Parthian Dawn (7 page)

There was a sharp intake of breath from those around the table, and I had to admit that my heart sank at hearing that name.

Gallia looked confused. ‘Who are the Agraci?’

Assur stroked his beard and looked at her. ‘They are pestilence, my child, sent by God to remind us that the world is a dangerous place.’

‘Thieves and beggars mostly,’ added Vata, winking at her. ‘Nomads who roam the desert and prey on any unfortunate enough to stray into their territory.’

He was right. The Agraci were fierce nomads who inhabited the northern part of the Arabian Peninsula. The southern part was inhabited by the Bedouins, Gafarn’s people, but they kept themselves mostly to themselves, though they were not averse to raiding other people’s territory should the opportunity present itself. But the Agraci were a constant thorn in our sides. They were disliked, feared and hated, and everyone in Hatra was glad that the Euphrates separated us from them.

‘Well,’ continued my father, ‘the power of Haytham grows, which is most unfortunate for both of you.’

‘Who is Haytham? I asked.

‘The king of the Agraci. He has united the tribes of his people and now controls most of Arabia. He sends raiders north to Antioch and Damascus and west to the border of Egypt. It cannot be long before his gaze turns towards Dura. At the moment Prince Mithridates sits on the throne of Dura.’

‘Prince Mithridates, who is he?’ I asked.

My father smiled. ‘The grandson of Sinatruces. The wily old fox sent him to Dura either because he wanted to be rid of him or because he is a capable commander who can keep the Agraci at bay.’

Vistaspa refilled his cup from a water jug on the table. ‘Still, when your legion is fully trained you can send it into the desert to undertake pest control duties against the Agraci.’

‘That’s being unkind to pests,’ mused Kogan, which drew chuckles from those present, all except Gallia.

‘No wonder they give you so much trouble if you treat them so badly.’ Her words produced a stunned silence. Vata was no longer smiling. ‘If all they can expect from you is death and persecution, then you will have nothing but war with these people.’

Assur put his hands together. ‘My child, I fear you speak of things that you do not understand.’

‘I am not your child, I am a queen, so kindly address me as such.’

My father raised his eyebrows at her words, while Kogan and Addu looked down at the table. She continued, undaunted. ‘I know everything about persecution and severity and treating people as animals for sport. Even an imbecile knows that if you continually beat a dog it will eventually bite you. If you slaughter the men and women of this tribe, the Agraci, do you think that their sons and daughters will not thirst for vengeance? For supposedly wise men, you appear to be unable to see the simple logic in this.’

Assur cleared his throat loudly and glared at her. Vistaspa, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin with his right hand. He was also looking at Gallia, but was that admiration in those cold, black eyes? I thought it might be.

My father raised his hands. ‘Thank you, daughter, for your most eloquent words. But we must move on. My point is this: you are both going into a most uncertain, perhaps dangerous, situation and I want you to think hard about what you are about to undertake.’

‘I will go to Dura,’ Gallia’s words were like arrows shot from a bow.

‘Where you go, I follow,’ I said.

My father merely nodded. ‘Well, then, it is settled. To more practical matters. I have arranged for Addu to issue two million drachmas from the treasury, enough money to pay each man of your legion for a year. They may serve you now for ideological or religious reasons, but eventually even fanatics need food in their bellies.’

I was astounded. It was a huge sum.

‘You are most generous, lord,’ Gallia’s words were sincere and she bowed her head at my father, who smiled at her. Addu fidgeted in his chair.

‘You have something to say, Lord Addu?’ queried my father.

Addu, gaunt with thinning brown hair, cleared his throat. ‘I would merely wish to point out, majesty, that the treasury will miss such a generous amount.’

When my father selected Addu to be the royal treasurer it was an inspired choice. He was truly a man who knew the value of everything and the worth of nothing, an individual who had a large parsimonious streak coursing through him. He believed that taxes and customs duties were for one purpose only — to fill the treasury. But while he was happy to see great amounts of money pour into the treasury, he was loath to see any going out. He viewed any expenditure as frivolous waste, especially any resources spent on the army. He could see the value of Kogan’s garrison, though only if his soldiers were protecting the treasury, but to him all other expenditure was a waste of valuable resources.

