‘I heard about your trip into the desert to meet with the Agraci,’ he said, looking at Malik.
I nodded at Malik sitting next to Nergal and Praxima. ‘That is King Haytham’s son, father, a man whom I esteem a friend.’
‘I know who he is.’
I looked at my father. ‘You do not approve?’
He smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘You have brought peace and prosperity where there was war and financial ruin. How could I disapprove? There are some,’ he tilted his head towards Assur, ‘who disapprove of you making peace with the Agraci.’
‘And you?’
‘I say that kings have to be above all practical. You have the reputation of being a great warlord, and now you are earning yourself a reputation as a wise king. I am proud of you. How is Gallia?’
I looked at my love, deep in conversation with my mother. ‘Happy. She likes Dura.’
My father suddenly looked serious. ‘I heard that you took her into the desert when you visited the Agraci. That could have been dangerous.’
‘I told her that, but she insisted on accompanying me.’
‘And you let her?’
I grinned. ‘I could have forced her to stay in Dura, but I only have five thousand legionaries and two hundred cavalry. Too few for such a task, I fear.’
My father roared with laughter.
It was good to be back at Hatra, albeit for a short while, and to see my parents again. Those were the happy times, and even Vistaspa seemed to have mellowed somewhat, though perhaps it was because his friend Godarz was back with him. Gallia and Diana spent much time together with the young Spartacus, now grown in size and taking his first steps. Gafarn beat me with depressing ease in the archery competitions we held in the gardens and on the training fields and Addu was most impressed when I told him about Rsan and the treasury at Dura. Those were special days. It was not paradise, for people still died of sickness and disease, thieves still had their hands cut off and murderers were still executed, but peace and contentment reigned over Hatra and Dura.
But peace never lasts, and two days before we were due to head back to Dura, a courier arrived at my father’s palace. It was late afternoon and we were all relaxing in the shade of my mother’s summerhouse when the courier presented my father with a sealed scroll.
‘Where are you from?’ said my father, breaking the seal.
‘Ctesiphon, majesty.’
My father read the words and frowned.
‘What is it, Varaz?’ asked my mother.
My father waved away the courier and breathed a deep sigh. ‘Sinatruces is dead.’
I had to confess that this news came as no great shock to me, for the King of Kings had been over eighty years old and most people died well before that great number. But had I known what this one event would lead to I would have shown more concern, for the passing of one old man was to be the catalyst for tumultuous events that threatened to destroy the empire and would again bring me face to face with my old enemies — the Romans.
Chapter 7
My father convened his council the day after we had received the news of Sinatruces’ death, and as I was in the city he asked me to attend as well, along with Godarz. Gallia was not invited, much to her chagrin. As usual, the council met in a small room next to the throne room. Around the table sat my father, Kogan, Vistaspa, Assur, Addu, Godarz and myself. My father opened proceedings.
‘So, the day has finally come when we have to turn our thoughts to a new King of Kings. Lord Assur, I believe that your scribes have been researching the archives concerning the correct protocol in this matter.’
‘Yes, majesty,’ his voice was deep and serious. ‘There are very few who remember the days before Sinatruces since he has ruled for over fifty years. But now the kings of the empire must gather in Esfahan to elect another of their number to rule over them.’
Isfahan was a city located in the heart of the empire, a place of water and greenery in the middle of a searing desert wasteland.
‘Who will have your vote, sire?’ asked Vistaspa, ‘assuming that you do not desire it yourself.’
‘Indeed I do not,’ replied my father. ‘Sinatruces had respect because he was old and everyone had got used to him sitting in Ctesiphon. I think Phraates, his son, would make a logical choice. If nothing else, his taking the office would provide continuity and hopefully a peaceful transition of power.’
Assur said nothing, Vistaspa the same, though my father’s general began to drum his fingers on the table.
‘If you have something to say, Vistaspa, then out with it,’ said my father.
‘The empire will need a strong hand, lord, and there are some who say that Phraates lacks strength.’
‘He is a good man,’ replied my father.
‘Good men do not necessarily make good kings. The empire would be better in your hands.’
My father shook his head. ‘I do not desire such a thing, and that is my final word on the matter.’
But Vistaspa would not give up. ‘You would have the support of Babylon, Gordyene, Atropaiene, Media and Elymais if you put yourself forward.’ He looked at me with his cold black eyes. ‘And Dura, I assume.’
‘Of course,’ I replied.
‘No!’ barked my father. ‘One crown is sufficient. The matter is at an end.’
After the meeting Vistaspa sought me out, which was unusual as he rarely had time for my company. It was hard to earn the respect of Vistaspa, who was totally loyal to my father but seemed to eye everyone else with a cool detachment at best, though mostly with open disdain. Today he was most talkative.
‘Is your legion ready?’
‘Almost.’
‘Good, and how many cavalry do you have?’
‘My cataphracts you have already seen. In times of emergency they will be reinforced by the horsemen raised by the lords of my kingdom.’
‘Farmers on horseback,’ he sniffed.
‘These farmers can fight; they have been battling the Agraci ever since they crossed the Euphrates to work the land.’
We were walking down the corridor that led towards the palace’s royal apartments. I stopped and turned to face him.
‘Is there a point to this, Lord Vistaspa?’
He was momentarily nonplussed, and then regained his icy demeanour. ‘There are clouds gathering beyond the empire’s frontiers, and perhaps within the empire itself. We will need all the bows and spears we can muster, I fear.’
I confess that I was slightly alarmed to hear Vistaspa, a man who had less compassion than a cobra, use the word ‘fear’.
‘The Romans are gathering their forces in the northeast, to threaten Armenia, while their garrison swells in Cappadocia like the belly of a pregnant camel.’
‘I’ve beaten Romans before,’ I remarked casually.
‘Then be prepared to fight them again, for my spies have told me that our friend Darius intends to defect to Rome.’
I clenched my fists. Darius was the King of Zeugma, a kingdom on Hatra’s northwest border. The Romans had, several years ago, sent a legion to the city of Zeugma, which had strayed into Hatran territory. My father had intercepted and destroyed it, and during the battle I had captured the legion’s eagle. That day was the beginning of my long association with the Romans. It was an open secret that the fat, idle Darius wanted to become a client king of Rome; only the fear of Parthian retribution, especially Hatra’s large standing army, prevented him from doing so.
‘Darius might use the uncertainty around Sinatruces’ passing to swap sides.’
‘My father can have troops in possession of Zeugma faster than the Romans can,’ I said.
‘Not if his attention is focused elsewhere.’
I was becoming confused. He took my arm. ‘Hatra is rich. There are kings within the empire who would like nothing more than to see us humiliated and reduced in strength. With your father as King of Kings the empire is safe, but Phraates….’
His voice trailed away and an ominous silence was left.