He was taking large gulps from his silver cup. ‘Yes, thank you. I sent them north to Khosrou, they’ll be safe at Merv. So what do you think of our queen of queens.’
‘You mean Queen Aruna?’
He drained his cup and held it out to a servant for it to be refilled. ‘Yes, that’s the bitch.’
‘You dislike her?’
‘Intensely. I did not realise that when we made Phraates King of Kings, we were in fact making her the ruler of the Parthian Empire.’
‘Really?’ I was unsure whether it was the drink talking.
He looked at me wryly. ‘I’ve been cooped up here in this zoo long enough to know where the real power lies. She’s like a hawk and makes sure that she has a say in everything Phraates decides. Bitch!’
He said the last word loudly enough to turn the heads of the high king and his queen, the latter looking hatefully at Gotarzes.
He took another gulp of wine and continued. ‘It’s easy to see how she could spawn such an evil little bastard like Mithridates.’
‘But Orodes is also her son,’ I said.
‘Her adopted son. Orodes’ mother was a concubine of Sinatruces whom Phraates fell in love with. Sinatruces forgave her infidelity, for a son born to a king, even a bastard one, is worth having. The result of his passion sits at the top table, and a fine young man he is, but Aruna’s poisonous blood does not flow in his veins, thank God. Aruna never forgave her husband’s infidelity, rumour has it, and he’s full of remorse, the stupid idiot.’
‘What happened to the concubine?’
A wicked smile crept over Gotarzes’ face. ‘Died of a fever, some say, though others maintain that she was poisoned by queen bitch over there. I am inclined to believe the latter. Bitch!’
He was now quite drunk and full of resentment. Queen Aruna had heard his last word.
‘You have something to say, King Gotarzes?’
Gotarzes rose to his feet unsteadily and what little chatter there was died instantly. ‘I do.’
The disdainful look on the face of Gotarzes made me realise that he was about to tell the queen exactly what he thought of her. The look of alarm on Orodes’ face confirmed this. I therefore stood up and spoke first.
‘King Gotarzes and I would like to thank your majesties for a most magnificent feast.’
My father lent back in his chair and regarded me with curiosity, while Vardan looked confused, for even an imbecile would know that this evening was an excruciating affair.
The queen frowned. ‘I see. And are those his words or yours?’
‘I do not need you to speak for me, Pacorus.’
‘Indeed not,’ snapped the queen. Her attention now turned to me.
‘I have heard, King Pacorus, that you insulted my son at Esfahan.’
I could see where Mithridates got his talent for bearing grudges from. Phraates still said nothing but merely watched with a worried look.
I saw no reason to lie. ‘You heard correctly, majesty.’
For a brief moment she was lost for words, but then her disdainful look retuned, her jaw jutting forward.
‘You think it wise to insult the son of the King of Kings?’
I was rapidly losing patience. ‘I would not have to if he had learnt some manners. But if it makes you feel better, I will apologise to him now. Where is he? Oh, I forgot, he’s fighting with the rebels.’
Gotarzes clapped his hands, guffawed and sat back down.
The queen turned to her husband. ‘Are you going to let such insolence in your court go unpunished?’
My father stood up to defend me. But before he or Phraates could say anything I walked over the top table and bowed my head to the queen.
‘I apologise unreservedly for any offence I may have given. Too much wine, I fear.’
Phraates looked mightily relieved and the queen scowled at me.
‘Well, too much wine can certainly provoke a rash tongue,’ said Phraates. ‘We accept your apology.’
My father looked most displeased as I retook my seat, while Gotarzes gave me a heavy slap on the back.
‘I wouldn’t have apologised to the bitch.’
‘I know, that’s what I was worried about.’
The evening deteriorated further when a message was brought to Phraates by one of his stewards, prompting him to shake his head, stand and walk briskly from the banqueting hall, his viper of a wife scurrying after him. We all stood as they did so, and afterwards the kings gathered round my father.
‘I wonder what that was about?’ said Vardan.
‘No doubt we will know soon enough,’ replied my father.
‘No doubt. Well, Varaz,’ Gotarzes was now very drunk, ‘the error of our ways in not making you chief over us all is now plain to see. Perhaps we should march out and join Narses. I’m sure his feasts are not such dire occasions, at least.’
My father acknowledged his words with a faint nod, then he turned to me.
‘You did not help, Pacorus. You really do need to learn the art of diplomacy.’
‘Diplomacy? Perhaps, but being treated like a slave has no appeal, father. I tried it once in Italy and found it most disagreeable.’
Gotarzes laughed and Vardan smiled. A sheepish Orodes joined us.
‘I apologise for my step-mother, Pacorus, she can be a little hot-headed.’
Gotarzes put an arm round his shoulder. ‘Not your fault, young prince, your father should have taken his belt to that bitch years ago.’
Orodes looked even more awkward, and several of the courtiers who were still standing at their tables looked at the drunken king with contempt on their faces.
‘I think,’ said my father, ‘that it would be sensible to retire to our quarters and put this evening behind us.’
‘Better lock your door, Pacorus,’ slurred Gotarzes, ‘else the queen might creep into your room and stick a knife between your ribs.’
The queen did not try to kill me that evening, I am pleased to say, and the next morning we were all summoned to Phraates’ throne room once more. The king looked even paler and more haunted than ever, while the queen, dressed in a stunning close-fitting pure white gown accentuating her voluptuous figure, her arms adorned with gold bracelets, armlets and a necklace of gold at her throat, eyed us warily. I noticed that Phraates held a letter in his right hand. We stood in a line before him — my father, myself, Vardan, Gotarzes, now sober thankfully, and Chosroes — and bowed our heads.
‘As if I don’t have enough troubles.’ Phraates was staring at the floor in front of us as he spoke. ‘The Romans have sent this letter demanding a meeting with me to clarify the borders between our two empires. To add insult to injury, they want the meeting to take place in Gordyene.’
‘An outrage,’ said my father.
‘Indeed it is,’ replied Phraates, ‘but a calculated one. They have obviously heard of our recent troubles and hope to take advantage of them.’
‘You should refuse to meet them until they withdraw from Gordyene, highness,’ said Chosroes.
‘A show of strength is what’s needed,’ added Vardan.
‘That would be my first thought, but unfortunately,’ said my father, ‘the whole of Hatra’s army cannot be sent to face them in Gordyene, not while half of it is sitting here in Ctesiphon.’
I noticed that while this interchange was going on Phraates and Aruna were looking at me, which made me feel uncomfortable. Eventually, the king spoke to me.
‘Pacorus, you among us have had close dealings with these Romans. What is your opinion on this matter?’
‘They will not respond to threats, not unless they can be backed up with overpowering force. And if they cannot then they will regard you as weak. The Romans only respect strength. They are testing you, highness.’ I cleared my throat, aware that my father and the other kings were also listening closely to my words. ‘They undoubtedly know about the civil war in Parthia, perhaps they fomented it.’
Aruna was going to object but Phraates raised his hand to still her. He was clearly interested in what I had to say.
‘And what would you suggest that I do?’