‘They will come again,’ said my father, ‘you must look to your defences. How many troops do you have?’
Darius was being fed honey-coated lamb by a young boy, who pushed the meat into the king’s mouth with his fingers. I looked aghast as Darius then licked the meat’s juices off the boy’s fingers. My father looked disgusted at the spectacle. ‘Alas, King Varaz, my army is small,’ Darius pointed to a bunch of grapes on the table. A slave plucked one and daintily pushed it into his mouth. ‘Solders cost money, and my treasury is bare.’
This was not the answer my father wanted. ‘Yes, I can see that times are hard. You must strengthen your city’s defences.’
‘But brother,’ protested Darius. ‘The Romans have been defeated. With warriors such as you and your son, I’m sure we have nothing to fear.’
‘We have everything to fear, King Darius. This time they sent only one legion, next time they will send an army.’
Darius pointed at me. ‘Then they will be as stubble to your son’s sword. Is that not so, Prince Pacorus?’
I pushed another piece of freshly baked almond cake into my mouth. It melted on my tongue. ‘Yes, sire.’
In truth I was loving the feast and taking almost no notice of the conversation, but I could see that my father was annoyed. When we had finished eating Darius clapped his hands and the food was taken away. More slaves appeared carrying bowls of warms water and towels for us to wash our hands. Afterwards two female slaves each took one of my hands and began massaging the fingers with oils. They were both in their late teens, gorgeous, bare-breasted with gold bracelets on their arms. They had dark complexions and teeth of pure white, with thick eyeliner to accentuate their large brown eyes. They smelt and looked divine. Another, a beautiful Persian woman with a gold headband and oiled black hair, motioned to me to lie back on the couch. I did so and she began to massage my temples with her fingers. Her touch was sublime, and soon I was drifting into a trance-like state as she massaged my head. The conversation between my father and Darius was becoming fainter as I surrendered to the angelic caresses of three female slaves. This was heaven, and I wanted to experience it forever.
I was rudely awakened from my bliss by my father, who shook me out of my dream.
‘We are leaving, Pacorus.’
‘Father?’
‘We have imposed on King Darius’ hospitality enough,’ he bowed to Darius. ‘We thank you, lord king, but we must be on our way.’
Darius had been lying back with his eyes closed, listening to a young harpist who was playing at his feet. He now looked at us in surprise.
‘Leaving? But surely you will stay for the night. Your son, does he like boys or girls? Such a hero should be rewarded with at least one night of abandon.’
‘Alas, no,’ replied my father. ‘We must get back to Hatra.’
‘Such a shame. Very well, very well.’ Darius beckoned to one of the guards and instructed him to see that our horses were brought to the palace steps. We thanked Darius and left him to his harpist and young boys and girls.
Our horses had been groomed, fed and watered and the troop of my father’s bodyguard had been similarly revitalised. The men were happy, as was I, but as we trotted from the palace and through the bustling city, my father’s mood darkened. At the bridge across the Euphrates we met with Gafarn, who had been sent by Vistaspa to inform us where he had made camp.
‘Five miles upstream. Did you have a nice time, master?’
‘Very,’ I replied. ‘King Darius is a generous host.’
‘King Darius is a snake,’ snapped my father.
‘How so, father?’ I asked, surprised.
‘He wants to leave the empire and become a client king of Rome.’
I was astounded at the idea that anyone would want to leave Parthia. ‘Surely not. Why?’
My father halted his horse to face me. ‘Because, my son, it is easier to be a servant of Rome than a Parthian king. As long as Darius is prepared to lick the boots of some Roman governor then he can live in his gilded palace forever without having to worry about keeping his kingdom.’
‘Why would he do so?’
My father smiled, the first time he had done so that day. ‘Because it is easier, especially for a fat king whose only ambition is to surround himself with pretty catamites and teenage girls. And I’ll warrant that the Romans have used honeyed words and the promise of much wealth if he should do so. Zeugma stands on the western edge of the empire, and if it becomes Roman it will point like a dagger at Hatra. A Roman army at Zeugma could strike south into my kingdom with ease.’
We finished the journey to camp in silence. I could not understand why a Parthian would want to be under Roman rule, but I was young then and naïve about the avarice of men. We moved through rocky terrain until we came upon our camp, a collection of canvas tents arranged in lines beside a fast-flowing stream. Soldiers and servants groomed horses and fed camels, while other soldiers sharpened sword blades. Vistaspa had posted guards around the camp and had scouts out patrolling as well. My father dismounted and immediately marched off with his commander, deep in conversation. The light was fading now, the sun disappearing behind a snow-capped mountain in the western sky.
Gafarn took Sura away to the makeshift stable area of stalls constructed from wooden poles and canvas sheets as I sat on the ground beside a small fire. I checked my sword in its scabbard, the straps on my shield and ensured my bowstring was taught and my quiver full. Looking round, I was beginning to wish that we had stayed in the palace of King Darius. A night sleeping on the ground, with a breakfast of salted pork and hard biscuit washed down with water, did not fill me with relish. The darkness was encroaching quickly now, and as I glanced at a guard standing not twenty paces away I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. The next instant there was a dull hiss followed by a groan, and then a clatter as the guard fell to the ground. I saw an arrow protruding from his back, and then suddenly other arrows were cutting through the air. I grabbed my shield and drew my sword as other arrows found their targets. Horses squealed in panic and camels bellowed as animals were pierced by arrows.
‘Rally, rally.’ I felt as though I was alone as I sprinted away from the fire to throw myself behind the relative safety of a tree. Then the air was filled with shouts and cries as our unseen assailants attacked — black-clad figures armed with swords and spears. Had they been assailing a civilian caravan they would have achieved an easy victory, but they were fighting the cream of Parthia’s warriors, and though we had been surprised it did not take us long to find our discipline. Vistaspa was a hard taskmaster, and now his hard work paid dividends.
Horns blared as he and my father formed a solid block of the royal bodyguard, fifty across who locked shields to defeat the volley of arrows launched before our enemies attacked. Our assailants then hurled themselves into a charge, screaming wildly as they did so. There was a loud crack as the two groups came together and started the killing at close quarters. Man for man we were fitter, stronger and more skilled, our blades reaping a deadly harvest of the enemy. I saw my father and ran to get beside him. The enemy was between him and me and so I slashed and hacked at black-clad figures in front of me. I felt the same calm determination as I did when I fought the Romans, only this time I was in a hurry to kill. An enemy ran at me with a spear levelled at my belly. I caught the blow with my shield, feinted right and plunged my sword into the man’s shoulder. Withdrawing the blade, I saw another figure about to swing his sword at my unguarded right side. I dropped onto my left knee and ducked so his blow cut only air. I swung my sword and the blade cut deep into his right leg just below the knee. He uttered a high-pitched scream and collapsed to the ground.