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

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Pacorus
    Pacorus
    Pacorus
    Ebook447 pages8 hours

    Pacorus

    By Peter Darman

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The Romans took my freedom, albeit briefly. But Parthia took my youth, my best years, my friends and my family. And now it wants me to surrender the things that made all the sacrifices if not worthwhile, then at least bearable.

    It is thirty years since the Battle of Carrhae and the wheel of fate has come full circle. Pacorus heads the Parthian delegation that will oversee the exchange of the eagles captured from Crassus for the young son of the empire’s king of kings. Much more is at stake than the life of a young boy, however. It is a decisive moment in history for Parthia and Rome are on the verge of agreeing a permanent peace.

    But the gods are not passive observers to the will of men and they send gifts to the King of Dura to tease him and sow doubt in his mind. And a rising Roman star by the name of Tiberius is determined to make a name for himself at the expense of Pacorus. The scene is set for a showdown between the pair and a decisive clash between two of the greatest empires of the ancient world.

    ‘Sarmatian’ is the fourteenth volume in the Parthian Chronicles series and follows on from ‘Sarmatian’. A map of the Parthian Empire in the 1st century BC can be found on the maps page of my website.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPeter Darman
    Release dateJul 2, 2020
    Pacorus
    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 Pacorus

    Titles in the series (15)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Historical Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Rebel With A Lost Cause

      Mar 5, 2019

      Rebel With A Lost Cause
      10 min read

    • Article

      Who Laid Out The Camps?

      Jan 24, 2022

      Who Laid Out The Camps?
      6 min read

    • Article

      Seven Other Great Rulers Of Rome

      Mar 2, 2020

      (100 44BC) Caesar, Augustus’s great-uncle, joined in an informal alliance with Pompey and Crassus, the two most important men in the state. In 49 BC Pompey and Caesar became rivals when the latter crossed the Rubicon and began a new civil war. Caesar

      2 min read

    • Article

      Battle Of Antioch

      Jul 9, 2020

      Battle Of Antioch
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Battle Of Ilipa

      Jan 24, 2022

      The Battle Of Ilipa
      11 min read

    • Article

      The Caledonian Use Of Guerilla Warfare Septimius Severus In Scotland

      Feb 16, 2024

      Roman control over the modern regions of England and Wales took several decades to establish after Claudius' invasion of AD 43. Construction of Hadrian’s Wall began in 122, and it eventually extended 117 km across northern Britain from Wallsend on th

      8 min read

    • Article

      Battle At The Bridge Of Zompe

      Mar 1, 2022

      Battle At The Bridge Of Zompe
      9 min read

    • Article

      Buried In A Brother’s Arms

      Sep 21, 2021

      The Sacred Band was probably established around the time of the Theban overthrow of Spartan dominance in 378 BC which had been in place since 382. As we have seen (see AW XIV.2), the Sacred Band built on a long tradition of picked units of 300 Theban

      2 min read

    • Article

      From Stirrups To Longbows

      Mar 23, 2021

      From Stirrups To Longbows
      2 min read

    • Article

      What Was A Cuneus?

      Sep 8, 2023

      The cuneus is usually thought of as a close formation for breaking through enemy lines (Livy 7.24; Caesar, Gallic War 6.40). The literal translation of cuneus is ‘wedge' and so a sharp triangular formation might be envisaged, but it was also the term

      1 min read

    • Article

      Pike Through Time

      Mar 21, 2022

      Pike Through Time
      8 min read

    • Article

      Battle’s Hard Aftermath

      Feb 14, 2023

      Battle’s Hard Aftermath
      11 min read

    • Article

      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

    • Article

      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

    • Article

      Women Of War

      Oct 27, 2020

      Women Of War
      12 min read

    • Article

      By Force Alone

      Feb 26, 2020

      By Force Alone
      2 min read

    • Article

      Reviving Roman Voices

      Oct 26, 2023

      Reviving Roman Voices
      9 min read

    • Article

      Legends Of Valour

      Aug 6, 2020

      Legends Of Valour
      1 min read

    • Article

      “You’ve Got To Be Impressed By How These Women Played The System”

