Gallia looked at the young man standing at the foot of the steps.
‘Prince Peroz,’ she called to him, ‘come and meet my daughters.’
He bowed his head and ascended the steps where he was introduced to Claudia, Isabella and Eszter, who reached for his hand and pulled him towards the palace.
‘You had better go with her,’ I said to him. ‘She probably wants you to see a new toy.’
‘And there is someone who wants to see you,’ Gallia said to me.
‘Oh, who?’
‘A man from the east who arrived two days ago and who brings a great gift.’
I was intrigued. ‘What gift?’
‘I have no idea. He is on the palace terrace with Dobbai who sent for him.’
Domitus and the others trailed after Gallia and me as Peroz was being tormented by my two youngest daughters, who were tugging at his hands and waving their fingers at him as they pulled him towards the terrace. He smiled, teased them and listened intently as they told him about their horses and which of the palace servants were their favourites.
‘This guest turned up with a hundred warriors and a hundred camels,’ remarked Domitus. ‘We housed them in Orodes’ old quarters in the city. Apart from their commander they have not moved from there. Very strange.’
We walked through the porch and into the reception hall and then into the throne room, the squeals of my daughters resonating in the empty chamber. Gallia told them to keep their voices down as they led Peroz towards the door at the far end that led to our private wing giving access to the terrace.
‘Dobbai organised their quartering and instructed Rsan to furnish them with whatever they wanted,’ continued Domitus. ‘You can imagine what he thought of that.’
I looked behind and nodded at my stern-faced governor who was walking beside Aaron. He tilted his head curtly in reply.
We reached the terrace to find Dobbai ensconced in her chair next to a figure in a yellow turban. He rose when he saw us arrive, helping Dobbai out of her chair after he had done so. He stood before me as Dobbai clapped her hands and scowled at Eszter and Isabella who were still tormenting Peroz. They let go of the prince and became statues beside him, not daring to look into Dobbai’s eyes.
‘So you have returned, son of Hatra,’ she said, examining Peroz, ‘and you bring help with you. Former enemies have become allies. Good.’
She held out a bony hand to the individual who stood beside her, a man of medium height, thin, with very dark skin and small brown eyes.
‘This is Patanjali Simuka, a lord of the Satavahana Empire, a great power to the east of the River Indus.’
Patanjali bowed deeply, ‘Hail, King Pacorus, Lord High General of the Parthian Empire.’
He certainly looked like a lord, dressed as he was in a red silk shirt, white cotton leggings embroidered with gold and leather boots. Around his waist was a wide leather belt from which hung a curved sword, and in the front of his turban was a large red ruby that must have been worth a small province.
‘I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lord Simuka,’ I replied.
‘He brings a great treasure for you, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai.
He was obviously a man of some wealth and importance but a hundred warriors hardly constituted a great gift. Still, if he was offering his services I would not turn him away.
‘You and your men are welcome to join us in our fight,’ I told Lord Simuka, who looked perplexedly at Dobbai.
‘He and his men are not the treasure,’ said Dobbai irritably. ‘Please show him, Lord Simuka.’
The dark-skinned lord from the east smiled and stepped away from her, then drew his sword.
‘Guards!’ screamed Domitus who drew his gladius and stood in front of me. Seconds later the six legionaries who had been in the throne room rushed on to the terrace, swords in their hands. An alarmed Lord Simuka slid his sword back into its scabbard and held up his hands.
‘Idiots!’ hissed Dobbai. ‘Put away your sword, Roman, and tell your men to return to their posts. Lord Simuka has travelled a great distance from his homeland to be here and his reward is to be threatened with death?’
I laid a hand on Domitus’ shoulder. ‘We appear to have a misunderstanding.’
Domitus stood like a rock in front of me. ‘It is death to draw a sword in the presence of the king, that is crystal clear.’
‘I merely wished to show the king my sword,’ protested Lord Simuka.
I ordered the guards to return to their posts and told Domitus to sheath his sword.
‘Please give me your sword, Lord Simuka,’ said Dobbai.
He did as he was asked and she handed me his weapon. It was a fine curved sword and had a most curious blade, having what appeared to be swirling patterns along its entire length.
‘A fine sword,’ I said.
‘It is more than that, majesty,’ he smiled. ‘With your permission I would like to arrange a demonstration to show you its qualities.’
I really did not see where this was leading but to accommodate the wishes of our guest and placate a clearly irate Dobbai, who was glowering at Domitus, I suggested we all retire to the throne room while female servants took away our two youngest daughters. I allowed Claudia to stay as she was ten years old now and understood what was expected of a young princess. Compared to her sisters she had a serious nature and smiled little, a consequence of spending too much time in Dobbai’s company no doubt.
Gallia and I sat down on our thrones as Dobbai stood next to her and Domitus beside me, a hand on the hilt of his gladius, while Lord Simuka stood near the dais and slashed the air with his sword. I gave the order to summon one of the officers of the company of cataphracts that was on garrison duty in the Citadel. Rsan and Aaron were clearly bored by it all, which resulted in my governor’s face wearing an even darker expression, while Peroz seemed fascinated.
‘You should let me fight him,’ growled Domitus.
‘He is not here to fight,’ I corrected him.
In any case though Domitus handled a gladius with aplomb it would be unfair to match him against the longer blade wielded by Lord Simuka. Minutes later an officer from my heavy cavalry appeared in his white shirt, his spatha dangling from his sword belt. He was a broad-shouldered man in his thirties who stood at least six inches taller than our visitor from the east.
‘This shouldn’t take long,’ muttered Domitus, grinning evilly.
I told the officer that he was to fight Lord Simuka but that it was a demonstration only and no blood was to be shed. They both bowed their heads and withdrew to the centre of the hall. All my horsemen practised swordsmanship on a daily basis, especially the cataphracts. The hours and hours spent training was evident as the officer directed a number of slashing strokes against Lord Simuka. As it was a demonstration only neither man attempted any thrusts to stab his opponent.
Every horseman in Dura’s army carried a spatha based on the one that Spartacus had given me in Italy. Weighing around twelve pounds, their double-sided blade was over two feet in length with a walnut hilt whose grip had an eight-sided cross section with finger grooves to give the holder a firm purchase. The even distribution of the sword’s weight made it easy to wield as was now apparent as the officer made a striking movement towards Lord Simuka’s shoulders. Our guest whipped up his sword to meet the blow, the two blades crashed against each other in a blur, and the spatha was cut clean in half.
The steel clattered onto the tiles as I stood and looked at it in disbelief, as did the officer who now held a broken sword. Lord Simuka took two steps back, bowed at his opponent and sheathed his sword. The officer sheepishly stooped and retrieved the top half of his sword from the floor and stood to face me.