Parthian Vengeance (5 page)

Afterwards as we rode back to Palmyra, Haytham and I watched as Rasha and Orodes competed against each other in a series of short sprints on horseback.

‘Rasha presents me with a problem.’

‘How so, lord?’ I replied.

‘She is restless, Pacorus, she wants more than tents and the desert.’

‘She is a princess of your people, lord.’

‘But she has mixed with your people, has talked with merchants from distant lands and heard their tales of mythical beasts and strange tribes. More than that, she wants to be like your wife.’

‘Gallia?’

‘Of course, why not? Who would not want to be like the fabled warrior queen of Dura? To ride as well as any man, to fight as well as any man and be more ruthless than most? All these things she desires.’

‘I had no idea that she was so besotted, lord. I apologise.’

He held up a hand. ‘There is no need. Your wife, Pacorus, bewitches us all. Why do you think I let you live all those years ago when you and she came alone into my kingdom to return Rasha to me.’

He looked at me with his black, emotionless eyes then laughed aloud. He reached over and slapped me hard on the shoulder.

‘And she shoots a bow better than you.’

But Haytham had been wrong about that day when we had brought his daughter back to him, for there had been another with us, a man who had made his home among the Agraci and had taken one of their women as his wife. Orodes and I went to see Byrd the next day. He knew we were in Palmyra, of course, but had no interest in hunting or the conversation of kings. He also knew that we were immensely fond of him and would call on him and Noora his wife. We found him shaking hands with a merchant over a dozen camels he had just purchased. He saw us and nodded, then continued with his conversation. The merchant became most intrigued by the two richly appointed individuals who dismounted and waited patiently behind Byrd as he conducted his business. There was no need for him to engage in such trade as he was given gold every month from the treasury in Dura. He had at first refused, saying that he had always earned his own keep. But I prevailed when I told him that it was unbecoming for the best scout in the Parthian Empire to be scratching a living in the desert. Gallia was always pestering him and Noora to come and live with us in the palace at Dura but he always refused. He was happy enough with his Agraci woman. But as he was also very fond of Gallia they both visited us often and as with Rasha, we had set aside a room for them in the palace.

The merchant pocketed his money, shook Byrd’s hand once more, gave Orodes and me a curious look and then departed.

I walked up to Byrd and embraced him. ‘Selling camels now, Byrd?’

Orodes likewise greeted him warmly.

‘Just dabbling,’ he replied. ‘Always good to talk to those who pass through here. Pick up much useful information.’

He gestured to a youth, a boy of no more than twelve years in age, who gathered up the reins of the camels and led the beasts into a fenced-off area behind Byrd’s large goatskin tent.

‘And what is the latest gossip?’ I enquired.

‘I hear that three men rule Rome, two of them you have met: Crassus and Pompey.’

‘Hopefully they will stay in Rome,’ said Orodes.

‘Who’s the third?’ I asked.

‘A man called Caesar. This Romani general has won many victories, I have heard.’

Orodes slapped me on the arm. ‘Not as many as Pacorus, I’ll hazard.’

I laughed and then we went inside to share a meal with Byrd and his wife. Noora was a hardy woman who had been married before, though her husband had died many years before in an Agraci raid against my kingdom. That was in the time when there was open war between us. Noora had no children and the Romans had killed Byrd’s family in Cappadocia, and now she was probably too old to give birth, but they were content with each other’s company and for that I was glad. Once more I conveyed a request from Gallia for them to make their home in Dura and once more they politely refused.

‘But we will all be together soon enough, lord,’ Byrd said, ‘when the Companions gather.’

Two weeks later he and Noora and the rest of those who had fought in Italy under Spartacus were gathered in the Citadel’s banqueting hall. We called ourselves Companions because that is what we were; a band of warriors and survivors from many races and lands that had made the journey from Italy to Parthia. A motley collection of Greeks, Dacians, Spaniards, Germans, Thracians, Parthians and a woman from Gaul, my wife Gallia. Among the Companions there were no ranks, no hierarchy and no grades of social status. Just as Spartacus would have wanted we were all equal, free to call each other by our first names and to speak openly and without fear of recrimination.