      Apr 16, 2020

      Ellie Cawthorne: First of all, why did it matter who Charles II was sleeping with? Linda Porter: Charles’s love life was a reflection of the luxury and glamour – but also the corruption – of the royal court at the time. The extramarital relationshi

      9 min read

    • Article

      Britannia Strikes Back

      Dec 29, 2021

      Britannia Strikes Back
      4 min read

    • Article

      Cartimandua

      Aug 24, 2021

      Cartimandua
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Original Wizard

      Jun 7, 2024

      The Original Wizard
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Original Wizard

      Jun 7, 2024

      The Original Wizard
      8 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Pacorus

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Pacorus - Peter Darman

      Pacorus

      Peter Darman

      Copyright © 2020 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

      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.

      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

      Preface

      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

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      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 of Dura Europos

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

      Almas: deputy-governor of Dura Europos

      Ashk: chief palace steward at Dura Europos

      Chares: leader of the exiles from Mesene now resident in the Kingdom of Dura

      Chrestus: commander of Dura’s army

      Claudia: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura, Scythian Sister, now adviser to King of Kings Phraates at Ctesiphon

      Dalir: head of Dura’s lords, husband of Eszter

      Eszter: daughter of King Pacorus and Queen Gallia

      *Gallia: Gaul, Queen of Dura Europos

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

      *Pacorus: Parthian, King of Dura Europos

      Minu: commander of the Amazons, wife of Talib

      Rsan: governor of Dura Europos

      Talib: Agraci, chief scout in Dura’s army

      Other Parthians

      Akmon: King of Media

      Ali: King of Atropaiene

      Athous: Satrap of Babylon, ‘friend’ of King of Kings Phraates

      Bigthan: forger

      Lusin: Queen of Media

      Pacorus: King of Hatra, son of Gafarn and Diana

      †Phraates: King of Kings of the Parthian Empire

      Rodak: governor of Assur in the Kingdom of Hatra

      Non-Parthians

      Byrd: former chief scout in the army of Dura, now a rich businessman resident in the city of Palmyra

      Gaius Arrianus: Roman ambassador to the court of King Polemon of Pontus

      Heron: Greek, merchant living in Syria

      Jamal: Queen of the Agraci

      Malik: King of the Agraci

      †Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa: Roman, deputy and friend of Augustus Caesar

      †Tiberius Claudius Nero: Roman, stepson of Augustus Caesar

      Titus Tullus: former centurion, now Roman ambassador to the court of King Tigranes of Armenia

      Preface

      All in all, life had been good to Titus Tullus. He would never see his native Italy again but that was no great loss. All he remembered of his youth was backbreaking work in the fields toiling for his father, a poor farmer whose life was barely better than the slaves that filled the countryside and whose unpaid labours were putting him out of business. When young Titus had elected to join the army, his father and mother had bid him a fond farewell, glad it was one less hungry mouth to feed.

      Being a Roman citizen, a bachelor, having all his limbs, being above average height and in possession of a full set of male genitalia and excellent eyesight, he was accepted into the ranks. And so began nearly three decades of military service. For Legionary Tullus life was hard but no worse than the miserable existence he had endured on his father’s farm. He received regular meals and pay, found he had a natural ability when it came to handling weapons, and was delighted to discover Mars the God of War smiled on him in battle. He had always prayed to the gods but discovered Mars listened whereas Ceres, Goddess of Agriculture, was deaf to his pleadings.

      Titus Tullus fought at the Battle of Pharsalus in the army of Julius Caesar against Pompey, which ensured Caesar’s ultimate triumph and where Tullus first encountered the brilliant, erratic and charismatic Mark Antony. Six years later, on a hot and dusty Macedonian plain, he fought in the bruising Battle of Philippi where Mark Antony and Octavian killed those responsible for the assassination of Julius Caesar. Mark Antony stayed in the east while Octavian returned to Rome and Titus Tullus stayed with him. He and tens of thousands of other legionaries believed the victory signalled an end to bloodshed in the Roman world and the beginning of a new era. It was the beginning of a new epoch sure enough but one drenched in blood, for Mark Antony fell in love with the Queen of Egypt, the sultry, beautiful, poisonous Cleopatra. Their affair would divide the Roman world.

