for council meetings and other business either alone or accompanied by a clerk or manservant. He always refused Chrestus’ offer of an armed guard wherever he went in the city, declaring he had lived to a good age without guards and saw no reason to enlist them now. In weekly council meetings he always sat next to his friend Aaron, the city treasurer, who was now a grandfather. Apart from Chrestus, my muscular, shaven-headed general, all of us who gathered round the table in the Headquarters Building were over sixty. It would soon be time to introduce fresh blood to the administration of Dura.

      After the usual round-up of affairs in the city and kingdom, the usual bickering began between Chrestus and Aaron regarding finances for the army. My treasurer was querying why soldiers in training damaged so many javelins, shields and shot so many arrows, when I held up a letter from Claudia.

      ‘This arrived earlier from Princess Claudia. She and the Exiles are returning to the city, my daughter to attend her sister’s wedding.’

      The clerk taking notes scribbled furiously to record my words, though who would read the dozens of papyrus sheets stored in the archives – the record of Dura’s council meetings going back years – I did not know. Aaron and Rsan nodded their heads.

      ‘At least we will have the Exiles back where they belong, instead of acting as Phraates’ personal bodyguard,’ grumbled Chrestus.

      Following the Battle of Ctesiphon, the Exiles had stayed in the marching camp south of Phraates’ palace to enforce security in the Kingdom of Babylon, the city having rebelled against him during Tiridates’ insurrection. A thousand had garrisoned Babylon itself, though following the crushing of the revolt the city’s nobility were eager to reaffirm their loyalty to Phraates, especially after the high king had executed the entire Egibi family and other prominent Babylonians who had supported Tiridates.

      ‘Ctesiphon has reimbursed Dura handsomely for the loan of your soldiers, general,’ remarked Aaron. He was perusing a parchment in front of him, running a finger over a list of figures. He looked up at me.

      ‘I was wondering, majesty, if I we might loan out Dura’s soldiers in the future, as the recent experience has proved most beneficial to the treasury.’

      ‘We won’t be doing that,’ insisted Chrestus.

      Aaron smiled at him. ‘Surely, that is for the king to decide.’

      Chrestus gave him a dark stare but I discounted the idea.

      ‘The loan of the Exiles was an exception, Aaron. Dura’s soldiers are not mercenaries to be hired out to the highest bidder. They exist first and foremost to protect this kingdom.’

      But Aaron had the bit between his teeth.

      ‘Forgive me for being pedantic, majesty.’

      ‘But you are going to be anyway,’ complained Chrestus.

      ‘But you despatched commanders Azad and Sporaces to Ctesiphon with their horsemen,’ continued Aaron, ‘for a campaign that may last perhaps a year, in the process incurring considerable costs.’

      ‘It is in Dura’s interests to do so,’ I stated.

      Aaron was going to probe me with more answers but Chrestus had had enough.

      ‘It’s quite simple,’ he hissed. ‘If the Kushans breach the empire’s eastern frontier they will swarm west like a plague of locusts, just like Tiridates did recently. It is in Dura’s interests to keep war as far away from its walls as possible. I would have thought you would appreciate that strategy, Rsan, as you tremble at the mere hint of conflict on the horizon.’

      Rsan turned his nose up at the general and Aaron mumbled something under his breath.

      ‘The Kushans will be far worse than Tiridates,’ said Gallia, ‘and he was difficult enough to deal with.’

      None at the table aside from me knew about her part in his downfall and I preferred to keep it that way. I changed the subject.

      ‘Princess Claudia will be journeying with the Exiles, as will Phraates himself.’

      My announcement at first did not register, the clerk merely recording my words, but then a look of alarm spread across Rsan’s face.

      ‘The king of kings, visiting Dura?’

      ‘That is correct, Rsan,’ I said. ‘The recent rebellion against him has made Phraates determined to spend less time at Ctesiphon so he can visit the capitals of the kingdoms he rules over, or so my daughter informs me.’