The night was warm as the guests took their places at the tables arranged in parallel rows. There was no top table in the assembly of the Companions. I took my place next to Gallia, and beside her was Diana. Next to Diana was her husband Gafarn, by adoption a prince of the Kingdom of Hatra. Indeed Gafarn was now second in line to Hatra’s throne and was also one of the finest archers in the Parthian Empire. Opposite us sat Nergal, a fellow Parthian from the Kingdom of Hatra. Tall, gangly, always optimistic and a fine leader on the battlefield, he was now a king himself, the ruler of Mesene, a land to the south that bordered the Persian Gulf. Mesene was not a rich kingdom and the people who lived in the marshlands to the south of Uruk, the Ma’adan, had been in open rebellion against Chosroes for many years. I had worried that they would continue their revolt against Uruk’s new king but those fears had proved ungrounded for Nergal and his wife Praxima had proved to be good rulers.

Dobbai never attended the annual feast of the Companions, viewing it as too loud, boisterous and the venue for ‘ruffians and boasters who should have grown up by now’. It was all those things but so much more – a reunion of old friends and the opportunity to forge new ties, for each Companion was allowed to bring his or her beloved, whether married or not. This year all eyes were on the guest Godarz brought, the mysterious woman from the east whom he had fallen in love with. I have to confess that I too was intrigued. Gallia, though, still smarting from not being taken into Godarz’s confidence concerning this affair of the heart, professed no interest in the woman. But even her eyes were on the hall’s entrance when the city governor entered. If he was intent on making a memorable entrance he succeeded, for the woman on his arm was truly stunning. Tall and slim, she wore a white low-cut dress that displayed her ample, perfect breasts. The sleeveless dress accentuated her toned arms. She had a narrow face, full lips, shaped eyebrows, long, dark eyelashes and high cheekbones. Gold hung from her ears and adorned her fingers. Her dark brown hair had been gathered behind her head and held in place by gold hairpins inlaid with jewels. Godarz walked over as I rose and held out my hand to him.

‘Pacorus, may I present the Lady Nadira?’

Nadira means ‘rare’ and it was well chosen for she was indeed a rare beauty. She fixed me with her brown, almond-shaped eyes then averted her gaze and knelt before me. Any chatter that had been taking place when Godarz had entered the hall stopped as everyone stood up to observe the scene.

‘Highness,’ said Nadira, ‘it is a great honour to meet you at last.’

I reached down, placed my hands on her arms and gently lifted her to her feet.

‘Please, call me Pacorus, for we are all friends here.’

She dazzled me with a smile.

‘You are most generous, highness. Lord Godarz told me that the greatest warrior in Parthia has a generous heart.’

She turned to Gallia standing beside me and bowed her head.

‘And you must be Queen Gallia, whose name is known throughout the civilised world for beauty, courage and wisdom.’

Nadira knew how to flatter, that much was certain.

Gallia regarded her with a pronounced aloofness, though I could tell that she had been flattered by her words. ‘You are too kind.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘Nadira, you must sit beside me and tell me more about how an old warrior such as Godarz managed to win the heart of such a beautiful woman.’

I led Nadira by the hand to her seat and embraced Godarz as he took his place beside his beloved. Domitus came over and bowed his head to Nadira and then slapped Godarz on the arm.

‘You old ram.’

Nadira smiled politely at the muscular, crop haired barbarian standing beside her. The volume of noise in the hall increased again. The wine flowed freely and food was ferried from the kitchens.

Once everyone had been seated Godarz rose and held out his hands. The hubbub died again as all caught sight of the man of who had become the Companions’ father figure, the sixty-year-old former slave who was now governor of Dura. He lowered his arms and as one we all rose to our feet and bowed our heads. The Companions had originally numbered one hundred and twenty but in the intervening years since our return to Parthia ten had died, all of them on the battlefield in my service. With great solemnity Godarz recited their names to the now silent assembly. In the courtyard outside each name was carved in granite on a memorial wall next to the gates of the Citadel so they would be remembered. He ended by asking the gods to care for their souls.

‘We will see them again, for the bond between us can never be broken, not even by death.’

He picked up his cup and held it aloft.

‘To Spartacus!’