      By the time Mark Antony invaded Parthia Titus Tullus was a veteran centurion. The campaign against the effete, long-haired Parthians was tougher than anyone had anticipated, Mark Antony losing most of his army and two precious eagles at a place called Phraaspa. Antony and Tullus lived to fight another day, but for Tullus it was the beginning of a strange relationship with the Parthians. He became their ally when Mark Antony forged an alliance with King Darius of Media, fought beside them when the Queen of Dura and her friends hired a Roman legion to assist in the removal of a Parthian rebel called Tiridates, fought them again when Prince Atrax, the son of the slain King Darius, tried to take Media from King Akmon, the son of the tyrant King of Gordyene, resulting in a heavy defeat at the Battle of Diyana. That campaign had been particularly hard because it was fought against the King of Dura, a man who had fought beside the slave leader Spartacus in Italy, had defeated Marcus Licinius Crassus at Carrhae where seven Roman eagles had been captured. That king, Pacorus, had been in his clutches for a brief while but had escaped being crucified, and went on to take part in the Parthian invasion of Armenia, Pontus, Galatia and Cappadocia. By that time Mark Antony and Cleopatra were dead and he was no longer a centurion, having taken service with King Polemon of Pontus. In the emergency of the Parthian invasion his iron nerves and cool professionalism endeared him to the king. He quickly became the commander of the king’s palace guard, and then became the governor of the town of Melitene when a second Parthian invasion of Cappadocia led by King Castus of Gordyene destroyed a large pro-Roman army outside the town.

      Titus Tullus missed that rout but became convinced he and other individuals were being targeted by assassins sent by Queen Gallia of Dura. Nothing was proved, but having met the queen on several occasions, he was convinced she was quite capable of meting out her own brand of justice by whatever means available to her. The next year, ironically at the suggestion of Queen Gallia herself, he took part in a slave-gathering expedition in northern Gordyene when King Castus and King Pacorus fell out. The campaign was both easy and lucrative, but when he returned to his villa in the capital of Pontus, he found a gold griffin brooch on the chair in his study. He had seen the griffin banner of Dura on the battlefield many times and it confirmed to him Queen Gallia still had a score to settle with him. So he decided to retire and devote himself to the more agreeable activity of becoming a wealthy businessman. He had gold, owned vineyards outside the capital Sinope and, most lucrative of all, held shares in a silver mine outside the Pontic town of Trabzon, a hundred miles to the east of Sinope.

      Tullus touched the griffin brooch fastened to his tunic. When he had first discovered it he had been alarmed, but after getting a slave to handle it, lick it and pin it to his own tunic, he realised it was not poisoned. He was concerned it might have been cursed or carried an evil spell, so he paid a local priest to bless his vineyards, villa and gave generous offerings to Mars, his protector and far more powerful than any womanly Parthian god. He had toyed with the idea of having the brooch destroyed. But it was valuable and he liked it. So he kept it.

      ‘What is the smell?’

      Tullus screwed up his nose as the noxious aroma entered his nostrils.

      ‘Sulphur, lord,’ replied the commander of the mine, a stolid individual equipped in mail armour and helmet with a yellow plume in the crest.

      He was an officer in King Polemon’s palace guard, a unit modelled on Rome’s legionaries, armed and equipped in a similar fashion. He pointed at several gaping holes in the brown earth extending up the hillside, a huge cleared area that had once been filled with pine trees and rocky outcrops. The outcrops were still extant but the trees were long gone, replaced by workshops, barracks, furnaces, slaves’ living quarters, stables, wagons, carts, infirmary and kitchens. Around them all was a bustle of activity and a small army of soldiers, wagon drivers, workers and boys. It was mid-afternoon and so all the paid workers, slaves and criminals, the three classes of miners who worked to fill the king’s coffers with silver, were already underground.

      ‘Those are ventilation shafts, lord. They are parallel to the working shafts to allow warm air and fumes from the mine to rise and be replaced by cooler air from outside. Below ground, interconnecting galleries and cross-cuts increase air flow.’

      Tullus averted his eyes from the shaft openings to examine the watchtowers positioned along the wooden perimeter wall encompassing the whole mine. Extending out from the wall along its entire extent was a cleared area two hundred paces wide to prevent assailants reaching the defences undetected.

      ‘Any problems of late?’

