‘Fetch another sword,’ I told him.
He bowed and left the chamber hurriedly to equip himself with a fresh sword from the Citadel’s armoury.
‘Do you think your eyes have deceived you, son of Hatra?’ asked a smug Dobbai.
I did not reply. Dura’s armouries were famous throughout the empire for producing high-quality weapons and armour. Vast amounts of gold had been lavished on them over the years to procure the best armourers who worked with the finest materials to produce armaments that were the envy of other kings. One broken sword proved nothing.
The crestfallen officer returned with another spatha and again Lord Simuka bowed to his opponent and drew his curved sword, and then the two of them once more engaged in swordplay. The first attacks and parries were half-hearted until Domitus called to them ‘to make a fist of it’, after which my man pressed his attacks with more vigour. He was stronger that his opponent but Lord Simuka was more agile and managed to evade most of his blows. The officer delivered a lightning-fast succession of strikes, slashing left and right as he forced Lord Simuka back towards the wall, before raising his spatha above his head and then slashing it down against his opponent. Lord Simuka’s blade slammed into the officer’s sword and again went straight through it, severing the blade a few inches above the hilt. Once again metal clattered on the stone tiles as we all looked on in stunned silence. How can this be?
Lord Simuka bowed to his shocked opponent, sheathed his sword and then calmly bent over and retrieved the broken blade.
Dobbai stepped from the dais and walked over to Lord Simuka and took the blade from him.
‘Many years ago, when King Sinatruces ruled the empire, he received a number of gifts from a ruler named Satakarni from beyond the Indus in gratitude for him stopping raiders crossing the river and laying waste his lands. Among these gifts was a sword such as Lord Simuka now carries, a weapon with a black blade covered with strange swirling patterns. This sword could cut through the blades of other swords with ease and was among the high king’s most treasured possessions.’
‘What happened to it?’ asked Gallia.
‘No one knows,’ replied Dobbai. ‘He lost it or gave it away in his dotage, no doubt, or perhaps swapped it for a young slave girl. But I remembered and sent a message to the court of the Satavahana Empire that Dura wished to purchase this wondrous material to fashion its own weapons. My gift to you, son of Hatra.’
‘It is as your adviser says,’ remarked Lord Simuka. ‘I have brought a thousand ingots of ukku with me.’
‘A thousand swords to equip all your cataphracts,’ added Dobbai.
‘Ukku?’ I asked.
‘The name of the steel from which the swords are made,’ answered Dobbai.
I pointed to one of the guards standing near the dais. ‘Go to the armouries and bring Arsam here.’
He saluted and scurried from the hall. I looked at Lord Simuka.
‘A most impressive demonstration. You have brought a thousand ingots of this metal, you say?’
Lord Simuka flashed a smile. ‘Yes, majesty.’
‘And what price do you ask?’
‘A thousand ingots for a thousand bars of gold, majesty.’
There were loud gasps from both Rsan and Aaron and even Domitus, who usually never quibbled about the price of weaponry, looked surprised.
‘Majesty,’ said Rsan, ‘that is an exorbitant price for a few swords, especially as your horsemen already have them.’
‘I would have to agree with Lord Rsan,’ added Aaron. ‘The army already places a heavy demand upon the treasury.’
‘What use is a full treasury if the Romans are battering down Dura’s walls?’ said Dobbai scornfully.
‘I will leave the decision to my chief armourer,’ I said at length, still finding it hard to believe that a brace of Dura’s swords had been cut in two so easily. He arrived fifteen minutes later dressed in a leather apron and looking flustered. He was also in a foul mood. He didn’t bother to bow as he stomped into the throne room and stood before me.
‘Arsam,’ I said, nodding at our guest, ‘this is Lord Simuka from east of the Indus, whose sword has just cut two of your spathas in half.’
Arsam’s eyes narrowed as he mulled over what I had told him. Then he smiled. ‘Impossible.’
I nodded at the officer whose swords had been destroyed. He walked forward and showed him the broken blades. Arsam frowned, snatched one of the fragments and then another, turning them over in his hands.
‘I am assuming that there is no fault in the blades,’ I said.
Arsam looked furious. ‘Impossible,’ he said again, glancing at Dobbai, ‘it must be some sort of devilment.’
‘The metal that made the weapons that cut through your swords,’ she snapped at him, ‘was forged by the gods, that much is certain, but it is a gift not a curse.’
‘Lord Simuka has brought a thousand ingots of the metal he calls ukku for you, Arsam,’ I said, ‘so Dura can benefit from this divine gift.’
Lord Simuka smiled at my grizzled, scarred chief armourer. For his part Arsam curled up a lip at him. ‘I will need to see these ingots myself, and forge a blade from one of them to see if it is of the required standard.’
‘I would not expect anything less,’ smiled Lord Simuka.
Partially placated, Arsam agreed that he himself would create the blade and so the next morning we all gathered in his workshop in the city’s armouries. Lord Simuka arrived in the company of an armourer he had brought with him, a wiry man with sinewy arms and thin legs dressed in baggy leggings and a leather apron. Arsam also wore a thick leather apron to protect him from red-hot splinters. In addition, he wore a pair of thick leather gloves on his hands and iron shields over his boots to protect his feet from being smashed if he dropped any metal he was working on.
Arsam’s most experience armourers crowded round the fire to witness the creation of a blade from the magical metal from the east. Though all the workshops had roof shutters that were nearly always open it was still unbearably hot and sweat was already pouring down my face. Most of the armourers and their young assistants worked in loincloths only beneath their leather aprons, though I thought it unbecoming of their king to wear such attire so I stood and sweated.
Lord Simuka’s man handed Arsam the ingot that was round and resembled a baked cake. He explained that once the ore had been extracted from the earth it was packed with charcoal, the bark of an evergreen shrub called cassia and the leaves of milkweed. It was then encased in clay and heated in a fire for up to seven days. The resulting ingot was possessed of the remarkable strength and flexibility that we had all witnessed in the throne room.
Arsam’s workers stood on benches and stools behind us to catch a glimpse of the process as the armourer from across the Indus instructed him in the proper procedure. Domitus and Vagises stood riveted as Arsam place the ingot in the red-hot fire with a pair of tongs and left it there until it was a dull red. Lord Simuka’s man then ordered that it be taken out of the coals and left to cool naturally, during which time Arsam hammered it on an anvil to stretch and flatten it to make a sword blade. After it had cooled it was again placed in the fire until it once more looked a dull red, following which Arsam took it out of the heat and worked it on the anvil once more, his expert hands soon creating a straight blade. This process was repeated a third and final time before the wiry armourer informed Arsam that the blade was now ready to be tempered.
This involved returning it to the fire and heating it to red-hot before withdrawing it to allow it to cool naturally. He informed us that the blade must be left for six hours before it could be hardened, so we all left the workshop to walk back to the palace. Even though the process was not finished the metal already showed the unusual swirling patterns that characterised Lord Simuka’s sword.