We raised our own cups and toasted the man who had brought us all together, then returned to our drinking, talking and eating.

Gallia loved these occasions where she could reminisce about the old times in Italy and share jokes and tall tales with the surviving original Amazons. In my eyes she would always be the stunning blonde beauty I had first clapped eyes on in the camp of Spartacus on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. But that was over ten years ago. Since then she had become a queen and had borne me three beautiful daughters. We both now had great responsibilities, to our children and to our subjects, but for at least one night Gallia could again be that carefree girl I had fallen in love with. She always had courage, but the years had hardened her to the greed and treachery of kings and I noticed that as the time passed she laughed and joked less and less. But tonight her blue eyes shone with excitement and she giggled and was happy among her friends.

‘So,’ I asked Nergal sitting across from me, ‘how is Mesene?’

‘It prospers,’ he replied. ‘I have given the marshlands to the Ma’adan to do with as they please.’

‘Really?’ I was shocked, for at a stroke Nergal had reduced the size of his kingdom by half.

‘It is true, lord,’ added Praxima, his Spanish-born wife who was now called Queen Allatu by the people of Mesene and revered as a god.

‘You have halved your kingdom, then.’

Nergal shrugged. ‘The marshlands belong to the Ma’adan, the people who live there. It has always been so. All I did was confirm what was already a fact. Besides, in return they have been most generous in supplying us with food and recruits.’

‘They serve in your army?’

Praxima grinned. ‘Of course! They know that a strong Mesene protects them also. They do not wish for another king like Chosroes.’

I was just about to converse with Nadira when the hulking figure of Thumelicus tapped Nergal on the shoulder and asked if he could sit in his chair.

‘Shouldn’t take more than a minute.’

Nergal winked at Praxima and duly surrendered his seat. Thumelicus ran a hand through his fair hair, his pale blue eyes wide as a result of too much wine. Every year I had to go through the same ritual with him at the annual feast. He placed his right elbow on the table.

‘Best out of three then, Pacorus.’

I sighed and tilted my head at Nadira, taking care not to stare at her superb breasts.

‘If you will forgive me, lady.’

In no time at all a small crowd had gathered round us as I rolled up my sleeves, placed my right elbow on the table and linked hands with Thumelicus. His grip tightened as he gaped at Nadira’s chest, while Godarz’s new love appeared to be bemused, confused and appalled in equal measure at the scene unfolding before her.

‘So,’ announced Thumelicus loudly, ‘we all know the rules. Best out of three and the winner takes Queen Gallia, the crown of Dura and the contents of the royal treasury.’

Companions banged on the table and cheered in approval, while Thumelicus grinned at Gallia and winked at Diana.

Thumelicus looked at Godarz. ‘On your signal, granddad.’

Godarz rested his hand on Nadira’s arm. ‘Your manners do not improve with the years, Thumelicus. Please begin.’

I like to think of myself as strong and physically fit, but Thumelicus was a brute who had fought as a gladiator in Italy many years ago and was now one of my best centurions, and as usual he almost wrenched my hand off as he forced it down onto the table. He did the same with my left hand as the first round ended in my ritual humiliation. Thumelicus took a great gulp of wine and then slammed his right elbow down on the table once more.

‘Come on, Pacorus, make a fist of it! An easy victory is no victory at all.’

I gripped his hand tightly and once more Godarz gave the signal to begin. I tried in vain to defeat the great German brute but to no avail and once more my hand was smashed down on to the table. Thumelicus screamed in triumph as he forced down my left arm to win the bout, though as he twisted my arm and I turned away in pain my eyes were confronted by Nadira’s radiant breasts rising up and threatening to burst free from the confines of her dress. Rarely has the taste of defeat been so sweet!

Thumelicus banged the table with his fists, jumped up and raised his hands in the air. Those around him slapped him on the back.

‘Behold,’ he shouted, ‘the new King of Dura.’

I rose from my seat and offered my aching hand to him.

‘If I had a crown I would present it to you, you big German savage.’

He smiled and took my hand, then dragged me towards him and locked me in an iron embrace. He released me and grinned at Gallia.

‘A kiss for your champion, my lady?’