      The officer shook his head. ‘The hill tribes do not venture too close to the town, lord.’

      Pontus was divided into two distinct parts, a narrow, fertile coastal strip and a hilly inland region interspersed with fertile river valleys. The coastal strip was wide in the west, around Sinope, but significantly narrower around Trabzon. Indeed, the hills rose gently behind the port for some distance inland until the Pontic Mountains began. The hills were the abode of the so-called hill men, comprising a number of tribes who were once allies of King Polemon but now at war with him. There were thirteen distinct hill tribes, of which the largest was the Colchi. The tribes had been briefly united under a leader called Laodice who had provided thousands of warriors for the king. But a series of disastrous wars against the Parthians had resulted in huge losses among the tribes, including Laodice himself. The daughter of Laodice, Yesim, had managed to marry herself to King Castus of Gordyene. Her departure had removed a major threat from Pontus, but a desultory conflict of raids by the hill tribes still existed.

      ‘We have enough troops guarding the mine and in the town to ensure security, lord,’ the officer assured him.

      Tullus smiled. He knew the king viewed Trabzon as more important that even Sinope, and with good reason. The absence of almost all flat land around the town meant almost no agriculture, but Trabzon had a port, through which the proceeds of the silver mine were shipped to the capital and transported on to Rome itself. Silver was not as valuable as gold but was used for similar purposes. In Trabzon itself specialised craftsmen working in a dedicated area of the town produced a host of silver goods, such as jewellery, dishes, figurines, decorative objects and incense burners. But silver ingots were also shipped west, to eventually become silver denarii, the currency of the Roman world.

      ‘In any case,’ said the officer, ‘after the large losses suffered by the hill tribes in the last two years, I doubt there are many of them left.’

      Tullus looked at him. Dressed in fine armour, his helmet gleaming and his boots fashioned from expensive red leather, he was the epitome of the Greek-speaking aristocracy that had inhabited the lowlands of Pontus for generations. As far as he and his fellow nobles were concerned, civilisation ended where the hills and mountains began.

      ‘Having been their guest after their huge losses, commander, I can assure you there are still a good number infesting these hills and mountains. Why so many boys?’

      Tullus was alluding to the large number of boys scurrying around with buckets, others hauling sleds from horizontal shafts in the mine.

      ‘Once the ore is freed from the walls underground,’ explained the officer, ‘it is collected in buckets and brought to the surface for processing. We use boys because they can move more easily in the low-ceilinged tunnels. They either deposit the ore at the bottom of shafts so it can be raised to the surface by pulleys as you can see, or load it on sleds to be pulled out of the horizontal shafts.’

      ‘They are slaves?’

      ‘No, lord. They are either the sons of miners or the children of free citizens living in the town. They are paid a decent wage for their dangerous, dirty work.’

      Deep-vein mining was indeed difficult and dangerous and only gold and silver were valuable enough to justify the time and expense of digging underground. But even with the cost of the digging and the ongoing expenditure devoted to security, Trabzon’s silver mine was extremely lucrative for its owners. Well, only one owner – King Polemon – but in his gratitude for the services of Titus Tullus he had given the now former commander of his palace guard a small share in the mine. Which returned a large profit.

      ‘No talking.’

      Tullus smiled to himself when he heard the tell-tale sound of a naked back being struck by a whip. He turned to see a line of sullen slaves with heads down shuffling from the gates of the mine, around them brutish overseers with whips and flanking them soldiers with spears pointed at the slaves. They had just been offloaded at the docks and were ‘enjoying’ their last walk before being condemned to the living hell that was mine work. Chained at the neck, they would spend their days in the claustrophobic, hot, dangerous mine, hacking at the rock with picks and hammers. Working eleven-hour shifts, they would be fed posca – a mixture of water, wine and vinegar – in addition to solids. The posca kept them slightly inebriated and thus more docile. The food would be just enough to get them through the working day but not enough to make them rebellious. And at the end of their short, wretched lives their bodies would be thrown on the rubbish heap. The slaves trudged past Tullus and the officer, the former centurion smiling with satisfaction at his good fortune. His smile disappeared when he saw a mounted party ride through the gates, led by a man he hoped he would never see again.

