Parthian Vengeance (6 page)

Gallia blushed and offered her hand to him. Thumelicus hoisted himself on to the table and then slid across its surface to be in front of her, then embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. She pushed him away.

‘Behave yourself Thumelicus, you have had too much to drink.’

He kissed her again and retreated back over the table.

Diana and Praxima squealed and clapped with delight and Gafarn was bent double with laughter.

As the evening wore on every Companion came over to Godarz and congratulated him on catching such a prize in Nadira. All of them were genuinely happy that he had found a soul mate in the autumn years of his life.

‘She’s half his age,’ snapped Gallia as we took breakfast on the palace terrace the next morning. The Citadel sat atop a high rock escarpment overlooking the Euphrates, its sheer sides making it impregnable from the riverside. A large terrace surrounded by a stone balustrade had been created next to the rear of the throne room. It was extended so that each bedroom, ours included, that faced the river also had its own balcony.

‘What difference does that make?’ I replied as my two eldest daughters ran around us screaming at the tops of their voices. Little Eszter sitting in her raised chair cooed with delight. ‘He is obviously happy and she seems very agreeable.’

She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Yes, I saw you gawping at her chest. Behaviour hardly becoming of a king.’

I told my daughters to sit down and eat their food in silence, but just as they had taken their seats Dobbai appeared and they began racing around once more, tugging on Dobbai’s black robes.

‘Can you calm them down?’ I asked her.

Dobbai kissed Claudia, Isabella and little Eszter and then ushered the first two back to their chairs.

‘Feeling delicate, son of Hatra?’

‘Too much drinking and leering last night,’ sneered Gallia.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Dobbai, ‘grown men acting like small boys. It must have been excruciating for you, my dear.’

‘Gallia is jealous of Godarz’s new love.’

Gallia glared at me. ‘I am not. I hope he is happy.’

‘Just not with a beautiful woman half his age,’ I replied mischievously.

‘How pathetic are the carnal desires of men,’ said Dobbai as she sat down in her wicker chair stuffed with cushions. She rarely left the palace these days, being content to amble around the palace and watch over our daughters.

‘They love each other,’ I said.

They both looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses.

Dobbai picked at a date. ‘She wants something from him that is all. If you had any brains you would see that.’

Gallia nodded gravely. ‘That is what I think. I should tell Godarz before he gets hurt.’

‘You will do no such thing,’ I said. ‘He is happy and deserves to be. We will leave well alone.’

‘Ill omens are abroad in Hatra, you both would do well to take care.’ Dobbai’s face was blank as she relayed this news to us, as though speaking on behalf of another.

‘Ill omens?’ Gallia looked concerned.

Claudia put down her food and walked over to Dobbai and hoisted herself on to the old woman’s knee.

‘I saw an owl perched above the gates of the Citadel last night,’ said Dobbai, stroking Claudia’s long fair hair.

I felt a sense of dread. An owl was a sign that evil was present and was usually a portent of imminent death and destruction, or at the very least grave misfortune. Owls were believed to represent the souls of people who had died unavenged. I immediately became alarmed for the safety of my wife and children. Dobbai saw my look of concern towards the little ones.

‘They are not in danger, son of Hatra. It is you that faces peril.’

She smiled at Claudia. ‘Tell your father what happened to the smoke from the fire near the stables.’

Claudia looked very serious. ‘The smoke did not disappear, father. It hung over the flames. It should have risen straight towards the heavens. But it did not. A bad omen.’

‘What nonsense is this?’ I asked Dobbai irritably.

‘No nonsense, son of Hatra. It is an old Scythian ritual that can determine whether evil spirits are near.’

I pointed at Claudia. ‘You should not fill her head with such foolishness.’

Then I turned to Gallia. ‘This is just the sort of thing I was talking about.’

‘What about that Jew you brought back with you from the desert?’ asked Dobbai.

‘Aaron? What about him?’

‘He is an assassin,’ she replied, ‘I have seen his eyes. They are full of hate.’

‘He will be arrested,’ announced Gallia. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘If Aaron is an assassin as you say, then he had plenty of opportunities to kill me on the journey from Palmyra.’

