‘That is correct.’
‘But we have peace, majesty. You have won over your lords, come to an agreement with the Agraci and have opened up a new trade route to Egypt, which brings in revenues for my, er your, treasury.’
‘What is your point, Rsan?’
He sat back and brought his hands together in front of him. ‘Why do you then spend so much on soldiers that have no employment?’
I stood up and smiled at him. ‘That’s a very good question, Rsan. In reply I will tell you the words that someone once told me, and which I have remembered ever since — if you want peace, prepare for war.’
Through Li Sung I obtained the services of Chinese apothecaries who knew how to make a white, sticky liquid which, when alight, was impossible to extinguish until it had burnt itself out. When it was doused with water the flames and heat actually increased in intensity. It was also most terrible because when it hit a surface and ignited it stuck fast, like glue, so any poor wretch covered by it would burn to death despite all efforts to save him. The fearsome liquid was stored in a cool basement under the armoury in the Citadel and was placed under a heavy guard, for it could be as dangerous to a user as to an opponent.
One non-martial indulgence I did allow myself was the hiring of a stonemason to carve a large griffin to be placed on the arch between the towers at the Palmyrene Gate. Squat, barrel-chested and balding, his name was Demetrius and he was a Greek. He had a large round face, piggy eyes and came highly recommended by King Vardan of Babylon. I visited his workshop one day, a large tent beside the barracks in the Citadel that had been erected for his convenience. He had been in Dura for three days, during which time Gallia had visited him and he had informed her about the statue and how he intended to carve it, after she had shown him my griffin banner that hung behind our thrones in the palace. He had even let her begin the carving.
The large block of sandstone was resting on a wooden pallet in the centre of the room, his chisels and hammers arranged on a long bench beside it. Demetrius was busy marking the stone with chalk when he noticed me picking up a chisel from his bench.
‘Kindly leave the tools alone, they are not toys,’ he remarked without looking at me.
‘How long will it take to finish the statue?’
He sighed deeply. ‘As long as it takes, longer if I am continually interrupted, that’s for sure.’
He walked over to me, took the chisel from my hand and put it back on the bench in exactly the same spot where it had previously been.
‘I was wondering,’ I continued, ‘if I might try my hand at carving.’
A look of horror spread over his face. ‘Certainly not.’
‘You let my wife have a go.’
A sly smile creased his face. ‘Your wife is a beautiful woman. Besides, it is good luck to have one so fair and beloved of the gods to initiate the carving.’
‘I see, and am I not beloved of the gods?’
‘I have no idea, but I do know that while you waste my time with idle chatter my work gets delayed and your fee increases.’
‘Do you always talk to kings and princes in this manner?’
He was indignant. ‘Of course, they hire me for my skill at creating works of art that will last for hundreds of years, not to inflate their feelings of self-importance. If you want flattery, go and talk to your courtiers.’
‘I don’t have any.’
He looked reflective. ‘Then perhaps you are wise like your wife. Such a charming lady.’
‘You talked to her?’
He shook his head irritably. ‘Of course, we had a very long conversation.’
‘You didn’t mind wasting time talking to my wife, then?’
‘Of course not, why should I? She is beautiful and intelligent. Any man would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity to share the company of one so possessed of grace and charm. Very unusual lady, I have to say. Very different from most of my clients, who for the most part are dim-witted warriors who want statues of themselves waving a sword around. They have some absurd notion that they will live forever if I make a stone carving of them. Laughable.’
‘You don’t believe that their memories will be preserved for posterity?’
He regarded me for a moment. I think he was trying to work out if I was clever or an idiot.
‘The world is full of statues of men who are now long dead. Who remembers them? Not me, and I carved statues for many of them. After a few generations even their families have difficulty remembering who they were. A few, a tiny few, are remembered. We all know who Alexander of Macedon was, and Leonidas of Sparta and Hector of Troy. But the rest?’
‘Lucky for you that kings have such vanity.’
He shrugged. ‘A man has to earn a living.’
I went over to the sandstone and ran my fingers over its course texture. ‘If you think it is a waste of time, why do you carve statues?’
He sighed irritably. ‘I did not say I do not enjoy it, I merely commented on the mentality of my clients in wanting to preserve themselves in stone. I love working with stone, metal too for that matter. For one thing, metal and stone do not ask ridiculous questions.’
He turned and stood before my griffin banner that hung on the wall. ‘Interesting standard, designed by a sorceress your wife tells me.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A gift.’
‘Mm, you are man who knows some interesting women, that’s for sure. Now, you really must leave to allow me to get on with my work.’
The new year dawned and brought with it a happy occasion, for my sister Aliyeh was to marry Atrax of Media. Gallia and I travelled to Irbil for the ceremony with a small retinue of fifty horsemen and another fifty horsewomen, half her contingent of Amazons. We travelled north to Hatra and stayed in the city for a few days to await Balas. The old brawler was as roisterous as ever, and it was a happy party that headed east into Media the following week. My father had made Vata the commander of his bodyguard for the trip, the only reason being that I could once again be in the company of my oldest friend. My mother, dressed in leggings, leather boots and a bow hanging from her saddle, a quiver slung over her shoulder, rode beside my father. She wore a loose-fitting white tunic and a wide-brimmed hat on her head, but she would not have looked out of place among my wife’s female warriors. It was one of the few times that I had seen her in the saddle, and despite her middle age she still cut a dashing figure. Her long, curly black hair was tied with a black ribbon behind her neck.
My father brought a hundred of his bodyguard and Balas another hundred of his warriors, so our column of horses and camels stretched for five miles along the road behind us. The banners of the kings made an impressive sight, the lion of Gordyene, the white horse of Hatra and the griffin of Dura, the latter carried by Vagharsh, a trusted Companion. Vata rode beside me. He had regained some of his joviality, though he still wore a haggard look that had aged him beyond his years. But now at least he appeared happy and carefree.
‘Gallia, I heard that you met Prince Mithridates at Esfahan and that it was a painful encounter for him,’ he said, winking at me.
‘Prince?’ she sniffed. ‘He is not worthy of that title.’
‘He’s a king now, unfortunately,’ I remarked casually.
He grinned at me. ‘Is that how you greet princes in the land you come from?’
‘He got off lightly. I was in a good mood that day,’ she said, ‘I should have lopped them off with my dagger.’
‘Like we did in Italy,’ added the grinning Praxima behind us.
Vata looked shocked and glanced at me. ‘You don’t want to know,’ was all I said.
He changed the subject. ‘So, your sister is to be a queen.’
I looked ahead to where Aliyeh rode beside my mother, who was being entertained by one of Balas’ tall stories.
‘Yes, I’m happy for her, and it will be a good alliance for Hatra.’
‘She is marrying for love, Pacorus,’ said Gallia, ‘not because of politics. Or would you prefer that your sister marry a fat old beast who will abuse her.’