      ‘Tribune Tullus,’ shouted the richly attired rider, a soldier rushing to his horse to hold the bridle to allow the distinguished guest to alight from his beautiful brown stallion. He was dressed in a magnificent hammered bronze cuirass, shaped to resemble the toned mid-rift and chest of a god. A slave had obviously spent hours polishing his gleaming helmet and brushing its huge red plume, which he now removed to reveal a full head of short, curly hair and the face of a poet.

      He strode towards Tullus, passing his helmet to one of his subordinates. The former centurion, previously relaxed, stiffened, subconsciously standing to attention before his social superior.

      ‘Legate Dellius,’ he said through gritted teeth.

      The Roman smiled. ‘Do not stand on ceremony, tribune, we are all friends here.’

      Quintus Dellius was a born survivor. He had been a close friend of Mark Antony, procuring female lovers for the triumvir, before earning the animosity of Cleopatra both for his closeness to her lover and his cutting tongue. Dellius used this as the excuse for deserting Mark Antony on the eve of the Battle of Actium, revealing his friend’s battle plans to Octavian. This earned him the undying respect of Octavian, thus guaranteeing Quintus Dellius a life of luxury, privilege and influence in the new Roman world established by Augustus Caesar, formerly Octavian. But many saw the former friend of Mark Antony as an untrustworthy, duplicitous turncoat, including Titus Tullus.

      ‘I would like a word with the tribune,’ Dellius said to the commander beside Tullus.

      The officer saluted and marched off, leaving the pair alone. Dellius looked around at the feverish activity surrounding them.

      ‘First time I have visited a silver mine. Quite impressive.’

      ‘Are you on a pleasure trip, legate?’ asked Tullus.

      Dellius returned his stare to the former centurion.

      ‘I am here on the express orders of Augustus Caesar himself.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Walk with me, tribune,’ requested Dellius.

      They ambled over to where the mine’s furnaces were belching smoke. Each furnace was small, several arranged in a line and each one tended by burly workers wearing leather aprons. Refining ore was time consuming. Alternating layers of charcoal and ore were placed on a stone base, heaped over with clay and earth. When ignited, air was blasted into the furnace with leather bellows operated by men who looked like mountain trolls. Eventually, molten metal sank to the bottom, cooled and was collected for further refinement. Quintus Dellius tilted his head at the roaring furnaces.

      ‘They are producing the lifeblood of Rome.’

      ‘Indeed,’ agreed Tullus.

      ‘As well as filling the coffers of rich individuals such as yourself, tribune. Rome has been good to you, Titus.’

      Tullus stared at a furnace worker dragging an ingot of metal from the heat with a pair of long pliers. He had a feeling the purpose of the visit of Quintus Dellius to Trabzon was about to be revealed.

      ‘Caesar has followed your career with interest, tribune,’ said Dellius, prompting a snort of derision from Tullus.

      ‘I doubt he knows I even exist.’

      Dellius feigned surprise. ‘On the contrary, your exploits in Parthia, Armenia, Cappadocia and Pontus are well known in the imperial household. Which is why Augustus himself has requested your help.’

      ‘Here we go.’

      ‘What was that?’ asked Dellius.

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Yes, well, as you may or may not be aware of, negotiations are about to begin with the Parthians concerning the return of the eagles lost at Carrhae and Phraaspa.’

      ‘I had heard,’ said Tullus.

      Quintus Dellius turned and walked away from the noise of the furnaces. Tullus followed.

      ‘Augustus feels that his eastern border needs strengthening to deter the Parthians, specifically King Castus of Gordyene, from launching any more campaigns of aggression against Rome’s allies.’

      ‘Makes sense,’ agreed Tullus.

      ‘Caesar wishes to install Tigranes, one of the sons of the late King Artavasdes, as King of Armenia. He feels, and I concur, that Armenia has become the plaything of King Castus, is weak and might fall into the hands of the Parthians unless he takes action.’

      ‘I have first-hand knowledge of the character and ruthless ambition of King Castus,’ said Tullus, ‘after being his prisoner for a while. He is a snake who is married to a viper.’

      ‘The people of Armenia grow tired of King Artaxias,’ said Dellius, ‘and there are those willing to take action to remove a ruler who has sacrificed so many of their sons on the battlefield.’

