Surena pointed to small fires burning outside the huts. ‘An old marsh-dweller’s trick. We mix reeds with buffalo dung and when it dries we throw it on the fire. The acrid smoke keeps the flies away.’
And so it did, and as I sat in the sun with my boots drying beside me I found the scene fascinating. Surena and his comrades were storing the captured weapons in his hut, a large structure constructed from bundles of tall, seasoned reeds that formed the walls and were bent inwards at the top to fashion an arched roof. Surena brought over his grandmother to meet me, a small woman with wiry arms who had an iron grip when she greeted me. Her skin was like old leather. She looked at my swollen eyebrow and scuttled away, returning with a handful of fresh buffalo dung that she slapped on the wound and told me to use my hand to keep it in place. I was so shocked that I meekly submitted to her order. It had come to this, a king of the Parthian Empire sitting on a small piece of dry land in the middle of a marsh pressing cow dung into his head.
The swelling around my eye disappeared after two days and I began to regain my strength. The marshes were rich in wildlife, being home to the ibis, Goliath heron and the smooth-coated otter that feasted on the abundance of fish filling the waters. The grandparents of Surena fed me on the fish they caught each day. Surena himself speared a huge barbel that must have weighed around two hundred pounds. He cooked it in the evening. As the sun descended in the sky many people arrived in boats fashioned from long reeds. They gathered around his large fire that crackled and hissed, and then came the water buffaloes. Surena told me that every night they left their wallowing in the mud and water to spend the night on dry land among the marsh people. I found it very strange the first night I spent with these people, being spied on by the great horned beasts just a few feet behind those of us who gathered round the fire that burned day and night. But the beasts were peaceful and eventually I altogether forgot that they were there. This night was no different as I feasted on roasted barbell, tomatoes, watermelon and rice. I sat next to Surena’s grandfather, whose name was Fadil, meaning ‘generous’, and who was just as wiry as his wife, his hands and arms weathered by many years living in these parts, his face tanned and leathery. There was not an ounce of fat on him and his clear grey eyes were very keen. He missed nothing, not least my sword, helmet and cuirass that were lying on reed mats in his hut.
‘You carry a fine sword and wear expensive armour.’
‘The sword and armour were gifts from friends, sir,’ I replied.
‘And your horse is a magnificent beast. Was he too a gift?’
‘No, sir, him I acquired when we stormed a city a few years ago.’
He refilled my cup of water from an earthen jug. Around us fifty or more men, women and children sat on the ground eating their evening meal. ‘Surena says that you were a prisoner of the soldiers of Chosroes.’
‘That is correct.’
He nodded. ‘Why were you their prisoner?’
‘I was under the impression that their master was going to help me, but he betrayed me instead and has joined the ranks of my enemies.’
His eyes fixed me, unblinking. ‘Their master being Chosroes, can I assume that he was once a friend of yours?’
I was aware that these people were the enemies of Chosroes and that I would do well to disassociate myself from the King of Mesene, but I saw no merit in lying. And I was also aware that the other conversations were dying down and that everyone was looking in my direction, not least Surena.
‘There was a time when I counted Chosroes as an ally, yes.’
Surena and several of his friends jumped up amid howls of protest.
‘You have deceived us,’ he shouted. ‘You told me that Chosroes was your enemy.’
I suddenly felt very alone and outnumbered. I stood and held up my hands to him. ‘I told you the truth, Surena, Chosroes is my enemy.’
His subordinate, the youth who had expressed misgivings about me after the ambush, was enraged. ‘We should kill him now. I knew he was not to be trusted.’
There were growls of agreement from the other young men present. The grandfather looked at Surena amid the commotion. ‘You are spoiling my meal.’
These simple words were enough to cool Surena’s wrath, who looked sheepishly at his grandfather, who in turn looked at each of those who had been calling for me to be punished, daring them to challenge him. None did. And where there had been loud voices and shouting, there was now silence. Fadil looked at me.
‘Be seated, Pacorus, please. Continue with your meal.’
‘I do not wish to offend you or your people, sir.’
He smiled. ‘You do not offend anyone. Your manners are impeccable, unlike those of some of my family and their friends.’
I sat back down beside him, though I had now lost my appetite.
The old man pointed at Surena for him to be seated as well. ‘Tell me, grandson, when you first met Pacorus, did you think he was a common bandit who was being taken away to be executed?’
Surena shrugged and looked uninterested. His grandfather continued.
‘Did you not see the quality of his sword, his armour or his helmet? At the very least you must have known that his horse is an exceptional creature.’
‘I’ve seen horses before.’
‘Sometimes, Surena, your wits are as dull as those of a water buffalo. Even a short conversation with Pacorus reveals that he has received an education. I warrant that he is of noble blood, is that not correct, Pacorus?’
‘You are correct, sir.’
He really was quite perceptive and I knew it would be useless to try to deceive him.
‘I am the King of Dura Europos, a city that lies to the north of these parts, on the banks of the Euphrates.’
There were a few growls and also some gasps.
‘I knew that you were different,’ said Fadil. ‘Well, the mystery is now solved.’
‘You must leave,’ snapped Surena. ‘We do not have kings here. They are not welcome.’ There were murmurs of agreement around him.
His grandfather put down his platter of food and stood up. ‘I did not realise that ill manners had become a common custom among our people. Since when did the Ma’adan, the ancient people of the marshes, turn away those who need our help? Since when did we show disrespect to our guests, and turn on those whose only crime is to be different from us?’
‘I will leave in the morning,’ I said. ‘I have no wish to out-stay my welcome.’
‘You are our guest, Pacorus,’ said Fadil with firmness, ‘and can stay as long as you wish.’
Surena looked annoyed and the others cast down their eyes to avert the old man’s stare. As in our own culture, the old were accorded great respect among these people.
The rest of the evening passed without further discomfort. Fadil and his wife asked me many questions about my background. I told them how I had been raised in Hatra, captured by the Romans, fought by the side of Spartacus in Italy and returned home with Gallia. I also related the events of the recent civil war and the Roman invasion of Parthia. As I told my tale I was aware that others quietly moved closer to hear what I was saying, even Surena and his wild young followers. And at the end of my talking I had the impression that the hostility towards me had lessened somewhat. Certainly Fadil and his wife were delighted by my tale, and as I yawned and longed for my bed they were still full of vim.
‘You see, Surena,’ remarked his grandfather as he tossed more dried buffalo dung on the fire, ‘Pacorus was once a slave and fought in an army of slaves. Have you been a slave? I think not. And you take exception to him because he is now a king. Surely the lesson to be learnt here is to judge people on their own merits and not condemn them because of their race or position in life. You condemn Pacorus only because he is a king like Chosroes, but does not the King of Mesene make the same sweeping assumptions about the Ma’adan? Are you not guilty of the same prejudice?’