‘Rahim obligingly opened the temple vaults to me,’ said Nergal casually. ‘They were full of gold, which was more than could be said for the palace treasury. That was bare.’
‘Chosroes had no gold?’ asked Orodes.
Nergal shook his head. ‘Chosroes was a cruel lord who bought the allegiance of his lords, and his expensive tastes were too much for his kingdom to bear.’
I thought of the rabble that was Chosroes’ army, the ragged foot soldiers and the inadequately armed horsemen on their threadbare mounts. He certainly did not lavish money on his troops.
‘Why didn’t Chosroes empty the temple vaults?’ I asked.
‘Because Rahim wields much power within the city and kingdom,’ said Praxima.
‘One does not make an enemy of such a man,’ added Nergal. ‘He can make much trouble.’
‘But not for you,’ said Gallia.
Nergal smiled. ‘No, not for me, for I am careful not to abuse the exalted position my people accord me.’
‘We gave back to the Ma’adan their homeland and justice to the people of Mesene,’ added Praxima with pride.
‘And in return,’ continued Nergal, ‘they give us their sons to serve in my army.’
‘And the Mesenians, the people who have waged a war of annihilation against the Ma’adan,’ I asked, ‘they do not object to welcoming the marsh people among them?’
‘They have no choice,’ said Nergal sternly. ‘Besides, it is amazing how the allure of profit lessens the hatred that the Mesenians have for the Ma’adan.’
Orodes looked perplexed. ‘I do not understand.’
‘It is quite simple,’ said Nergal. ‘The villages, previously deserted and derelict, situated near the marshlands have been rebuilt and repopulated. The Ma’adan barter their goods with the villagers, mostly fish, rice and water buffaloes, and the villagers sell the hides of the slaughtered animals to the royal armouries in Uruk to make scale armour. It is a lucrative trade.’
‘You have done well, Nergal,’ I said, smiling at Praxima, ‘both of you.’
‘Do you pay the annual tribute to Mithridates?’ asked Gallia.
Nergal drained his cup of wine. ‘No ambassadors from Ctesiphon come to Uruk and I send no word to Mithridates. The Silk Road does not run through Mesene so I suppose that the high king hopes that my kingdom will wither and die if he ignores it.’
‘Except it will not,’ said Praxima with fire in her eyes. ‘It grows stronger and waits for the day when Dura and its allies summon us to march against the false king in Ctesiphon.’
Gallia lent across and placed her hand on her friend’s arm, grinning as she did so.
‘Always an Amazon,’ she said.
I had always liked Praxima, this fierce, wild Spanish woman who had been enslaved by the Romans and forced to work as a whore before she had escaped her bondage. In northern Italy I had seen her shoot down her enemies without mercy and kill Romans with her dagger. Now, ten years later, she was sitting in my tent looking exactly the same as she did all those years ago. She appeared ageless, dressed in her scale-armour cuirass, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders, with her brown eyes full of vigour. I had often lamented that she and Nergal had not yet been blessed with children. Gallia had always assured her friend that she would know the joy of offspring, but Dobbai had told me that Praxima probably would not be able to conceive on account of the hard usage her body had been subjected to at the hands of the Romans.
I rose from my chair and kissed Praxima on the cheek.
‘That day will come but not yet. For the moment, my friends, we return home and plan our next move.’
‘We are all outcasts,’ said Orodes thoughtfully, a note of sadness in his voice.
Always a deep thinker, Orodes was prone to bouts of melancholy when reminded of his exile from his homeland. By rights he should be the prince and de facto ruler of the Kingdom of Susiana, his stepbrother’s realm. Though technically the king of kings ruled both the empire and his own kingdom, in reality the day-to-day affairs of the empire soaked up the high king’s time and it was customary for the next-in-line to the throne to rule the high king’s homeland in his absence. But being friends with me had cost Orodes his position and his homeland, a burden that he shouldered without complaint. But he was right, my kingdom and I were outcasts from the empire and it would appear that Nergal and Mesene had been similarly cut adrift. It was a truly sad state of affairs.
‘Nothing lasts forever, my friend,’ was all I could muster as a reply.
We then sat in silence staring at the cups we held in our hands. The silence was becoming oppressive but then the flaps of the entrance opened and one of the sentries entered escorting a soldier dressed in the purple uniform of Babylon — baggy leggings, long-sleeved tunic and purple cap on his head. He bowed deeply and then handed me a letter with a wax seal. The seal bore the symbol of the gauw, the horned bull of Babylon. It was a message from Vardan himself. I broke the seal and read the contents. I stood up and pointed at the messenger.
‘Tell King Vardan I will attend him at once.’
He bowed and then turned on his heels and walked briskly from my presence. The others looked at me in anticipation.
‘Well, it would appear that Mithridates and Narses intend to deal with their enemies sooner than we thought. They have laid siege to Babylon.’
Orodes and Nergal jumped up.
‘Babylon?’ Orodes was shocked. ‘They would not dare.’
Babylon was a city of great age and glory. Though it no longer had a major say in world affairs, the city and its rulers were still accorded great esteem by the other kings of the empire. And the King of Babylon had always enjoyed close and amiable relations with the court at Ctesiphon, the two palaces being only around seventy miles from each other. But now the army of Mithridates and Narses were laying siege to the ancient city.
I rode to the Babylonian camp in the company of Gallia, Orodes, Nergal and Praxima. It was late afternoon now and the weather was still overcast and gloomy, made worse by Vardan’s news. Our horses were taken from us at the entrance to the royal pavilion and we were escorted inside the cavernous structure by purple-clad guards carrying wicker shields and spears with leaf-shaped blades that were the height of a man. Such weapons were useless in battle but were ideal for wielding in the confined and often cluttered spaces inside royal tents. We found an agitated Vardan in the throne area of the pavilion pacing up and down in front of his senior officers. His commanders were dressed in the same dragon-skin armour worn by Vardan’s royal bodyguard — a leather vest covered with overlapping silver plates that protected the chest and back. They all held richly embossed silver helmets in the crooks of their arms and wore swords in purple scabbards decorated with silver adornments at their hips. They looked nervous as their liege paced up and down.
Vardan stopped moving when we entered.
‘Ah, Pacorus, thank the gods you are here.’
I bowed my head. ‘At your service, lord king.’
‘Yes, yes.’ He pointed at a servant. ‘Fetch us refreshments. Have you eaten, are you hungry? And wine, we must have wine.’
He became aware of the others with me and walked over to Orodes and embraced him.
‘Forgive me my lack of manners, lord prince.’
He turned to Nergal and embraced him too. ‘And my thanks to you King Nergal, the sword that guards Babylon’s southern border.’ Nergal, unaccustomed to the etiquette of kings, was momentarily surprised by Vardan’s show of affection but quickly recovered. ‘It is an honour, lord.’