‘But, your majesty,’ said Addu.
‘Enough,’ snapped my father. ‘The decision has been made, we will leave in seven days.’
A crestfallen Addu starred at the table in silence.
‘There are Romans in the city, majesty.’ It was first time that Kogan had spoken. ‘If they hear of any expeditions they will surely send word back to their masters.’
There were nods around the table.
‘You are right, Lord Kogan,’ said my father. ‘No one is to speak of this matter outside of this room. As far as the city is concerned, we are merely carrying out training manoeuvres. When we have left the city I will send riders to the Agraci to see if they want to earn some gold. Hopefully, I will be able to get a lot of them killed in battle before I have to pay them anything. That is all.’
Everyone stood, bowed and then left the room. My father called me over.
‘Pacorus, say nothing of what you have heard to Gafarn or Vata. Is that understood.’
‘Yes, father.’
‘The Romans have spies everywhere. We cannot be too careful.’
‘Will there be war between us and the Romans?’ I asked.
My father sighed and considered before giving his reply. ‘What we have now is an armed peace. The Romans are testing us, seeking to discover our strength.’
‘We have a strong army,’ I said, proudly.
‘It is not just a question of spears and horses. It is also one of will. The Romans are strong because they never give up. Their army is like a machine that chews up everything in its path. Many kingdoms lack the will to fight the Romans. They are not unbeatable, we have proved that, but to fight them year in, year out, takes an iron will. Few possess that quality. There are many like King Darius who want to live a life of luxury. But here’s the clever thing about the Romans. They offer individuals like Darius the opportunity to be a client king. Be our friend, they say, and you can rule your kingdom in peace, unmolested as long as you pay your dues to Rome. But a client kingdom is a slave kingdom, which eventually will be filled with Roman soldiers and civilians, who build garrisons, towns, roads and ports that bring in yet more Romans. And then Rome annexes that kingdom and it is swallowed up, to become just one more province in the Roman Empire.’
‘Parthia is strong, father,’ I said, though partly to reassure myself as well as him, for the image of an all-powerful Rome did little to fortify my courage.
He slapped me on the shoulders. ‘If we keep it that way, then the Romans will think twice before they try to conquer us. But always remember, Pacorus, the old saying, “it is better to die on your feet than live on your knees”. For even the richest ally of Rome is in reality no more than a slave dressed in fine clothes.’
We left the city at dawn on the seventh day. Two columns of horsemen, one heading west into the Arabian desert, the other going north back towards Zeugma, though we would swing sharply west before we reached Darius’ kingdom. I wondered if the bodies of those we had slain were still lying where they fell. I dismissed such trivia from my mind. Before we left I had gone to see my friend Vata. I found him in the royal stables. He grinned when he saw me. He was always smiling, that was one of the reasons I liked him, that and his loyalty to his friends. He would be riding with my father into Syria.
‘Why can’t we take our own horses?’ he asked.
I knew the reason, of course: heavy cavalry horses were too valuable to be risked on raiding parties. That was the reason I could not take Sura with me. I felt bad about lying to Vata.
‘I know not, my friend.’ I walked over to him as Gafarn entered the stables.
‘We are ready to ride, highness.’
‘Thank you, Gafarn. Meet me outside.’
I walked over to Vata and embraced him. ‘Keep safe, my friend.’
‘You mean try not to fall off my horse.’
‘No, I mean. It doesn’t matter. Just return safely.’ This could be the last time I saw him, and I wanted to tell him so but could not.
‘You’re getting too soft, my friend,’ he said, slapping me on the back. ‘That’s what happens when you spend too long in the palace dreaming about Babylonian princesses.’
I left him and walked to the waiting Gafarn, who was mounted on a horse and held the reins of mine. We trotted from the stables.
‘Do you feel bad, highness?’
‘What?’
‘About lying to your friend, I could see it in your face.’
‘Shut up. What do you know?’
‘I know nothing, highness, he said, ‘except that you were not telling the truth to him and it must have hurt lying to your friend.’
‘Be quiet.’
‘To lie to a friend can be unpleasant, I agree.’
I drew up my horse sharply. ‘I could have you flogged.’
He was unconcerned. ‘You could, but that would not make you feel any less remorseful.’
I kicked at my horse and he sprung forward. Gafarn was right, as usual, which made it even more irritating.
Three days out from Hatra we reached the town of Nisibus where we picked up extra provisions. These were loaded onto mules, along with our spears, enough to sustain us for a month, which would accompany us on our expedition. Each of us carried a sword, shield, bow and fifty arrows, while for protection we wore helmets only, no body armour. In Nisibus we also picked up a guide who said he knew Cappadocia intimately, though by the look of him I suspected he was more intimate with the town’s whores. He had a sullen look, with dark, brooding eyes and lank black hair. He was unclean, unshaven and dressed in what appeared to be rags.
‘Are we to trust this man?’ I asked Bozan.
‘The garrison commander says he was once a soldier in the army of Mithridates when he was a teenager, who fought the Romans in Cappadocia. If that’s true then he could be useful. Says he knows which roads the Romans use to send their supplies to Pontes. It could all be true.’
‘And if it isn’t?’ I asked.
Bozan shrugged. ‘Then I’ll slit his throat personally.’
‘He could be leading us into a trap.’
‘Listen, Pacorus,’ he said, ‘war is always a gamble. You never really know what the enemy is doing, what’s on the other side of the hill. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, as my old dad used to say.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘An Armenian skewered him with a lance in an ambush, poor bastard.’
I was filled with doubt, but then again the guide could be telling the truth. King Mithridates had been fighting the Romans for years. The ruler of Pontes, he had been gradually pushed back through Greece to his kingdom in the north. He was still fighting Rome, but now there were Roman legions on his borders. It was possible that this man had fought for him. Whatever the truth was, he led us north from Nisibus into the wild country that was Cappadocia. A barren, arid region, it was bordered to the north by the peaks of the Black Sea mountain range and in the south by the Taurus Mountains. We rode through gorges and canyons with steep sides, passed through valleys criss-crossed by streams and gazed at dazzling rock formations fashioned by wind and water. We saw few people, and I was beginning to think that the whole area was uninhabited when our guide suddenly pulled up his horse. I was riding beside Bozan when he galloped up to us.
‘We camp here tonight, lord,’ he said. ‘Fresh water nearby, lots of cover. Very safe.’
‘What about the Romans? I asked.
‘No Romani, lord.’
He rode away to show our scouts where we could camp for the night. I had to confess that the spot he chose was a good one: near fresh water and high in the hills, giving us excellent views of the surrounding terrain. If we were attacked there were also avenues of escape through the rock formations. So as not to advertise our presence, Bozan forbade the lighting of any fires that night. As the sun went down the temperature fell, but fortunately the wind that had been blowing all day disappeared as well. Gafarn and I fed and watered our horses before we ate our own meal. While we were attending to our mounts our guide ambled up to observe us, accompanied by two guards (it appeared Bozan didn’t trust him, either). Yet he appeared unconcerned by being almost a prisoner, no doubt content to have the first payment of gold in his saddlebag. He would get the rest at the end of our mission.