‘You should kill him,’ said Dobbai, ‘just to make sure.’

‘Kill him, kill him,’ shouted Isabella, not knowing what it meant, or at least I hoped that she did not. Poor Aaron, Haytham was thinking of having him killed and now Dobbai wanted his head.

‘Quiet!’ I shouted. Isabella fell silent and then began to cry. Gallia walked over and picked her up.

‘Now look what you have done.’

I held my head in my hands. ‘Aaron is under my protection,’ I said, looking at Gallia and then Dobbai. ‘No harm shall come to him.’

‘Let us hope the same can be said of you, son of Hatra,’ quipped Dobbai.

I had suddenly lost my appetite, so I rose and walked from the terrace. The rigours of the training fields beckoned and were a welcome relief from the wittering of an old woman.

‘You can turn a deaf ear to me if you wish, son of Hatra,’ remarked Dobbai as I left them, ‘but you are foolish not to heed the warning signs that the gods are sending you.’

Chapter 2

Gods! How they tormented us mortals! I worshipped and feared Shamash, God of the Sun, and respected the other deities that dwelt in heaven, but I sometimes despaired of their intrigues. It was well known throughout the empire that Dobbai was sent visions by the gods, but they were often so vague and shrouded in mystery as to be almost impossible to decipher. The movement of smoke over a fire did not bother me but the appearance of an owl perched on the Citadel’s walls was not to be dismissed lightly. We had already increased the number of guards in and around the palace and there had been no new arrivals among the palace servants, most of whom had been with us for years, so I did not fear danger from that quarter. But then, any one of my soldiers could stick an arrow or blade into me at any time should they so wish. It all came down to trust. Did I trust them? Dura was different from many kingdoms in the empire in that it had a standing army. The Silk Road that passed through it paid for their weapons, equipment and wages. Each man was paid monthly for his services. The levels of pay were dictated by rank and length of service, with records diligently maintained and held in the headquarters building in the Citadel. Each man, and every woman in the Amazons, irrespective of rank or race received equality of treatment when it came to rewards and punishments. In return I demanded loyalty. In all the time I had been King of Dura I had experienced no mutinies or disloyalties. My soldiers had always obeyed orders unquestioningly. In the end that is all any commander can hope for.

A welcome diversion came with an invitation from Godarz for Gallia and me to dine with him and Nadira at the governor’s mansion. It had probably been a mistake that the latter’s first meeting with us had been at the Companions’ feast, but what was done was done. At least this time there would be no raucous Germans present to humiliate me.

‘Try to keep your eyes in their sockets this time, Pacorus.’

Gallia looked stunning on the evening we made the short journey from the Citadel to Godarz’s residence, a score of legionaries acting as our escort.

My queen wore a blue, sleeveless dress with a gold belt around her waist, gold armlets and gold bracelets. Her long, thick blonde hair hung freely around her shoulders and over her breasts. Even among her curls were thin slivers of gold. She looked every bit the queen she was. I wore a simple white silk shirt, baggy brown leggings and red leather boots. As usual my Roman
spatha
, the gift from Spartacus, was worn at my hip. On the opposite hip was my dagger, a weapon taken from a dead Roman centurion.

The night was still and warm, the only noise the crunching sound made by the legionaries’ hobnailed sandals as they marched beside us on the stone slabs. The road that led from the Citadel to the Palmyrene Gate was paved, though most of the streets in the city were dirt. I had instructed Rsan to embark on a programme to pave all the main roads inside the city to save us from the permanent cloud of dust that hung over Dura in the hottest months, especially over the tallest part – the Citadel – and the work was continuing apace. The Greeks had originally built the city and its roads and buildings were arranged like a giant grid with streets perpendicular to each other, the whole surrounded by a thick, strong circuit wall.

I held Gallia’s hand as we walked to the governor’s mansion. The odd citizen still abroad bowed to us as we passed. Dura had no curfew except in an emergency, though the city gates were shut two hours before midnight every evening and were not opened again until dawn the next morning. There was no danger of an Agraci attack against us, but Dura had always been a frontier city and its inhabitants slept sounder knowing that they were in a secure stronghold.