      Rsan was stunned. ‘In all my time serving Dura I never thought the high king of the empire would visit this city.’

      His eyes began to moisten, much to Chrestus’ amusement.

      ‘For more years than I care to remember, Dura was regarded as a city of outcasts, a place where the empire’s unwanted were banished to. The Euphrates was not only a river but also a dividing line between what was decent and what was barbarian, and Dura was on the wrong side of that line.’

      His voice was now shaking with emotion. ‘But now it will be blessed by the person of the king of kings himself, and his visit will proclaim to the whole world that Dura is no longer a despised backwater but a loyal and trusted ally, first among equals.’

      They were heartfelt words and made me realise just how much the visit of Phraates would mean to him.

      ‘That it has become so is due in no small part to your unstinting efforts, Rsan,’ smiled Gallia. ‘You are the rock upon which this kingdom has been built.’

      ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed, ‘and I will be sure to inform Phraates of that when he arrives.’

      Rsan dabbed a tear from his cheek and Aaron put an arm around his old friend’s shoulders. But then my governor’s eyes filled with apprehension. He rose to his feet and bowed.

      ‘The city is not ready to receive the high king. If you will forgive me, majesties, I must speak with Ashk as a matter of urgency.’

      ‘There is plenty of time,’ I reassured him.

      Rsan shook his head. ‘The whole of Parthia will be watching, majesty. I must attend to my duties.’

      He bowed and hurried from the room, prompting Chrestus to roll his eyes.

      ‘Let’s hope Phraates is not too much of a disappointment to Rsan when he finally meets him.’

      ‘Well, it is high time he did so,’ said Gallia. ‘Dura has spilt much blood and lost too many valued friends keeping Phraates on his golden throne for the high king to ignore us.’

      ‘How long will he be staying?’ asked Aaron, no doubt his mind already turning to the expense entailed in playing host to the king of kings.

      ‘That will depend on how agreeable he finds Dura and its kingdom,’ I told him.

      ‘Not long, then,’ grinned Chrestus. ‘Dura is a poor relation compared to Ctesiphon, Babylon and Seleucia, places where the high king is accustomed to spending his days. He will want to be away from here as quickly as he can.’

      ‘I am surprised you think so little of this kingdom, general’ remarked a disapproving Aaron.

      ‘On the contrary,’ said Chrestus, ‘I prefer a Dura without rich trappings, fawning courtiers and armies of priests. We keep things simple here and I prefer it that way. Phraates, on the other hand, is used to drinking out of gold rhytons, eating off silver plates and reclining on luxurious couches.’

      I stared at the wooden cup before me on the table and knew Chrestus was talking the truth. But I smiled when I remembered that during his ‘exile’, Phraates had been living in a simple stone hut in the Alborz Mountains, hundreds of miles away from the opulence of Ctesiphon.

      ‘The high king will take us as he finds us,’ I said, ‘though I think we might all be surprised by a change in him since the recent rebellion. If not, then I am certain he will not dally in Dura.’

      But I had to admit the fact he was even visiting Dura marked a radical change in the official policy of the king of kings. When I had been a boy and the empire had been ruled by Sinatruces, my only memory of Dura, and a fleeting one at that, was of a wild place where the empire’s unwanted were exiled to. The River Euphrates marked the Parthian Empire’s physical western boundary and it was no coincidence Dura was on the river’s western side. It was apart from the empire, different, desolate and separated from civilised society by a wide river. It was a place no self-respecting Parthian would ever visit, and that had included my father and mother who had never blessed Dura with their presence even after I had been appointed its king. And even Orodes, though he had spent a good portion of his life here at Dura, had never made an official visit to my kingdom when he had become high king, though that was due to his insistence on visiting every other kingdom in the empire as a means of promoting good relations between Ctesiphon and the rulers of those kingdoms. I often wondered if the constant travelling the length and breadth of the empire had worn him out and led to his premature death. I refused to believe his son had poisoned him.

      Aaron was less impressed by the prospect of Phraates visiting Dura; aware as he was of the financial strains such a visit would place on the kingdom.

