I knew that she was talking about her own experiences as a slave in Italy, and her tone dared me to contradict her. I did not. She had grown close to my sisters during our time in Hatra and wanted to see them both happy, as did I.
‘It is a good match,’ I said.
Irbil was a city that was situated across the Tigris. We reached it in ten days, Farhad himself riding out to greet us on the final leg of our journey. He was an affable enough man and was genuinely delighted that his son was marrying well. The truth was that Media needed Hatra more than Hatra needed Media, but my father had not forgotten that Farhad had supported the election of Phraates and was pleased enough to have him as a relation. Indeed Phraates himself had come to the city, officially to bless the wedding, though I suspected the real reason was to thank those who had voted for him at the Council of Kings. I was pleased to see that Orodes was with him, and the prince greeted Gallia and me warmly. As an added bonus, there was no sign of Mithridates.
Irbil was once a major city in the ancient Assyrian Empire. Indeed, its Assyrian name means ‘Four Gods’ — Assur, Ishtar, Shamash and Sin — and it was a great centre of learning, science, knowledge and art. The city’s citadel was positioned on top of a great circular stone mound a hundred feet high, on top of which had been built high stonewalls, yellow-ochre in colour. The city’s shops and houses were grouped around the mound, though there was no outer wall for their protection. Access to the citadel was via a long ramp that had been cut into the side of the mound, which led to a huge gatehouse on its southern side. We rode up to and through the gates, then along a short paved road that led to the central square, around which were grouped Farhad’s palace, temples, barracks and stables, the whole enclosed by an inner circuit wall. I estimated that the citadel had a diameter of around a quarter of a mile, no more. It was certainly a strong position, though any attacker could destroy those buildings around the mound with ease. All the buildings inside the citadel were brick, with a myriad of narrow alleyways cutting through the entire settlement. Our quarters were extremely pleasant and had an open courtyard planted with trees, the kitchens, servants’ quarters, stores and stables on one side and our rooms on the upper storey opposite. The doors were painted cobalt blue, the courtyard walls had marble facings and the arcade had three stone arches that supported a terrace overlooking the courtyard. Our room had a timber ceiling and plaster walls that were decorated with depictions of wild horses.
The wedding ceremony itself was a grand occasion held in the city’s main temple, a cavernous stone structure surmounted by twenty domes resting on arches and columns. Afterwards I embraced Atrax as my new brother and wiped the tears from the eyes of my sister, for her time as my parents’ spoilt little girl was now over and she was beginning her new life as a woman. Hatra would no longer be her home for she was now a princess of Media. Yet Atrax clearly doted on her and she adored him, and dressed in his scale armour cuirass and steel helmet he looked every inch the warrior. The day after the wedding feast my mother bade Aliyeh a tearful farewell as she and Atrax rode off to spend some time alone together in one of Farhad’s mountain-top retreats in the north of his kingdom. A hundred horse archers dressed in blue tunics and grey leggings escorted the couple.
As we watched the newlyweds ride from the stronghold and waved them goodbye, little did we know that we were also bidding farewell to peace and happiness. For at that moment a chill wind from the north blew in our faces, heralding the dawn of the hard times though we did not know it. As I held Gallia close I heard shouts behind me. I turned and saw an exhausted horse, dirty and lathered in sweat, hobble through the palace gates. The rider on its back, bent forward and hugging its neck, suddenly fell from his saddle onto the ground. A guard held the horse’s reins as another knelt beside the rider. I saw Phraates and Orodes looking concerned, and then suddenly we were all running towards the fallen rider.
‘He wears the colours of the city of Susa,’ said Orodes.
Reaching him, I looked down and saw that the right side of the soldier’s tunic was soaked in blood. Phraates knelt beside him as the man, his face deathly pale, tried to rise.
‘Highness,’ he uttered weakly.
‘Do not try to get up,’ commanded Phraates. ‘Someone get this man some water. What has happened?’
I could see the shaft of an arrow lodged in his side.
‘King Mithridates, majesty. He has rid Susa of your allies, killed all those who were loyal to you.’
A look of alarm crossed Phraates’ face, but then he smiled. ‘Talk no more. We will get you well first.’
The man grabbed his king’s arm feebly. ‘Others loyal to you have fled west to Ctesiphon. They await you there, highness. Narses…..’
His arm fell to the ground as he passed out.
He was carried to the garrison infirmary as we all stood around in a state of shock.
‘I must get back to Ctesiphon,’ said Phraates, ‘and find out more about what has happened.’
But as he walked off to his quarters with Orodes by his side we all knew the sad truth of what had happened. Mithridates had used the opportunity presented to him by his father’s absence to tighten his grip on Susa. But his reasons remained obscure. He was King of Susiana because his father was King of Kings and now lived at Ctesiphon, though technically Phraates still ruled his own kingdom Susiana as well as the whole of the Parthian Empire. As we all stood in a circle staring at each other, it was Balas who spoke first.
‘It would appear that King Mithridates has decided that he should rule Susiana.’
‘His head will be adorning Susa’s walls soon enough,’ said my father.
‘You think so, Varaz?’ replied Balas. ‘I think our young upstart king has allies.’
‘What allies?’ snapped my father.
‘Narses,’ I said.
‘He’s right there,’ said Balas. ‘You heard him at Esfahan. He wanted to be King of Kings and now he’s decided to take the throne by force.’
My father shook his head. ‘Just because a dying man utters a name does not mean anything.’
‘Yes it does,’ insisted Balas, ‘and you know it.’
‘Perhaps we should withdraw to the palace for further discussions,’ offered Farhad.
And so we did, and after more fruitless discourse, which involved my father and Balas arguing some more, I made plans to return to Dura. I wrote a letter to Godarz and sent it by courier. The postal system throughout the empire was extremely efficient, with horsemen riding between way stations located every thirty miles on all major roads. At the stations fresh horses and riders stood ready at all times, so that a letter could cover up to ninety miles in one day. I watched the rider gallop down the road south from the walls of Irbil. Gallia stood beside me.
‘We leave at dawn,’ I said.
‘Mithridates has joined with Narses, hasn’t he?’
I turned to face her. ‘It would appear so. The question is, how many more kings have joined Narses, if any?’
‘He is powerful?’
‘Persis is a large kingdom, that much is true, but how many men he can raise I know not.’
She laid a hand on mine. ‘You know, Spartacus once told me that it’s not the size of the gladiator in the fight that makes the difference, but the size of the fight in the gladiator.’
I smiled and pulled her close. ‘That is just the sort of thing he would say. I thought we had done with fighting.’
‘While there are men in the world armed with swords there will always be fighting, Pacorus.’
The next morning, before the first rays of the sun lanced the eastern sky, we said goodbye to my parents, Vata, Phraates, Orodes and Farhad and rode from his city, leaving the camels and ten of our riders to follow us. We rode hard for the Tigris, crossed the river and then travelled south along its western bank, before swinging west to cross the desert, heading for the Euphrates and home. We slept during the hottest part of the day — two hours either side of midday — and journeyed until it was dark, then rose again after two hours of sleep until the sun was roasting our backs once more. We ate hard biscuit, drank tepid water and rested under what shelter we could find. After five days we galloped across the Egyptian’s pontoon bridge and rode into Dura. Godarz was on the steps of the palace to greet us, flanked by Rsan, Domitus and Nergal. Their faces registered surprise at our appearance, for we were covered in dust, our dirty faces ran with sweat, the men with stubble on their faces and our hair matted with grime. Our horses were sweating and tired, their heads drooping as we halted them and slid off their backs. My limbs ached from the journey and my eyes stung with sweat.