      ‘Rebels, you mean?’

      ‘Friends of Rome, tribune,’ said Dellius. ‘A group of them are at Melitene, a town where you were once governor, I believe.’

      Tullus stopped to face Dellius. ‘Forgive me, but what has all this to do with me?’

      ‘I will come straight to the point, Titus. Augustus wants you to take charge of these Armenians and lead them in a mission to remove Artaxias.’

      Tullus blinked. ‘You want me to lead a bunch of rebels into Armenia, travel to the capital, infiltrate the palace and kill the king?’

      ‘A succinct summary,’ nodded Dellius. ‘After you have removed King Artaxias, an army commanded by Tiberius, the stepson of Augustus, and including Tigranes will be invited into Armenia to establish order.’

      ‘Is that all?’ said a dumbfounded Tullus.

      ‘It calls for someone who has knowledge of Armenia, the capital Artaxata and the palace in the city. No small task, I agree. But were you not instrumental in seizing the palace when Mark Antony captured Artavasdes and his entire family, did you not live in the city for a while, and did you not campaign in Armenia against King Spartacus of Gordyene?’

      Tullus said nothing as he stood with jaw locked in angry helplessness.

      ‘Furthermore,’ continued Dellius, ‘I know you have retained the services of your close band of subordinates who have served you so well these past few years. What other group could achieve what Caesar desires, and in so doing make Rome’s eastern frontier stronger?’

      ‘I and they are retired,’ muttered Tullus.

      Dellius sighed. ‘Men like us never retire, Titus. Besides, I would have thought you would have jumped at the chance to redeem yourself.’

      ‘Redeem myself?’

      Dellius waved a hand absently in the air.

      ‘Just rumours, Titus, idle gossip. Nothing to trouble a man of iron like yourself.’

      But they did trouble the former centurion, as Quintus Dellius knew they would. Just as Cleopatra had despised the former legate for his sarcasm and insinuations, so did Titus Tullus want to plunge a dagger into his black heart.

      ‘Tell me,’ insisted Tullus.

      ‘There are some who question your loyalty to the new regime in Rome. Not me, you understand.’

      ‘Naturally,’ said Tullus dryly.

      ‘However, some close to Augustus query whether a man who was so loyal to Mark Antony can truly be a patriot.’

      Tullus chuckled. ‘And those nameless individuals would be assured of my loyalty if I killed Artaxias to allow his brother to take the Armenian throne.’

      ‘As would Caesar himself,’ said a smiling Dellius.

      Tullus wondered how many teeth he could knock out if he was to smash his fist into the condescending Quintus Dellius’ mouth. Enough to wreck his perfect smile, that much was certain.

      ‘Two things that might make your opinion of the mission more favourable, tribune,’ said Dellius. ‘King Artaxias has few friends and allies at his court, one of them being General Geghard, the commander of what is left of his army. You may be interested to know that the good general and his family are soon to depart for Media.’

      ‘Media?’

      ‘Yes, in a strange quirk of fate, the general’s daughter is the Queen of Media, having married the son of the late, unlamented King Spartacus of Gordyene.’

      Tullus nodded. ‘Yes, I remember now.’

      ‘Well, with the general gone the king will be more exposed than ever, which increases the chances of your mission succeeding dramatically. Secondly, once Tigranes is on the throne, you will be made Roman ambassador to his court.’

      Tullus’ ears pricked up. ‘Ambassador?’

      ‘With all the wealth and privilege that comes with such an important position, tribune. And, in recognition of his appreciation of your services in strengthening the empire, Caesar has ordered you be paid twenty talents of gold.’

      Tullus’ eyes lit up. Being born into poverty and having had to literally fight for his money, first as a legionary and then as a centurion, he had a keen appreciation of wealth and the difficulties involved in acquiring it. Over half a ton of gold was not to be dismissed lightly. He owned vineyards and had a share in the silver mine but those things were not movable. Gold, on the other hand, was a currency accepted throughout the known world. Titus Tullus was not so vain to believe he would always be high in the favour of King Polemon or indeed Augustus Caesar. He always prided himself on having a sixth sense when it came to his own survival. He had some gold tucked away in a safe place, but there was no harm in acquiring more to ensure he would have a comfortable life if forced to flee Pontus.