      ‘Having been paid by Ctesiphon for the services of our soldiers,’ he complained, ‘it would appear the high king is intent on Dura reimbursing him said gold.’

      ‘Phraates is visiting to attend Eszter’s wedding, Aaron,’ I told him, ‘not to get his gold back.’

      An evil glint appeared in Gallia’s eye.

      ‘You might be interested to know, Aaron, that the king was offered a thousand talents by Phraates as a reward for his services in crushing the late rebellion. The king refused the offer.’

      Aarons’ eyes opened wide in astonishment. ‘A thousand talents?’

      ‘Gold plundered from the House of Egibi,’ I informed him. ‘I wanted no portion of riches stolen from a murdered family, even if its leading members were traitors.’

      ‘Such an amount would have bolstered the treasury’s reserves,’ said Aaron.

      ‘The treasury is full, is it not?’ I queried.

      ‘The word full has a number of interpretations, majesty,’ began Aaron.

      ‘That means yes,’ said Chrestus.

      ‘Perhaps I should send you to Vanadzor, Aaron,’ I suggested. ‘You and King Spartacus appear to hold the same views when it comes to extorting money from the high king.’

      ‘Majesty, I would never seek to…’

      I held up a hand. ‘And I would never accuse you of doing so, Aaron, but the treasury will be bearing the cost of Eszter’s wedding and the visit of the high king. I will not have it said that the King of Dura skimped when it came to his daughter’s wedding.’

      ‘Will the King of Gordyene be attending, majesty?’ enquired Chrestus.

      ‘He will be invited,’ answered Gallia, ‘though I doubt he or Queen Rasha will be gracing us with their presence, not after the business at the king’s sixtieth birthday celebrations.’

      ‘That is a great shame,’ said Aaron, behind him the clerk recording every word uttered on papyrus.

      ‘And what of King Akmon and Queen Lusin?’ asked my treasurer. ‘I assume an invitation will be extended to the new rulers of Media?’

      ‘That should stir up a nest of vipers,’ said Chrestus. ‘If King Spartacus discovers his estranged son and the Armenian, what did he call her, whore? If he discovers they are coming there will be hell to pay.’

      ‘I will not be dictated to by my nephew concerning who will and who will not be attending my daughter’s wedding,’ I said.

      ‘It is yet to be decided if an invitation will be extended to the new rulers of Media,’ announced Gallia.

      After the meeting I walked back to the palace with Gallia, the courtyard largely devoid of activity as the midday sun roasted Dura from above. There was no wind and the heat was oppressive, sweating legionaries pacing the walls of the Citadel and others standing to attention in the shade of the palace porch. They snapped to attention as we passed, rivulets of sweat running down their necks to soak their tunics. In the heat of summer guards were replaced at hourly intervals to stop them collapsing due to dehydration. Even in the shade, temperatures could rise to high levels and sap the stamina of men wearing mail armour, helmets and equipped with shields, swords, daggers and javelins.

      It was warm inside the porch and entrance hall, the doors to the throne room open to allow what little air there was to circulate.

      ‘It would be politic not to invite Akmon and Lusin to the wedding,’ suggested Gallia, ‘it is not as if they are close relations, after all.’

      I nodded. ‘That is true, though an invitation would be a way of showing Dura’s support for the new rulers of Media.’

      ‘And a way of insulting Gordyene.’

      I stopped to look at her. ‘Do you know, I am getting heartily sick and tired of having to tiptoe around Spartacus. He acts like a petulant child but expects everyone to treat him as a mature adult.’

      ‘Perhaps if he learns Phraates is attending, Spartacus might put aside his animosity towards you.’

      ‘Me? What about your machinations, plots and schemes, together with your fellow female conspirators?’ I asked her. ‘I was not the one who engineered Akmon and Lusin becoming Media’s rulers.’

      ‘No,’ she agreed, ‘that was Rasha. But you did threaten Spartacus when he intimated he would seize Queen Parisa and her children. And you did invite Akmon and Lusin to your sixtieth birthday feast. And we all know how that ended.’