‘Is not the money mine, to do with as I see fit?’ asked my father casually.

‘Of course, of course, majesty,’ Addu’s voice became even higher pitched. ‘I was merely pointing out that Hatra may need such a sum in the future.’

Vistaspa looked up and fixed Addu with his black eyes. ‘Are you saying that I will have more money to spend on the army, Addu?’

Addu looked alarmed. The conversation was not going the way he wanted, not at all. ‘No, no, no. Of course not. The expenditure on the army is already exorbitant. I fear that if we spend any more on it the result could be the city’s bankruptcy.’

This was nonsense, and Addu knew it.

My father sighed. ‘Lord Addu, Hatra is strong because her army is strong, you know this. The army ensures peace and peace means trade, which means crops grow, taxes are collected and customs duties are charged on caravans that pass through Hatra’s territory. In the same way, a strong Dura,’ he nodded at me, ‘means that Hatra’s western frontier is secure, so money spent on promoting that security is an investment in Hatra’s future, do you not agree?’

Addu did not, of course, but he merely smiled and politely bowed his head to my father.

‘Good, that’s settled, then. Pacorus, when do you leave?’

‘In a week, father.’

‘Then may Shamash protect you both.’

‘May He indeed,’ said Assur, eyeing Gallia warily. All nodded gravely in response.

The meeting concluded, all went their separate ways to attend to their duties. Assur stomped past Gallia and me without saying anything; clearly still angry at the way he had been spoken to.

‘He is arrogant,’ hissed Gallia.

‘He, my love, is the high priest of the Great Temple and a man who is used to others listening to him. He is wise and severe.’

‘And full of himself,’ she sniffed. ‘How much is two million drachmas?’

‘More than enough to pay five thousand soldiers for a year.’

The drachma was the currency within the Parthian Empire. A soldier was paid on average a drachma a day, so I would have enough to pay the legion and buy some weapons to equip them with. It was a good start.

Addu passed Gallia and bowed to her, then scuttled back to his tally sheets and ledgers. My father joined us and we walked to the gardens.

‘Thank you, father, for the money.’

‘It was your mother’s idea, she thought it inappropriate for a prince of Hatra to be unable to pay his soldiers.’

‘Will not the taxes of Dura be able to pay for his men?’ queried Gallia.

‘Perhaps, daughter, but five thousand men is a lot of boots to suddenly descend on a region.’ He cast me a glance. ‘You could always use your men to extract more taxes from the locals at sword point.’

‘That would make me a tyrant, father.’

He shrugged. ‘Kings must do what they must to hold their kingdoms.’

‘Even if it earns them the hatred of their subjects?’ Gallia shot back.

He linked his arm in hers. ‘Not every ruler has the love of his subjects. You two will find that Dura is not Hatra.’

‘But it will have the same respect for the law as Hatra does, father.’

The days following went in a blur, and in that time Domitus prepared the legion for its march south, while Nergal collected wagons, mules and camels to carry the hundreds of tents, tools and food that we would need on the journey. The royal ovens baked thousands of hard biscuits that would last for weeks, while boxes of dates were dispatched to the legion’s camp. While this frenetic activity was going on I went to find Vistaspa. I located him putting two companies of cataphracts through their paces ten miles north of the city, on a baked stretch of flat ground. The earth shook as the armoured horses and their riders galloped behind the figure of Vistaspa, the horsemen carrying their levelled lances with both hands. It was late afternoon and the fierce heat of the day was abating somewhat, but it was still warm and the men would be sweating profusely in their armour and helmets. I watched the men maintain their formation as they halted, turned around and then charged again.

Afterwards I rode over to the men as they dismounted and drank greedily from their waterskins.

‘Don’t gulp it down,’ shouted Vistaspa, sweat pouring down his bony face. ‘Take small mouthfuls and give your horses some. They are thirsty as well.’ He saw me and saluted.

‘I would have a word with you, Lord Vistaspa.’

We walked away from the tired, sweating soldiers and their mounts, whose heads were down. The men would have a long walk back to the city to save their horses further fatigue.