We arrived at the mansion within minutes, the guards either side of the gates snapping to attention as we walked past them into the courtyard. More guards flanked the stone path that ran from the gates to the foot of the steps leading to the mansion’s entrance. We walked across the courtyard as Godarz and Nadira descended the steps to greet us. Nadira was wearing a yellow, figure-hugging dress with a diadem in her hair.

‘Remember,’ said Gallia in a whisper, smiling at our hosts, ‘when you speak to Nadira, her eyes are in her head and not her chest!’

Godarz may have been the city governor but he always dressed modestly. It was the same tonight. The years spent as a slave in Italy had left their mark on him. In truth though, he had never been badly treated yet he had still been a slave. Tonight he was dressed in a simple long-sleeved beige shirt, white leggings and sandals. Though Parthian men wore their hair long, Godarz had had his hair shorn in Italy and had never let it grow back. As he and his new love bowed their heads to us he appeared truly happy, wearing the look of a man who had finally found contentment after years of loneliness.

‘Welcome,’ said Godarz, ‘you are both most welcome.’

‘We are glad to be here,’ I replied.

Gallia smiled politely at Nadira and then embraced Godarz. She linked her arm in Nadira’s and they walked up the steps together into the mansion. I embraced Godarz and slapped him on the back.

‘Nadira is a beautiful woman. I am pleased for you, my old friend.’

His eyes were moist as he stepped back to face me.

‘I never thought that I could be this happy, Pacorus. The gods have truly blessed me.’

We followed our women up the steps, Polemo bowing his head to us as we passed him at the top.

‘You deserve to be happy, Godarz. We are truly happy for you.’

Godarz looked at Gallia and Nadira disappearing into the reception hall. ‘Even Gallia?’

‘Of course. Her nose has been put out of joint that is all. You know how it is with women, they get jealous.’

The meal was a most excellent feast. Though the mansion had a banqueting hall we ate in a smaller room just off the reception hall so as not to be dwarfed by our surroundings. I sat next to Gallia across from Godarz and Nadira. Servants brought us yoghurt, Parthian beans, fennel cooked with pine nuts and spices, roasted lamb, goat and chicken, steamed rice, crusty rice with cinnamon and pistachios, and meat balls. Other servants served us wine and water. As the wine flowed Gallia’s suspicion of Nadira lessened somewhat. The latter was charm itself, engaging my wife in conversation and appearing interested in everything she said, especially the Amazons. Gallia was delighted to talk about her female warriors, which made Godarz overjoyed. I had been dreading any friction between my wife and Nadira, but Godarz’s woman was adept at conversation and charm. She hardly spoke to me, knowing that the attitude of Gallia was the key to the success of the evening, and truth be told it was turning into a highly enjoyable occasion. I relaxed in my high-backed wooden chair and smiled at Godarz. He nodded and then stared lovingly at his gorgeous woman. He was truly blessed.

I drained my silver drinking vessel, a
rhyton
, and held it up to be refilled. Fashioned into the shape of a ram’s head it was a beautiful piece, highly polished and delicately crafted. I turned the drinking vessel in my hand as a servant walked towards me with a jug of wine. I saw the reflection of a figure behind me in the polished surface of the
rhyton
and instinctively moved to my right. As I turned to see who it was, a sword blade directed at my head suddenly splintered the back of my chair. I instinctively rolled out of it and kicked it away as Polemo wrenched his blade free. I jumped to my feet and drew my own sword, then advanced to meet my would-be assassin.

‘Godarz,’ I shouted, ‘get the women out of here. Sound the alarm.’

Polemo smiled. ‘I have a message for you, slave king.’

He attacked me with powerful slashing blows directed against my head. I parried them with some difficulty and then tried to thrust my
spatha
into his chest. But he sprang back and avoided my sword point with ease.

Polemo grinned once more. ‘King Mithridates sends his greetings.’

Then he came at me once more and again tried to behead me with his blade. His strength and speed forced me back. I caught his last slashing blow with my own blade, grabbed his sword hand with my left hand and head-butted his nose. He grimaced and staggered back, his nose broken.

I glanced behind me and saw with horror Gallia grappling with Nadira, who had a dagger in her hand and was trying to stab my wife.