      After a morning in the Headquarters Building in the stifling heat, my head was beginning to throb and I had no appetite to argue with her.

      ‘My head tells me to invite Spartacus and Rasha and not his estranged son and daughter-in-law, not that Gordyene’s rulers will come.’

      ‘Probably for the best,’ she said, ‘we don’t want an incident at the wedding, especially as Phraates will be there. Claudia must hold great influence at Ctesiphon to persuade him to come here.’

      I continued walking into the palace. ‘Everything has come full circle. Dobbai’s protégé has taken her place beside the high king, just like she did when Sinatruces ruled Parthia’

      I stood in the doorway to the throne room and stared at the griffin banner hanging limply on the wall behind the two thrones.

      ‘I have no son.’

      ‘Pacorus?’

      ‘Who will rule Dura when we are gone?’

      I suddenly felt very old. Sensing my despair, she gripped my arm.

      ‘There are a few years left in you, yet. Besides, if Eszter and Dalir have a son, he will be the heir to the throne.’

      I sighed loudly. ‘That would see the kingdom bankrupt within a generation and the gods alone know what would happen to the army.’

      She jabbed me in the ribs and walked into the throne room.

      ‘I know who you really want as your successor, though you will not say it.’

      I followed her. ‘Who?’

      She spun and rolled her eyes. ‘Your namesake, of course, the living demi-god who is satrap of Elymais, though doubtless he could become that kingdom’s ruler if he desired it. Not that he would, of course, his manners and character being beyond reproach. Well, I hate to disappoint you but Prince Pacorus is the heir to Hatra’s throne, not Dura’s. I did not realise our daughters were such a disappointment for you.’

      ‘They are not,’ I insisted, ‘but I must confess Dalir being the crown-prince does not fill me with relish.’

      She frowned. ‘How you underestimate Eszter, Pacorus. I have no doubt she will be the power behind the throne, just as Isabella is in Sakastan and Claudia is at Ctesiphon.’

      ‘And Gallia at Dura?’ I teased.

      She winked and grinned. ‘Naturally.’

      We walked to the door at the rear of the chamber giving access to the palace’s private quarters.

      ‘Well, then, I would welcome your assistance with negotiations regarding the marriage contract between Dalir and Eszter.’

      ‘That should be straightforward enough.’

      I laughed. ‘You forget who I am negotiating with.’

      As in all societies, marriage was of vital importance because it not only ensured the continuation of the family, the bedrock of all civilisations, but also contributed towards social stability. What was society but a vast collection of families, each operating according to a framework of rules and regulations passed down from generation to generation? Good citizens were not created and raised by kings but by husbands and wives. Marriage was therefore one of the most important institutions in the civilised world.

      The marriage process itself could be rather torturous and in the more traditional parts of Parthia, such as Babylon and Seleucia, negotiations between families could drag on for months and were usually conducted by third parties, who invariably took the opportunity to line their own pockets. The marriage contract between Dalir and Eszter would be simpler and quicker, or so I hoped.

      Kalet, Dura’s chief lord, roisterer, raider, loyal warlord and a man who could be sadly lacking in the social graces, arrived that afternoon. As usual he was dressed in black flowing robes, his head covered with a shemagh, half a dozen men similarly attired accompanying him when he trotted into the Citadel’s courtyard. He was a frequent visitor to Dura and well known among the army’s senior commanders, as well as the city’s inns and brothels, his wife having died when Dalir had been a but a boy. The duty centurion ordered the visitors’ horses to be taken to the stables before escorting Kalet to the palace terrace, his companions being shown to the barracks in the courtyard.

      Ashk, the palace’s chief steward, showed him to his chair beneath the large awning that provided welcome shade. Kalet gave me a slight bow of the head and a wink at Gallia before flopping down into the chair and snatching a cup of water proffered by a servant. He whipped off his shemagh and tossed it on the floor before emptying the cup.