      ‘Very well, legate, I accept your offer. But I insist on the gold being paid upfront before I step foot in Armenia.’

      ‘I would expect nothing less,’ smile Quintus Dellius.

      Chapter 1

      I always relished returning to Dura, no more so than when I had been the guest of King of Kings Phraates at the gilded cage of Ctesiphon. Compared to the shimmering palace of the high king, Dura was a poor relation, a city of stone, mud-brick and a distinct absence of marble and gold. But whereas Ctesiphon’s white-faced walls enclosed a population of slaves, pampered nobles and their wives, an army of priests, many temples, eunuchs and soldiers who resembled strutting peacocks, all living among an excess of marble, gold, silver and ivory, Dura was a physical manifestation of military strength.

      The city could only be assailed from the western side since there were wadis beyond its northern and southern walls, and it would take an army of rock climbers to reach the Citadel perched atop an escarpment on its eastern side. There was a sliver of flat land between the near-vertical escarpment and the River Euphrates, which was not fordable at Dura. Instead, there were two wooden pontoon bridges just north of the city to allow the camel caravans carrying silk to Roman Syria and Egypt to cross the waterway. There was also a stone bridge further north, built by the Greeks generations before, now seldom used and more a mute reminder of when Greeks ruled the civilised world.

      Beyond the city’s Palmyrene Gate lay the great legionary camp where the gold griffin and silver lion standards of the Durans and Exiles resided, plus the famed Staff of Victory decorated with silver discs depicting the many victories of Dura’s army over the decades. Immediately north of the city was the caravan park, created to provided accommodation for the great camel trains that criss-crossed the empire without interruption. They were Dura’s lifeblood, enabling the kingdom to raise and maintain a standing army of cataphracts, horse archers and two legions based on their Roman counterparts but Parthian to the core.

      I am old now, some would say a relic of a bygone age when Parthia was drenched with blood and perpetual war ravaged the empire. Some mornings, when my leg and back ached with fury, I would agree with them. Parthia is different now, an empire once again ruled by an uncontested high king and supported by the monarchs of the seventeen kingdoms that make up a realm stretching for a thousand miles from the Euphrates in the west to the Himalayas in the east. They were loyal servants of the man who sat on Ctesiphon’s golden throne. Mostly.

      Like an old grumbling volcano, minor eruptions still occurred to remind everyone that Parthia is not an earthly paradise free from strife. The gods sent these tremors to illustrate the frailty of peace and happiness and the need to remain vigilant against both internal and external threats. That is why Dura’s army existed and why it would never be disbanded, at least not while I still had a heartbeat. The cost was exorbitant, of course, not only in maintaining a standing army of ten thousand foot soldiers, a thousand cataphracts and five thousand horse archers, but also the logistics to support those troops. The gruff Farid, the commander of the camel corps, which was so essential for providing the horse archers with a constant supply of ammunition on the battlefield, had fifteen hundred beasts at his disposal, each one requiring a driver capable of controlling his animal in the chaos of battle. Civilian drivers were also required for the dozens of carts used by the legions, and then there were the hundreds of mules that supported the Durans and Exiles when on campaign. In addition, there were the two thousand squires, two for each cataphract, who attended to the needs of their masters and trained for the day when they would don the scale armour and full-face helmets of Dura’s cataphracts. When they would also take possession of the fabled ukku swords, the black-bladed weapons that could cut through steel and yet were as a light as a feather. Dura’s army had an aura of invincibility and a reputation second to none. But maintaining a legend was prohibitively expensive.

      Over the years Dura’s army had covered itself with glory, and for that I gave thanks daily to Shamash, Lord of the Sun. But parallel to the battlefield success was an equally impressive triumph, for south of the city and covering a distance of around two hundred and fifty miles, was a green carpet extending inland from the Euphrates and farmed by thousands of the kingdom’s citizens. When I had first come to Dura that land was literally desert, a parched ground of dust, stones, vipers and scorpions. Then there had been open warfare between the lords and residents of Dura and the Agraci, the fearsome desert raiders who operated from the great oasis of Palmyra. But I had brokered a peace between Dura and Haytham, the cold, calculating leader of the Agraci, and the desert had bloomed as a result. The trade caravans crossed the Euphrates at Dura and passed through Palmyra on their way to Syria, Judea and Egypt. Haytham grew rich, Dura grew rich and I used those riches to create and maintain a standing army. Now the people of Dura and the Agraci took peace for granted and only a dwindling band remembered when there had been open warfare between the two.

