‘Oh, Pacorus. He aided you of his own free will, just as your father did.’
I was not to be consoled, though. ‘Dobbai was right. I underestimated them and Babylon has paid a heavy price.’
She laid a hand on my arm. ‘You cannot take on the troubles of the whole world and nor can you give up and allow Mithridates and Narses to win.’
I rose and kissed her on the forehead. ‘What would I do without you?’
‘Get yourself killed in battle. Now come to bed.’
But I slept little and my heart was heavy the next day as we accompanied Axsen and her priests, advisers, commanders, courtiers, aristocrats and their wives to Vardan’s funeral. My education as a prince had acquainted me with the rituals and religious beliefs of the different kingdoms in the empire. I knew, for example, that to Babylonians proper funerals were important to prevent the disgruntled dead from returning from the afterlife to haunt their relatives.
The great funeral procession began its journey in the royal palace and then headed for the Temple of Marduk in the centre of the city. Guards lined the route to keep back the multitude of wailing and weeping citizens who threw flowers at the coffin resting on a four-wheeled cart pulled by four black bulls whose horns were covered in gold leaf. A soldier of the palace guard led each animal by a gold chain attached to the bull’s nose ring. Even their tails were adorned with gold. These beasts would later be slaughtered to accompany Vardan on his journey into the afterlife.
Immediately behind the cart walked Axsen and behind her Mardonius and her senior advisers. After them came the visiting royal guests. I walked beside Gafarn, my adopted brother who had once been my slave but who now was a prince of the empire.
‘By the way,’ he said to me in a hushed voice, ‘I meant to tell you that Vata is to marry your sister.’
I had always thought that my younger sister, Adeleh, would end her days as a spinster. Happy and carefree, she had been pursued by a number of sons of Hatra’s richest aristocrats but had always declined their offers of marriage.
I was shocked. ‘I had no idea.’
Vata was my childhood friend and was the son of Bozan, formerly the commander-in-chief of my father’s army. He had led the expedition into Cappadocia that had resulted in his death and my transportation to Italy. Now Vata held the north of my father’s kingdom against external threats.
‘He visits Hatra often,’ said Gafarn, ‘and Diana always arranged that he and Adeleh would see each other when he did. She said they were both lonely souls and should be together. So she insisted that they both eat with us at every opportunity. You can only imagine the amount of food I had to consume to encourage their friendship to turn into love.’
‘It must have been torture for you,’ I grinned.
On this sombre day to receive such news was welcome indeed.
Behind us came Babylon’s aristocrats and their wives, the women wearing brightly coloured robes and headdresses inlaid with lapis lazuli, silver and gold. Many of them also wore bell-shaped amulets to ward off evil spirits. A small army of musicians accompanying us played harps and lyres and sang songs about Vardan and his greatness.
At the temple itself the coffin holding the body of Vardan was carried by soldiers of the royal bodyguard into the inner sanctum at the rear of the chamber that contained the statue of Marduk. We stood as Nabu prayed to Marduk that Vardan would be allowed to enter heaven. A great purple curtain separated the statue of the god from those assembled in the temple.
‘Who’s Marduk?’ whispered Gallia.
‘The creator of the world,’ I answered. ‘He defeated the evil goddess Tiamat in single combat then spilt her body in two. One half he used to create the heavens and the other to create the earth. He also created the Tigris and Euphrates from her eyes and made mountains from her udders.’
‘Why can’t we see the statue?’ she pressed me, clearly unimpressed that we stood in the house of a powerful god.
‘It is considered ill manners for mortals to gawp at his statue. I have been told that he has four eyes and four ears so that he may see and hear everything, including you, my sweet.’
She curled her lip at me as the coffin containing Vardan’s body was carried from the holy of holies to be placed once more on its carriage. As the funeral cortege made its way back to the grounds of the royal palace the crowds who stood packed either side of the route stood in silent reverence as their king passed by. Many were weeping and their tears appeared genuine, for I knew that at funerals professional mourners were hired to impress guests. Vardan had been a good king in the tradition of Babylonian rulers. One of the reasons that Babylon was accorded great status in the empire was that its rulers stressed goodness and truth, law and order, justice and freedom, learning, courage and loyalty. Indeed, the city had always accorded special protection to widows, orphans, refugees, the poor and the oppressed. Just as well — the ravages of Narses had created many of each group.
As I walked with my wife to the royal tomb, — a vaulted chamber underneath the palace and approached from the outside by a ramp — I knew that Axsen would not be swearing vengeance against the killers of her father. Babylonians believed that immoral acts were crimes against the gods and would be punished by them. I could hear the laughter of Dobbai in my ears at such a notion.
Only Axsen, Nabu, half a dozen of his priests who carried the king’s coffin from the cart at the top of the ramp and the soldiers pulling the bulls entered the tomb itself, the latter departing once the throats of the bulls had been slit.
‘Poor bulls,’ said Gallia as the soldiers walked back up the ramp.
‘They used to kill slaves to attend the king in the next life,’ I said, ‘and I have heard that even aristocrats who were close to the king took their own lives in the tomb so they could be with him always.’
Gallia screwed up her face. ‘That is disgusting.’
‘We live in more enlightened times,’ I answered. ‘Now only the bulls and precious objects will accompany Vardan into the afterlife.’
She was still curious, though. ‘What objects?’
‘His clothes, games, weapons, treasure and vessels filled with food and drink. Everything he needs to maintain his status in the next life.’
She ridiculed the idea. ‘The dead do not need objects.’
As an ashen-faced Axsen came from the tomb and walked with faltering steps up the stone ramp, I whispered into Gallia’s ear.
‘Perhaps not, but we must respect the beliefs of others just as we expect them to respect our own.’
The tomb was sealed and the cortege dispersed. Gallia and Praxima accompanied a weeping Axsen back to her private chambers in the palace. The fine lords and ladies of the kingdom returned to their mansions in the city. Thus ended the reign of King Vardan of Babylon, murdered by the traitor Narses.
Seven days later the coronation of Axsen took place. In the intervening time Narses had pulled all his forces back across the Tigris. Of Mithridates we heard nothing save a strange tale that Ctesiphon itself had been attacked and his frantic mother had demanded that he return forthwith to save her.
I laughed at such an idea as I sat with my father, Gafarn, Nergal, Vistaspa, Orodes and Mardonius in one of the many guest annexes in the palace. This one had been given to my father and had its own small courtyard complete with an ornamental pool with fountains in the middle. We reclined on plush couches as slaves served us pastries, sweet meats, yoghurt, bread, honey, wine and fruit. The atmosphere was very relaxed. Even my father appeared to be in a good mood.
‘Where are the women?’ he asked, looking at Nergal and me.
‘My wife is with Axsen and Gallia,’ said Nergal, ‘that is the Princess of Babylon and the Queen of Dura, lord.’
He may have been a king himself but Nergal could never forget that he had once been but an officer in Hatra’s army many years ago. He still regarded my father with awe, and perhaps a little fear.