The Parthian (8 page)

‘That is a very dangerous way of thinking, to my mind,’ he said as we rode past a group of workers repairing an irrigation ditch in a field. ‘Some of them, and I have met them, believe that they are semi-divine themselves. That’s all very well until some common soldier in an opponent’s army shoots them with an arrow or runs them through with a sword. They don’t look so god-like when their guts are spewing all over the place. 

‘It is true, for example, that you were born into a royal household and thus were a prince from birth, but the kingdom you will eventually inherit will grow rich only if you ensure the welfare of your subjects.’

‘All of them?’ I asked.

‘We can do nothing about plagues and famine. These things are sent by Shamash. But we can ensure that the kingdom is safe. And a safe kingdom is a prosperous kingdom. If this land,’ he waved his hand to indicate all around, ‘was infested with bandits there would be no trade passing through, no well-tended fields to harvest and no functioning irrigation ditches to water the fields. The people would flee and we would live as paupers. Our swords and lances keep the peace and allow the people to prosper. Always remember that, for when you forget it the kingdom is doomed.’

‘Yes, father.’

And he was right. The land, our land, was rich and prosperous. The distance between the Euphrates and Tigris is two hundred miles at its widest point, and in the area along their banks extending inland grains, vegetables and dates were cultivated, a complex system of irrigation dykes and ditches draining water from the rivers and keeping the land fertile. Oxen were used to pull ploughs, and cows, sheep and goats provided dairy products and meat. There was also a thriving textile industry producing wool for cloth and flax for linen.

The land itself was owned by nobles but worked by farmers, each of whom paid rent to their vassal lord. The aristocrats who lived in Hatra owned vast estates, but those who lived in their villas in the countryside owned much smaller tracts of land. It was the duty of each farmer to own a horse and a bow and practice his horsemanship and archery skills on a regular basis. In this way Hatra had a ready reserve of soldiers that could be called on. Inevitably there were some who neglected their military duties for farm work, but in general the system worked well enough. And when a general muster was issued, the lords were the first to ride to war. Parthian kings and nobles always led from the front.

The heat of the summer was receding now and the days were sunny but not stifling. The harvests were being gathered, which meant every road was filled with carts pulled by donkeys. When our column neared them, the carts and any human traffic on the road would move aside to let us pass. They bowed to my father and then carried on with their tasks.

‘You see, Pacorus,’ remarked my father, ‘they do not feel threatened by the appearance of soldiers.’

‘That’s because they are lazy and stupid,’ remarked Vistaspa, who had drawn level with us after leading a scouting party.

‘That’s because they feel safe,’ said my father.

‘They’ve become too accustomed to peace,’ growled Vistaspa.

‘But our army is the finest in the Parthian Empire, is it not?’ I added.

‘The army is, yes,’ said Vistaspa, ‘but if we have to issue a general call-up we’ll be in trouble.’

‘Not every man can be a warrior,’ remarked my father.

‘More’s the pity,’ said his bodyguard’s commander. Vistaspa then muttered something under his breath and rode towards the rear of the column, no doubt to take out whatever was irritating him on some poor trooper.

My father smiled. ‘He’s a good man, Vistaspa,’ I remained silent, ‘but he is too intolerant, I fear. But there is no man I would rather have beside me in battle.’  

Ctesiphon was something of a disappointment. It was undoubtedly large and sprawling, but its squat brick buildings were dirty and its walls were also brick and coloured a dark yellow. It was also poor, or at least its inhabitants were. The people eked out an existent from agriculture, but the Silk Road did not pass through Ctesiphon, and therefore it could not tap its wealth. But it did not have to, for all kingdoms in the empire paid tribute to the King of Kings, thus there was a constant flow of money to the capital, though it obviously was not spent on its defences.

We were met outside the city by a detachment of cavalry led by the son of Sinatruces, Phraates. They carried the eagle standard of the King of Kings and were well appointed, with bright steel helmets, whetted lances and burnished shields. They wore mail vests and red cloaks on their backs. Phraates himself, bare headed, rode at the head of the column and greeted my father as an equal, as he was a king in his own right.