‘I have a favour to ask you,’ I said.

His face remained expressionless, as it always did. ‘Of course.’

‘I wish to ask Godarz to be the governor of Dura, with your permission.’

‘He is yours to command, majesty, you do not need my permission,’ replied Vistaspa, ever the observer of protocol.

Godarz had once served under Vistaspa many years ago, before Godarz had been captured and enslaved by the Romans, and I knew that his return to Parthia had delighted Vistaspa. I therefore felt a pang of guilt that I was making this request, but Godarz was a friend and had been the quartermaster general in the army of Spartacus. I needed his administrative abilities at Dura, and more than that I respected and trusted him.

‘But I would prefer to have your permission.’

I thought I detected a slight look of contempt on his face. ‘You have my permission, majesty.’

I knew that I was a king only by dint of a strange turn of events, and that in normal circumstances I would not have inherited Hatra’s crown until my father’s death, which hopefully was many years away. Vistaspa knew this too, just as he knew that I had fought in a slave army. He had once saved my life when I had let my guard down around some Roman captives, and soon afterwards I had been captured by the Romans. No doubt he believed that going to Dura was a fool’s errand that would lead to disaster, but if he did he kept his council on the matter.

And so, with Vistaspa’s permission, I asked Godarz if he would accompany me to Dura.

‘I do not wish to drag you away from Hatra if you do not want to leave. It must be your decision.’

Godarz now busied himself with finding the best horses for Hatra’s army, especially pure whites; indeed, while a slave in Italy he had assembled a fine collection of horses for his master. One of these beasts was a white stallion with blue eyes that I took and named Remus. I had ridden him thereafter.

‘I would have to ask Prince Vistaspa for his permission, Pacorus.’

‘I have already done that, for I know that you are friends and so I sought his permission to approach you and he consented.’

He nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘And what do you want of me?’

‘To be governor of Dura,’ I replied, ‘to ensure that taxes are spent wisely and the city’s defences are strong.’

‘I know nothing of Dura.’

‘You know what Godarz, neither do I. But perhaps we can learn together.’

He accepted my offer.

There remained one more task to fulfil before I could leave Hatra. Years ago, in another lifetime, my father had sent a raiding column into the wild country of Cappadocia in reprisal for Rome’s aggression against Hatran territory. I was part of that raiding party, as was the man I now sought out in Hatra, a guide named Byrd who had also been enslaved by the Romans, and who had subsequently been the leader of a ragged band of scouts in the army of Spartacus.

I went into the city the next morning, walking through the bustling streets bursting with Hatra’s citizens and foreign visitors. The air was hot and filled with the smells of pungent spices from the East. The markets were heaving with people buying and selling garments, animals, pottery and exotic foods. The stalls were packed full of wares, customers haggling, shouting, cursing and laughing. Kogan’s guards kept order, but in general the atmosphere was good-natured although frenetic. I walked down to the southern part of the city, past brothels, inns and along litter-strewn streets. Beggars, their limbs distorted and their faces diseased, pot-marked and ugly, held out their filthy hands for money. I reached into my leather pouch and gave them some drachmas, for I too had been a penniless wretch once. I walked under an arch into a small square, around which more stalls were arranged. This was the poorer quarter of the city, and the wares on sale reflected that — coarse garments, poor quality utensils and thin loaves. Around the square were shops, mostly one-roomed affairs that opened out on to the square, their owners placing benches to separate the square from their abodes. I had consciously dressed in a simple white tunic, brown leggings and leather boots, but the sword hanging at my hip marked me apart from the dozens of others, some barefoot, all haggard, who were there to buy products.

I walked up to one of the shops on the south side of the square, which like the others had a wooden bench placed in front of its entrance. The bench was piled high with earthenware pots, and behind it a scruffy man, tall with dark, shoulder-length hair, his face lean, was arguing with a portly man with thinning hair.

‘You no like, then don’t buy.’ The seller’s eyes, narrow and brown, fixed the customer with a cobra-like stare. The man threw his arms into the air and walked away.

‘You won’t become rich with that attitude, Byrd.’