‘Brave and loyal,’ concurred Nergal.
‘Humble as well,’ said Gafarn.
‘While I am basking in the glow of victory,’ said Orodes, ‘I have to think about the welfare of the empire, and that means ensuring loyal kingdoms. That is why I intend to make Peroz King of Sakastan.’
The throne of Sakastan had been vacant for many years since its ruler, Porus, had been killed in battle when he had sided with Narses and Mithridates, in what seemed another lifetime. Narses had subsequently assumed control of Sakastan but since his death at the Battle of Susa it had been ruled by Orodes, along with the other kingdoms that also had vacant thrones: Elymais and Persis, Narses’ old kingdom. Silaces had now returned to Elymais as its king and obviously Orodes intended to fill the other two thrones as quickly as possible.
I made no immediate reply, prompting Orodes’ brow to furrow. ‘You do not approve?’
‘It is a bold move,’ I replied.
‘Bold, how?’
‘He is to marry Roxanne soon.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Orodes, ‘I have heard much about her.’
‘Though not perhaps that she was formally a prostitute in this city.’
Nergal’s eyes locked on Orodes to see what his reaction would be as Praxima had been a whore while a Roman slave. Surena looked unconcerned — he had been raised among the reed huts and marshes of the Ma’adan after all — while Gafarn had grown up a slave in Hatra’s palace. Among us only Orodes and myself had been born into royalty, privilege and tradition.
Orodes smiled. ‘If I have learned anything these past few years it is that nobility is not the preserve of kings and lords but can be found in the most unlikely places.’
‘His father does not know he has chosen a whore to be his wife,’ I reminded everyone.
‘Former whore,’ Gafarn corrected me.
‘What?’
Gafarn smiled at me. ‘Well, I assume that she no longer practises her former trade.’
‘Very clever, Gafarn.’
He pointed at me. ‘If I can tolerate my son marrying an Agraci girl then I am sure Phriapatius can bear his youngest son taking this Roxanne as his wife.’
‘Especially as he will be ruling the kingdom adjacent to his own,’ added Orodes.
So that was that, Spartacus would marry Rasha and Peroz would marry Roxanne.
‘And that only leaves the matter of Persis to be decided,’ said Orodes. ‘As one of the largest kingdoms in the empire its throne cannot remain empty.’ He looked at me. ‘I had thought of making it a gift for my retiring lord high general.’
The prospect filled me with horror. ‘I have a kingdom, my friend.’
‘You could rule them both,’ suggested Orodes.
‘Pacorus, King of Persis and Dura. It has a nice ring about it,’ smiled Gafarn.
‘You would be the first among equals,’ said Surena admiringly, ‘a fitting reward, lord, for Parthia’s greatest warlord.’
They all voiced their approval of his words but I held up my hands, my cheeks colouring with embarrassment.
‘Orodes, my friend, though I esteem your wisdom greatly I cannot accept your most generous offer. Dura is my home and I have spent too long away from it already. I have had but fleeting glimpses of my daughters growing up and now wish only to stay in the kingdom I have come to love.’
‘I understand,’ said Orodes, ‘though I have one last call on your service before you hang up your sword.’
‘I cannot imagine a time when Pacorus of Dura will ever hang up his sword,’ remarked Surena.
‘Nor I,’ added Nergal.
But in the days following, when Gallia, Diana and Praxima painted Rasha’s hands and feet with henna to bring her luck and good health during her married life and Agraci and Parthian laughed together, had drunken fights and afterwards, bloody and bruised, embraced and pledged oaths of friendship, ran camel races and revelled in each other’s company, I stood above the Palmyrene Gate, to gaze west into the desert. I looked beyond the black goat hair tents, and was gripped by a strong desire to remain at Dura. What was all the fighting and death for if not to be able to live in peace afterwards?
Rasha and Spartacus were married on a beautiful summer’s day, Shamash having cleared the sky of every cloud and provided a gentle breeze to ease our discomfort. I stood with my friends and watched the girl who had been like a daughter to me become the wife of Spartacus. Diana cried tears of joy for she had been the one who had carried him as an infant when we had fled the Silarus Valley following the death of his parents.
Alcaeus, his wiry hair now thinning and showing grey, smiled and shook my hand as the couple walked back to the city to attend the feast that had been prepared in their honour. He had been the one who had delivered the son of Spartacus all those years ago.
‘Do you remember that night?’ I asked him as we watched the newlyweds walk towards the city gates surrounded by a great throng of well-wishers.
‘Like it was yesterday. They would have been proud, Claudia and Spartacus. I wished they could have been here to see it.’
I sighed. ‘There are lots I would have liked to have been here to see today. We have lost too many.’
He slapped me on the back. ‘Come, we need to get some food in your stomach to stop you getting morose.’
If eating was a cure for depression then I must have been deliriously happy that night as the palace kitchens produced a seemingly endless supply of cooked eggs, chicken, goat, mutton and fish. Beer and wine flowed like floodwaters through a wadi and loosened everyone’s tongues to such an extent that by the time the servants lit the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling and walls of the banqueting hall I had to shout to make myself heard.
Despite his fearsome appearance and reputation Haytham made great efforts to be civil to both Gafarn and Diana. He knew their history, of course, and knew that Gafarn was a Bedouin who had been captured as a small child and raised as a slave in Hatra’s palace. The Agraci waged constant war on the Bedouin who inhabited the southern part of the Arabian Peninsular, and their mutual animosity was age old. A part of Haytham probably wished that his daughter was marrying the son of one of his lords, but as he informed me long ago she had seen a world beyond the black tents of the Agraci and longed for adventure.
At the wedding I had told the newlyweds that they could reside in Miriam’s mansion. She had given it back to the crown after she had gone to live with Aaron and Rachel. This solved the immediate problem of where they would live but offered no long-term solution.
‘Would the people accept an Agraci princess among them, or even an Agraci queen?’ Haytham was relaxed and happy as he sat on the palace terrace the day after the wedding, but his question was in the minds of all of us.
Gafarn rubbed his neatly cropped beard and glanced at Diana. ‘We all like Rasha, King Haytham, and she has been a guest at Hatra as you know.’
Haytham held up a hand to Gafarn. ‘We all like Rasha, King Gafarn, your son most of all. But you know as well as I do that the people of your kingdom will not accept her as the wife of your heir, much less as their queen.’
‘I fear it is so,’ said Diana sadly.
‘They can stay at Dura then,’ I offered.
Haytham shook his head as a steward brought me Najya, the saker falcon that he had given me years ago, and she walked onto my arm.
‘I blame Pacorus for all this,’ he said.
Najya craned her neck as I stroked her under her beak. ‘Me. Why?’
Haytham winked at Gallia. ‘Before you came to this city the Agraci and Parthians were quite happy butchering each other, raiding each other’s lands and swearing oaths of vengeance so that our sons and their sons would carry on the blood-letting. But then you came and offered the hand of friendship, and against my better judgement I took it.’
He pointed at Malik sitting beside Jamal flanked by Byrd and Noora. ‘My son became your friend and served in your army. Your scout became my friend and now owns half of Syria and Egypt.’