‘Greetings, King Varaz,’ he bowed his head. My father reciprocated. Phraates then looked at me. ‘And this must be your son, Prince Pacorus, whom we have heard so much of.’

I bowed my head. ‘Highness.’

Phraates was a studious-looking individual, his hair cropped just above his shoulders with a neatly trimmed, short beard flecked with grey. He had a broad face and a rather bulbous nose. I guessed he was nearing sixty years of age.

During the ride to the palace Phraates rode beside my father, myself and Vistaspa immediately behind.

‘You are to be congratulated, Prince Pacorus,’ he said. ‘Your valour is the talk of the empire.’

‘You honour me, majesty,’ I replied.

‘You are a worthy son of Hatra, the home of the empire’s finest warriors.’

His flattery seemed genuine, and I for one could not help but smile as we rode through the royal gates and came to a halt before the steps of the palace. It was a large, tall building with an ornate white stone façade. Guards stood on the steps, spearmen with large wicker shields and red felt caps on their heads. Our horses were taken from us and Phraates led us up the steps, through the reception area and into the throne room. This was a cavernous area some three storeys high, with a white and black marble floor, thick stone columns on either and a golden throne on a dais surmounted by a griffin at the far end. Courtiers were clustered in groups around the throne while a guard stood in front of each column. As we were led into the room the various hushed conversations died away. All eyes were on us as we approached the dais. We halted a few paces from the figure seated on the throne, an old man with white hair and a wispy beard, which was platted to resemble a serpent’s tongue protruding from his chin. He wore a golden crown encrusted with gemstones on his head, while his black tunic was adorned with golden stars. His face was thin and bony, his cheeks slightly sunken. But his dark brown eyes were alert and piercing, and had fixed on us as soon as we had entered the room.

Phraates nodded to a tall, thin man with a staff who stood beside the throne, some sort of chancellor I assumed.

‘Majesty, may I present King Varaz and his son, Prince Pacorus,’ we went down on one knee and bowed our heads.

‘Arise, arise,’ said the king, to polite applause from the courtiers. The king’s voice was deep and powerful, which came as something of a shock to me considering his frail body.

‘You are most welcome, King Varaz, and we congratulate you and your son,’ he nodded at me, ‘on your victory over the Roman invaders.’

‘Thank you, majesty,’ said my father.

Sinatruces held out his right hand, into which was placed a rolled scroll by the chancellor. The room was silent as he carefully unrolled it.

‘This document is the reason I invited you here, King Varaz, for it is a demand from the Senate of Rome. A demand that I return their legion’s eagle, which they say has been stolen, and furthermore that I pay them reparations for the destruction of said legion.’ There were angry mutterings around the room, which were silenced by Sinatruces holding up his left hand.

‘It would appear to me,’ he continued, ‘that the Romans think that the Parthian Empire is a vassal state, which must pay homage to them. This they must be disabused of. I have therefore replied that it is they who should be paying reparations to us for their gross violation of our sovereignty, and that any future incursions will be countered by great force.’ Again, applause filled the room.

‘A most wise reply, father,’ said Phraates.

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor as Sinatruces spoke, as befitting his rank, though my father looked directly at him. After the preliminary niceties were out of the way, Sinatruces spoke in the ear of his chancellor, who announced that everyone was to leave the room aside from myself, my father and Phraates. Once the courtiers had filed out, the two large wooden doors were shut. Guards still stood around the room and I had no doubt that they would be listening intently to what was about to be said, to be later disseminated as idle gossip among their comrades.

Guards placed chairs in front of the dais for us to sit in, while a slave came forward with a tray holding silver goblets. I took one and drank, slightly surprised to discover it was cool water, not wine. Sinatruces sighed and then began to speak again.

‘King Varaz, your kingdom is the shield that protects our western border, and I fear that in the months ahead that shield will be battered by Roman spears. Rome is not threatening war, but there is a large Roman garrison in Syria and I’m sure the commander there will be ordered to test your defences and will do so. Hatra is strong and will defend itself with honour, I doubt not.’

‘Majesty,’ replied my father. ‘Hatra is strong but would be stronger with reinforcements.’