      I slid off Horns in the Citadel’s courtyard, a young lad rushing forward to take his reins and lead him to his stable. Normally, I would have taken him there myself to unsaddle him and rub him down, just as my horse archer escort was doing to their mounts. But I was much older than them and their king, so was allowed a few concessions. I stroked Horns’ black neck.

      ‘Treat him well, he deserves it.’

      The lad bowed his head. ‘I will, majesty.’

      ‘Welcome back, majesty.’

      Ashk, my chief steward, rushed down the steps leading to the palace, bowing his head when he stopped in front of me.

      ‘Any news?’

      ‘Nothing of importance, majesty, though three of the kitchen staff have been struck down by a mysterious illness. I have ordered a new batch of oil lamps to replace those in the corridor leading to the bedrooms in the private quarters, and…’

      I held up a hand. ‘I meant anything concerning the safety or otherwise of the kingdom, Ashk.’

      ‘Nothing of import, majesty, though you did receive…’

      He was cut short by the appearance of Gallia bounding down the steps. I opened my arms and we embraced. It was not a display of courtly protocol but as most of Parthia believed the Kingdom of Dura was the abode of barbarians, loose morals and a savage king and queen, what did it matter? She stepped back and looked me up and down.

      ‘I would have expected to see a Persian satrap before me, all silk, gold and ringlets in your oiled hair. Did the lord high general not find Ctesiphon to his liking?’

      ‘I am no longer lord high general,’ I groaned, ‘but Phraates’ chief negotiator.’

      ‘I know,’ she smiled, ‘Claudia has kept me fully abreast of developments.’

      ‘Let’s get out of this sun.’

      We walked up the steps to the entrance to the palace, guards by the pillars snapping to attention as we passed to enter the relative cool of the shaded porch.

      ‘I trust Phraates is as annoying as ever,’ she said.

      I nodded. ‘His new toy is a chariot and before I left he was trying to convince me to get one.’

      She laughed. ‘A chariot?’

      ‘It is the latest thing, apparently.’

      Gallia was happy and carefree, her long blonde hair loose and falling to her shoulders, skipping through the porch into the throne room, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes.

      ‘I don’t have a chariot for you but there is a present of sorts waiting for you on the terrace.’

      I was intrigued. ‘A present?’

      ‘Bring refreshments to the terrace, Ashk,’ Gallia commanded, the chief steward trailing after us like a dutiful dog. He stopped and scurried off.

      On the wall behind our thrones was my griffin standard, pristine and looking barely a day old. Guards flanked the dais and stood at the entrance to the chamber. Their eyes followed me and Gallia but they made no movements, but all had a hand on their javelins, ready to spear anyone who dared to make off with the sacred cloth. I stared up at the flag.

      ‘Phraates wants me to oversee the negotiations with the Romans regarding the exchange of their captured eagles for his son. On the way back here I was thinking of Dobbai’s words when she sent the banner to me at Hatra. Do you remember?’

      ‘Like it was yesterday.’

      I was taken back to the grand throne room in Hatra’s great palace and the quizzical looks on the faces of my mother and father when the banner arrived at their city, may Shamash keep their souls safe in heaven. I said aloud the words Dobbai had written in her letter to me all those years ago.

      ‘The griffin makes his nest on the high peaks, overlooking his kingdom, safe from his enemies. He has the head and front talons of an eagle and this is appropriate, for your destiny is entwined with the eagles of Rome. You fight them but they are a part of you.’

      I sighed and turned away from the banner. ‘How right she was.’

      ‘She had the gift of foresight and was beloved of the gods, Pacorus.’

      I thought of the sharp-tongued old hag in rags who treated kings and commoners alike with disdain. She was slight of build but possessed such force of personality she could reduce even the greatest warrior king to silence. The gods often choose the most inappropriate vessels to do their great work.

      She grabbed my hand. ‘Come, no more talk of Romans

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1