      ‘Your sword, lord,’ said Ashk.

      ‘What?’ snapped Kalet.

      ‘You must surrender your weapons,’ I told him.

      Kalet groaned, stood, unbuckled his belt and handed it and the scabbard attached to it to Ashk. He also took a dagger from his boot and another from inside his robe, handing both to my steward.

      ‘How long have we known each other?’ asked Kalet.

      We took our seats opposite his.

      ‘Rules are rules, Kalet. How are you?’

      He flopped back down in the chair and clicked his fingers at the servant to indicate she should refill his cup.

      ‘Hot. Any wine?’

      ‘Perhaps we should leave alcohol until after the contract is agreed,’ I offered.

      He came straight to the point. ‘Bride price still tent talents of gold, then?’

      I nodded. I had demanded the bride price of ten talents of gold, the equivalent of a ton of the precious metal, in the aftermath of our victory at Battle of Ctesiphon. For a desert lord it was a huge sum and though Gallia had pressed me to lower the amount, I had stuck firm. Whatever Eszter was, and she was certainly a wild child of the desert, she was still a royal princess and should command a bride price commensurate to her position.

      ‘It’s on its way,’ he smiled.

      I looked at him and then Gallia, both of us wondering how he had acquired such a tidy sum.

      ‘Never thought you were the type to judge a man by his appearance, lord,’ he grinned. ‘Just because I don’t wear fancy clothes, don’t mean my purse is empty.’

      ‘Well, subject to the bride price arriving safely at the Citadel, we are happy for the marriage to proceed,’ I said.

      ‘What about the dowry?’ he shot back. ‘No marriage will take place until I am happy with the dowry.’

      ‘You are unhappy?’ quizzed Gallia.

      ‘No offence, princess, but business is business.’

      Ever since the days of Spandarat, my desert lords had nicknamed Gallia ‘princess’, owing to her days fighting for Spartacus when she had been a princess of the Senones tribe. Her forthright manner and usefulness with a variety of weapons had immediately endeared her to Dura’s wild lords and their feral retainers, and she had reciprocated their affection and respect.

      ‘Five hundred camels,’ I offered.

      It was perhaps overly generous, but such a number would allow him to sell them on and recoup some of the gold, which he had probably stolen anyway.

      ‘I was thinking of the same number of horses, lord.’

      ‘Five hundred horses?’ Gallia was stunned.

      ‘Can a price be put on a daughter of Queen Gallia?’ Kalet said nonchalantly.

      ‘It can,’ I told him, ‘and that price is two hundred horses or five hundred camels.’

      ‘Don’t suppose you would throw in one of your fancy swords on top?’ he said casually.

      ‘You are right,’ I replied, ‘I would not. Those fancy swords, as you call them, cost a gold bar each, though I dare say I could arrange for one to be made for you if you paid Arsam, my chief armourer, the required amount of gold.’

      ‘It would take many months to make one,’ said Gallia. ‘The metal to create an ukku blade comes from India, and we would have to negotiate with the Satavahanis to acquire an ingot.’

      Kalet had already lost interest. ‘Two hundred horses it is. I can pick them out myself, of course?’

      ‘I will notify the head of the royal stud farms you will be paying him a visit.’

      Kalet rubbed his hands, spat in his right palm and held out his arm. Gallia laughed when I spat in my own palm and shook his hand to seal the deal. Thus was Eszter officially betrothed to Dalir.

      ‘What shall we call each other?’ asked Kalet, a servant pouring wine into his goblet. ‘Now that we are family, I mean?’

      ‘You can carry on calling me lord,’ I told him.

      He downed the wine in one and held out the goblet to be refilled.

      ‘Always bear in mind the old saying, Kalet,’ I said, ‘you can choose your friends, but you are stuck with your family.’

      ‘But we will welcome Dalir as a son,’ smiled Gallia, ‘and will look forward to greeting our grandchild in the near future.’

