‘I accept your apology,’ replied Gallia, ‘yet I do not know your name.’
He bowed his head again. ‘Princes Orodes, majesty.’
‘Well, prince,’ I said, ‘we are pleased to make your acquaintance.’
Behind him Mithridates and his other companions were striding from the mausoleum, leaving his brother alone with us. Around us, nervous-looking guards had gathered into a group and approached, led by a young officer with a wispy moustache.
‘Majesty, forgive me, but it is not permitted to draw weapons inside this place.’
‘Of course, officer, please accept my apologies. We shall be leaving now.’
His face wore the expression of a man who had been reprieved on the gallows.
‘Thank you, majesty.’ He waved his men away, who returned to their stations around the room. I linked arms with Gallia.
‘Walk with us, Orodes.’
As we ambled from the dimly lit mausoleum into the bright sunshine I probed Orodes about his brother.
‘Were you with your brother at Dura?’
‘No, lord. Being the younger brother I stayed at Susa with my father.’
Susa was the capital city of the kingdom of Susiana, which was the domain of King Phraates. The palace at Ctesiphon is the capital of the empire, reserved as the grand residence of the King of Kings, but Phraates was the King of Susiana, though these past years he had spent most of his time at Ctesiphon running errands for his father, Sinatruces.
‘I was sorry to hear about the death of your grandfather,’ remarked Gallia.
‘Thank you, majesty,’ said Orodes, ‘he lived long and in peace, what more can one ask for?’
A wise answer, I thought. ‘Indeed,’ I remarked. ‘Let us hope that the reign of the next King of Kings is likewise blessed.’
‘I hope so, lord.’
‘The council sits tomorrow, so we shall soon know.’
Orodes had an agreeable nature, which made it hard to believe that he was the brother of Mithridates. As he said farewell to us and made his way back to the villa of his father, an uncomfortable thought crossed my mind.
It was Domitus who articulated my thoughts.
‘So that Mithridates was the little toad who ruled Dura before you.’
‘Indeed.’
Domitus pulled out a cloth from his tunic and wiped his neck, for the day was hot and there was no wind. ‘When I served Rome I saw a lot of his type during my days as a centurion. They were mostly tribunes, the sons and grandsons of important people, and all spoilt, arrogant little bastards, begging your pardon ladies. We usually sorted them out, though.’
‘How did you do that, Domitus?’ asked Gallia.
‘Well, if we were on the frontier then they would be ordered to lead punitive raids against bandits. They always relished the chance of slaughtering a few locals and earning some glory, but they invariably went too deep into hostile territory and came back with their tails between their legs, that or a few arrows in their backs.’
‘And what if you were not on the frontier?’
Domitus shrugged. ‘They they would spend time drinking, gambling or whoring, anything to keep them out of camp.’
‘That Mithridates, he’s the eldest son of Phraates?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
Domitus shook his head. ‘So if Phraates is elected head king, the toad becomes king in his place?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ I answered.
Domitus turned to Gallia. ‘You should have cut his balls off, lady, for that one’s going to cause a lot of trouble.’
The day of the council was hot and still. Again there was no wind, and though the tent was large and all the side flaps were open, inside the heat was oppressive. Slaves brought great jugs of cool water for us to drink but it was still uncomfortable, and it was only early morning. There were many fine buildings in Esfahan, but tradition dictated that the Council of Kings be held in a tent, just as the first one had many years ago.
‘Tradition? My aching back says tradition can go hang.’ Balas was already in a bad mood, and though everyone was seated in high-backed wicker chairs with cushions, he took a dim view of the assembly. All the kings were arranged in a wide circle, each monarch in front with his followers behind. I was seated between Balas and my father, with Aschek, Vardan, Farhad, Gotarzes and Chosroes to his left. It was the first time that I had clapped my eyes on Chosroes, the King of Mesene, a land to the south of Babylon. He was a strange-looking individual with a bald head and a long, thin face that was dominated by a huge long nose. His eyes, cold, calculating and narrow, were almost obscured by thick black eyebrows. Dressed in a red flowing gown adorned with strips of gold, my instincts told me that he was untrustworthy, but he was cordial enough if a little curt. Phraates, his hair greyer now and his expression serious, sat on Balas’ right side. He was clearly nervous as he continually looked to his right and left and smiled at anyone who caught his eye. Immediately behind him sat Mithridates, looking daggers at me, and Orodes, who nodded his head in greeting. I smiled and nodded back, which earned him a look of fury from his brother.
Balas leaned towards me and then looked at the kings opposite. ‘First time I’ve seen most of them. Ugly looking lot, aren’t they?’
He was referring to the kings of the eastern half of the empire, who were mostly descended from oriental races, with their narrow eyes and flat faces.
‘I know him, though.’ Balas was pointing at a large man opposite with Asiatic features — narrow eyes, a long nose like a hawk’s beak, skin like an old leather pouch and a long white moustache and a white pointed beard. He wore leather armour and a leather pointed cap on his head. His followers behind him were similarly attired. They looked like fierce nomads.
‘Khosrou, King of Margiana. You don’t want to mess with him. He’s as tough as he looks.’
Margiana was located in the northeast corner of the empire and had the unenviable task of holding at bay the vast horses of nomads that occupied the endless great northern steppes.
A blast of trumpets got everyone’s attention as a procession of the city’s elders entered the tent and stood in the circle in front of us. There were eighteen elders to match the eighteen kings present, each one bareheaded and dressed in a long yellow robe edged with gold. One of the elders, who I surmised was the head of the council, raised his arms and began a long and tedious thanksgiving to the gods, thanking them for delivering us all safely to Esfahan and asking them to give us all wisdom to make the right choice this day. He must have waffled on for at least half an hour.
Afterwards the elders sat in chairs reserved for them on the north side of the tent, thereby completing the circle of attendees.
The chief elder rose again and addressed us all, his voice deep. I thought I saw a look of disdain in his eyes as he caught sight of Axsen, Gallia and Praxima, but no one had said that women were forbidden to attend, only prohibited to vote, and in any case Gallia had come as my queen.
‘Majesties, today you choose a new King of Kings to rule the empire. May your choice be a wise one. Which one of you will begin by naming a candidate for this most august position?’
He had barely taken his seat before my father was out of his chair and standing in the middle of the circle. Clearly he was intent on taking the bull by the horns.
‘I am Varaz of Hatra, and I propose Phraates, son of the late Sinatruces, as a suitable candidate to be King of Kings.’
My father looked at each of his allies in turn.
Balas rose from his chair. ‘I, Balas of Gordyene, support my friend Varaz in his choice.’ He was followed in turn by Aschek, Vardan, Farhad, Gotarzes and a somewhat unenthusiastic Chosroes. Finally, I too rose from my chair and offered my support.
‘I, Pacorus of Dura, also support the election of Phraates.’