‘Ah,’ sighed Sinatruces. ‘I thought we would come to that. I have to tell you that the empire is threatened from the north by the Alans and by the Sakas in the east. I cannot ask for troops from the kings who are facing those threats, for to do so would risk leaving our borders vulnerable.’

‘Rome is a bigger threat than tribes of nomads, majesty,’ said my father.

‘You are right, King Varaz, ‘but Hatra’s army is the strongest in the empire. We are not unmindful of your dilemma, and thus are prepared to grant you aid.’

‘Troops?’ my father asked.

‘Alas, no, but we will give you ten cartloads of gold to allow you to sustain your war effort.’

I cast a glance at my father and saw his eyes light up. Hatra’s treasury was already full, and such an amount would allow my father to strengthen the army. 

‘A most generous offer, majesty.’

Sinatruces clapped his hands. ‘Excellent! You will both stay for the banquet tonight. A most satisfactory meeting, I think.’

We were shown to our luxurious quarters in the palace where we were waited on by a host of slaves. I bathed and afterwards had a massage at the hands of a lithe Armenian girl, whose fingers erased the aches from my neck and shoulders and sent me into a dream-like state. It was most excellent life being royalty, I had to admit.

The evening banquet was a sumptuous affair. Parthians believe that consuming red meat and fats create evil thoughts, and is in any case the food of barbarians. Thus the trays were piled high with fruits, vegetables, fish, fowl and lamb. Delicacies included oranges, pistachios, spinach, saffron, sweet and sour sauces, kabobs and almond pastries, all washed down with the finest wines. My father was seated on the left side of Sinatruces, with Phraates on his right side. I sat next to my father, while behind us stood guards. The chancellor and a number of other officials sat at another table, one of some twenty that were arranged around the feasting hall. In the centre a troupe of jugglers was entertaining the guests as a small army of servants ferried trays to and from the kitchens. Sinatruces, I noted, ate sparingly and drank little, speaking the occasional word to my father, who smiled and nodded dutifully. 

I also noticed that an old woman had suddenly appeared in the room and was shuffling towards the top table. I was somewhat surprised, not least because no one seemed to be taking the slightest notice of her. She was dressed in rags and had a stooped appearance. She was constantly looking right and left and seemed to be muttering insults at all and sundry. Her stooped posture, misshapen nose and sore-covered face was in stark contrast to the beautifully attired and attractive guests that filled the room. She continued to shuffle towards us, and a feeling of horror came over me as I realised that she was heading directly for me. I stared in disbelief as she stopped opposite me on the other side of the table. She cackled in a most disconcerting way to reveal a row of brown teeth. Her breath, even from a distance, was repellant. She pointed at me.

‘Give me your hand, little lamb,’ she spat.

Who was this foul old crone who dared to speak to me thus? I felt my anger mount, and was about to rise and order her out of the room when Sinatruces spoke.

‘You had better do what she asks, Prince Pacorus.’

I was stunned. ‘Majesty?’

‘This is Dobbai, a Scythian  from the mountains of the Indus. She is a sage, some say a sorceress, and has been a member of my court for many years now. She has a gift. She can see the future. That is why we tolerate her.’

‘That is why you
fear
me, Sinatruces,’ she pointed a bony finger at the king. ‘Let me speak to the lamb, otherwise I will turn you into a warthog.’

To utter such words to the High King was to invite immediate execution, but Sinatruces merely smiled and gestured to me to hold out my hand.

I have to confess that I was hesitant to extend my arm. She not only looked revolting, but her sunken cheeks and emaciated frame suggested that she had not eaten for a while. Perhaps she wanted to eat my hand! Suddenly confronting an army of Romans seemed less daunting. However, aware that all of those who sat at the top table were observing me, along with others on nearby tables, I held out my right arm.

The old hag grabbed it with her right hand with a grip that was surprising strong. Her clutch was bony and cold. I shivered. She looked at my upturned palm and then spat into it. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Filthy old crone, how dare she treat me like this.

She then drew her left forefinger across my palm, mumbled some nonsense to herself and then looked me directly in the eyes. This made me feel even more uncomfortable. I felt my cheeks colour. For what seemed like an eternity, but was actually only a few seconds, she stood motionless.