      I asked Aaron to come to the palace terrace when a score of burly warriors arrived at the Citadel that afternoon, as Kalet had promised, with a dozen camels in tow. The saddlebags of the beasts carried gold coins – ten talents’ worth – which Aaron could not stop grinning at when the saddlebags were dumped at his feet on the terrace. My treasurer had brought two clerks with him, who immediately set up a pair of scales and began recording the number and weight of the coins. Kalet’s men, bored and thirsty, were escorted to the banqueting hall where they were watered and fed. As they departed the master of horses arrived, a man with a long nose and narrow neck to give him an equine appearance. I told him to take Kalet to the royal stud farm, located some twenty miles south of the city, where he was to select two hundred horses, the bride price for Princess Eszter. After they had departed I queried Aaron on the provenance of the gold.

      He picked up one of the coins, a beautiful piece showing the bust of my friend Orodes on the obverse side, wearing a tiara, the reverse showing a beardless archer wearing a cloak and seated on a throne. Around him was the inscription: King of Kings, lord of all Parthia.

      ‘Judging by their pristine condition, majesty, I would say they have never been in circulation, at least not until now.’

      ‘Kept in a vault somewhere, then?’

      He turned the coin over in his hand, admiring the metal and rubbing his fingers over the engraving.

      ‘The vault in Ctesiphon?’ I asked.

      Aaron placed the coin back in one of the chests he had ordered be brought to the terrace.

      ‘Difficult to say with certainty, majesty.’

      ‘Indulge me.’

      ‘Most probably,’ he said.

      Gallia smiled at the row of chests.

      ‘Will you be able to find room in the treasury vault for all this, Aaron?’

      ‘There is always room for more gold, majesty,’ he replied sternly, ‘though the kingdom will need every ounce to pay for the princess’ wedding, and the visit of the high king, of course.’

      ‘I don’t want the Kingdom of Dura to be perceived as parsimonious, Aaron,’ I said. ‘The eyes of all Parthia will be studying us while the high king is here. For forty years Dura has let its army do all the talking. But now I want the world to know this kingdom is not the abode of barbarians and gruff soldiers; rather, it is a place where civilisation and learning have also taken root.’

      How I was to regret those words.

      Chapter 2

      With three months to go before the wedding and visit of Phraates, Dura became the centre of much activity. The guest list took on a life of its own and I worried that the banqueting hall, which could seat up to five hundred people, would prove inadequate to host the small army that had been invited, to say nothing of the entourage of the high king that would inevitably follow Phraates to my city. Rsan and Aaron, usually so parsimonious and careful when it came to official costs, suddenly became much more relaxed about royal expenditure. I found myself signing authorisation papers to purchase banners, lots of banners. Banners showing a red griffin on a white background, the horned bull of Babylon on a purple background and other banners showing an eagle holding a snake in its talons. They were the symbols of Dura, Babylon and Susiana respectively and were to be flown throughout the city to welcome Phraates, who was the ruler of Babylon and Susiana. He had also been the ruler of Persis but that was now the domain of King Silani, formerly the commander of the high king’s bodyguard.

      Chrestus baulked at the suggestion all legionaries on duty should wear red and white plumes in their helmets, though he acquiesced when Aaron promised he would not quibble over his quartermaster’s demands up to and immediately after the high king’s visit. Chrestus got his replacement weapons and armour and Rsan got his plumed soldiers.

      Dura was built as a frontier outpost, its ochre mud-brick walls, towers and Citadel constructed with strength in mind, not beauty. That strength had withstood Agraci war bands, Roman legions and Parthian armies with ease, the siting and construction of the city entirely functional, with no regard for aesthetic qualities or ornamentation. It was above all a military stronghold that proclaimed strength and endurance from its position atop the rock escarpment by the side of the Euphrates. It was a far cry from the ornate palaces and their gardens found in such cities as Babylon, Seleucia, Hatra and Susa. Or so I thought.

      Equine training always took place in the early morning, just after dawn when the air was fresh following the cool of the night, the sun still rising in the east. The training fields to the west of the city became hubs of

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