‘I’m sure the meeting at Esfahan will resolve all uncertainties,’ I said without conviction.
He looked away. ‘Perhaps you are right. By the way, your cataphracts are a credit to you. Well done. Perhaps I may visit Dura some time to see how your legion is shaping up.’
It was a most strange conversation and somewhat unnerved me, but I shrugged it off as a case of Vistaspa being unduly alarmist.
‘I don’t like him,’ remarked Gallia of Vistaspa on the second day of our journey back to Dura.
We had enjoyed our time in Hatra immensely and were now making our way leisurely back to our home. Gallia had invited my parents, my sisters, Gafarn and Diana to Dura, and if they all came at once we would run out of rooms to put them in, but they all accepted her invitation so that was that. Her hospitality did not extend to Vistaspa or Assur.
‘He reminds me of my father, always scheming.’
‘He’s a good soldier, but I agree his character is a little foreboding.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
‘He thinks the death of Sinatruces presages war.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I know not what the future holds.’
But in truth conflict seemed far away as we rode back to Dura, through Hatran territory that was well-protected and thriving with commerce. I comforted myself with the fact that Hatra had, unusually among the empire, a large standing army in addition to the tens of thousands of horse archers my father could summon in times of conflict. Who would be so foolish to make war upon it?
When we arrived back at Dura, a letter similar to the one delivered to my father was awaiting me. All the kings were being informed of the death of Sinatruces. It was signed by his son, Phraates, whom I assumed would be elected to replace his father, notwithstanding Vistaspa’s forebodings. A week later another courier arrived, this time from the elders of Esfahan inviting me to attend the Council of Kings that would elect a new King of Kings in two months’ time.
Esfahan was part of no kingdom but was situated in the dead centre of the empire, and was recognised by all the kings as a neutral city, owing allegiance to no one kingdom or faction. In the time of civil strife before Sinatruces, when war had riven the empire, Esfahan and its elders had been a place where disputes between rival factions could be settled without recourse to war. That was the theory at least. The long reign of Sinatruces had made Esfahan’s purpose largely irrelevant, as Sinatruces had resolved the problem of rivals by defeating and then executing them, though in the last twenty years of his reign he had used his son to resolve disputes. Phraates was of an amicable disposition and had the tongue of a diplomat. His words helped to soothe the tempers of proud kings, and in any case the longevity of Sinatruces’ reign had earned the respect of even the most hot-headed rulers, though some liked to think that because of his great age the King of Kings’ wits had gone. I had met him more than a year before his death, and his mind and cunning were as sharp as any man’s.
‘Each king is allowed to take a retinue of thirty, equivalent to the number of arrows held in a quiver, no more,’ I said.
‘I will be one of them,’ announced Gallia, ‘and Praxima will also want to go.’
‘Do I have a say in the matter?’
‘Of course,’ she wrapped her arms around me. ‘You do want to take me, don’t you?’
So that was that. I also took Nergal, Domitus and twenty-five Companions. It was the first time I had seen Domitus on a horse and he looked like a fish out of water. I would have taken Godarz instead but he expressed no interest in going, especially after travelling to Hatra. In any case, he was happy being governor and had little wish to see the rituals of the empire.
Before we left Dura I had sent a courier to Hatra to arrange a rendezvous with my father along the way. We met up with him ten miles west of the Tigris and about fifty miles from Ctesiphon. Accompanying him, and much to Gallia’s delight, was Balas of Gordyene, a big man on a big horse with an escort of over a score of horse archers dressed in blue tunics with steel helmets on their heads. Like me they were armed with swords, bows and full quivers.
Balas jumped down from his horse and enveloped Gallia in his bear-like arms.
‘I’m glad he,’ jerking his head at me, ‘decided to bring you along. I need a pretty woman to liven up the journey.’
‘I told him I was coming,’ said Gallia, ‘he had no choice.’
Balas roared with laughter. ‘I bet you did.’
That night we camped on the other side of the Tigris in the territory of King Vardan of Babylon. We pitched the tents in a large circle and then set a raging fire in the middle, over which we roasted pig and lamb.
‘Whom will you propose at the meeting, Varaz?’ asked Balas, sitting on the ground using his saddle as a backrest.
‘Phraates,’ replied my father.
Balas raised an eyebrow.
‘And you, lord?’ I asked.
‘Varaz of Hatra, of course,’ replied Balas. His warriors and those of my father applauded this suggestion.
My father held up his hands. ‘I have made it clear that I will not put myself forward.’
‘More fool you, Varaz,’ said Balas. ‘Phraates makes a good errand boy and that’s about it. Vardan, Farhad and Aschek would support you. I know, I’ve asked them.’
‘The matter is closed, Balas,’ said my father irritably, ‘now stop making trouble.’
Balas threw the leg of pork he had been gnawing into the fire. ‘So be it, but there will be trouble anyway, you mark my words.’
‘It is a pity,’ remarked Gallia, ‘that there cannot be a queen of queens to rule over you all.’
‘Ha,’ barked Balas, ‘you hear that, Varaz? If she’s allowed in the council meeting I’ll warrant we’ll be bowing down to Queen Gallia at the end.’
‘Women are not allowed to vote, daughter,’ said my father.
‘What if some of the kings do not abide by the decision of the council?’ she asked.
‘A good question,’ said Balas, looking at my father. ‘Then, my dear, whoever is King of Kings must enforce his will and show to everyone in the empire that his sword is the sharpest, and Phraates is not the man to do that.’
‘Enough, Balas,’ my father was growing irritated. ‘I know what you are trying to do and it will not work.’
Balas tried a different approach. ‘What say you, Pacorus? Who will you vote for?’
‘My father first, but if he declines to be put forward, then Phraates.’
Balas nodded his head in resignation. ‘What about you, Roman, what is your view on this matter?’
Thus far Domitus had been sitting in silence, eating his food and drinking water from a cup. Now he looked directly at Balas. ‘I know nothing of the workings of the Parthian Empire, but I do know that men only respect strength. They may say that they obey the law, but they only do so if the person who enforces it is stronger than they. If this Phraates is strong then you have no fear.’
Balas looked smugly at my father. ‘And if he is weak?’
Domitus stared into the fire. ‘Then he will be like a lamb among lions.’
My father would hear no more on the matter and so we talked of other things over the next ten days as we rode to Esfahan. Domitus gradually got used to riding on horseback, but declared that he would always prefer to fight on his feet. He and Balas got on well; they were both forthright in their opinions, though Balas was rowdier. Gordyene shared a border with Armenia and we all knew that Rome threatened the latter. And if Armenia fell then Gordyene would be in danger.
‘So, Domitus, do you think Rome will attack Parthia?’
Sweat was pouring down Domitus’ face even though he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, for we were travelling across the desert that led to Esfahan, a barren, sun-bleached wasteland that had one east-west road.
‘Hard to tell, sir. I was just a lowly centurion and know nothing about what is decided in Rome. But there is a garrison in Syria and eventually they will push east, to the Euphrates at least.’