‘Initially you will be quartered at the city of Assur,’ I told him. ‘You will be close to the city of Hatra and can reinforce King Gafarn if he is threatened, but will also be able to return to Gordyene if necessary should Surena get into difficulties with the Armenians.’
‘I do not think you have to worry about Surena, majesty. He is more than capable of holding this kingdom.’
What I did not tell him was that by taking him and his men I hoped it would make Surena more cautious when it came to provoking the Armenians.
The next morning, as snowflakes whirled around the icy courtyard, we said our farewells in the entrance of the palace to Surena and Viper, who was wrapped in a great fur-lined cloak and felt hat, her girlish face barely visible. I shook the hand of Surena and embraced his wife fondly and then took to my saddle. All of my party were wrapped in their thick cloaks, hoods and mittens, especially Scarab who seemed to feel the cold more than most.
I nudged Remus forward and leaned forward to speak to Surena.
‘Remember, do not provoke the Armenians. We want to fight the coming war on our terms, not theirs.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘And take care of yourself and Viper. I look forward to seeing you both after the baby arrives.’
I raised a hand to Viper, wheeled Remus around and trotted from the courtyard, followed by my horse archers. Outside the city Silaces and his men were waiting for us, all of them with their quiver flaps closed, their bows in their cases. Grey clouds were hanging low and the northern wind stung our faces as we rode from Vanadzor south back to the border.
I sent riders ahead to Irbil to inform Atrax that I was bringing back Silaces and seven thousand horsemen who would be traversing his territory on their way to Assur. Though as lord high general I could go where I wanted within the empire, with or without a small army as an escort, it would have been discourteous not to acquaint him with my movements. I also did not want to give Aliyeh another excuse to criticise me if word reached Irbil that I had marched through her husband’s kingdom without permission.
Happily Atrax himself rode from his capital to meet us at the Shahar Chay River with a thousand of Media’s horse archers in their blue tunics and grey leggings, grey cloaks around their shoulders. Fortunately the wind had abated and sun shone through the breaks in the clouds to bring a degree of light and warmth to the stark winter landscape as we rode our horses through the icy waters.
Despite being married to my sister Atrax had a warm, magnanimous character that everyone warmed to. Quick to laugh and praise and slow to criticise, he was a brave and loyal friend and a good king to his people. I never understood what he saw in my aloof, serious sister but they say that love is blind and he certainly adored her. And, to be fair (loathe though I was to be so), she had borne him two fine sons to secure his dynasty.
That night we camped ten miles inland from the river and warmed ourselves around great fires made from chopped wood Atrax had brought with him from Irbil. As we stood looking into the yellow and red flames I told him that that Crassus would soon be arriving.
‘What is he really like, this Crassus?’ asked Atrax, tossing the thighbone of the roasted chicken he had been gnawing into the fire. ‘You said you met him once.’
‘Many years ago. He invited me to his house in Rome to try to persuade me to leave the army of Spartacus and return to Parthia. He offered me and Gallia safe passage if I would abandon the slave army.’ I smiled to myself. ‘I said no of course.
‘As to what he is really like; he is formal and polite, generous I suppose, very rich and very powerful. He also has that Roman certainty that everything he does will be to his advantage and every decision he takes will be the right one.’
‘He is arrogant?’ suggested Atrax.
I laughed. ‘We are all arrogant to a degree, my friend. We all believe that our abilities are superior to the majority of other men, and that we take the right decisions to ensure the safety of our kingdoms and the empire. But with Roman commanders such as Crassus it is different. They believe that they have a divine right to make the world Roman; that it is not just their duty but the will of their gods that they should conquer the world.’
‘Let us hope, then, that our gods have more power than theirs,’ he replied.
I thought of the ritual that Dobbai had performed; the diversion of Aulus Gabinius to Egypt and the unexpected death of Tigranes. The rational part of me dismissed these things as mere coincidences; after all, if the gods had been summoned then surely they would strike Crassus dead and open the earth to swallow his army. But then I remembered that she also once told me that the gods loved chaos and bloodshed. Perhaps they only helped a little, just enough to ensure Parthia was not destroyed, but not enough to grant us outright victory. Perhaps they wished for war between Parthia and Rome to go on and on for all eternity until every inch of ground between the Himalayas and the Euphrates was soaked in blood. The fire hissed and spat and above us the gods toyed with us mere mortals.
Chapter 8
Dura had always been a frontier city. Originally founded by a general named Nicanor, one of Seleucus I’s commanders, it had subsequently passed to Parthian control and became a bulwark against the Agraci on the western bank of the Euphrates. The lords who settled on the strip of land north and south of the city lived in great strongholds and existed in a state of perpetual war with the Agraci tribesmen who inhabited the vast desert to the west. The Agraci raided their lands and they in turn launched reprisals and the desert ran red with blood. And then a great and terrible king called Haytham became the ruler of the Agraci tribes and all the lands between Emesa in the west, Dura in the east and the vast expanse of desert to the south. He inspired fear and loathing and his cruelty sent a shiver down the spine of the hardiest warrior. Dressed entirely in black and riding a black stallion that legend told had been sent from the underworld to bear this scourge of civilisation, Haytham led a host of black-clad devils that plundered and killed without mercy. And nowhere had Haytham been more feared and despised than in Dura.
Eszter giggled, tugged on Haytham’s sleeve and then ran away. Now five years old, she had inherited a mischievous streak from somewhere and wore a permanent smile on her round face.
Haytham jumped out of his chair and growled at her, causing her to scream with delight and race round the terrace. Gallia told her to be quiet and sit back in her chair. Isabella giggled and Claudia frowned and looked away. Dear Claudia. Now eleven, she was old and serious beyond her tender years as a consequence of spending so much time in Dobbai’s company, not that the old woman had corrupted her in any way. Rather, she had taught our daughter about the gods, the signs they gave mankind, the plants that could heal and harm and how to ask for divine assistance. She largely ignored our other two daughters and apart from periods spent with her tutors she devoted the rest of her time to the company of Dobbai. Now she sat beside her on the palace terrace as we entertained Haytham and Rasha.
‘Cannot a man get any peace in this world?’ opined Haytham, screwing up his face at Eszter who giggled and stuck out her tongue at him. Gallia told her not to be so rude.
‘Malik would have come,’ said Haytham, retaking his seat, ‘but Jamal insisted he stayed at Palmyra. Ever since the death of her father she is worried that the Romans will assault Palmyra again. She nags him incessantly.’
Jamal was Malik’s wife and a beautiful woman who would one day be queen of the Agraci.
‘Aaron’s religion,’ I said, ‘states that his god created the world in seven days and rested, and then he created man and rested. But what it does not teach is that after he created woman no one has rested.’