Lord of War

  Peter Darman

  Copyright © 2018 Pete Darman

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Formatted by Jo Harrison

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  List of characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Historical notes

  List of characters

  Those marked with an asterisk * are Companions – individuals who fought with Spartacus in Italy and who travelled back to Parthia with Pacorus.

  Those marked with a dagger † are known to history.

  The Kingdom of Dura

  Aaron: Jew, royal treasurer at Dura Europos

  *Alcaeus: Greek, chief physician in Dura’s army

  Azad: commander of Dura’s cataphracts

  Chrestus: commander of Dura’s army

  Claudia: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura, Scythian Sister, now adviser to King of Kings Phraates

  Eszter: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura

  *Gallia: Gaul, Queen of Dura Europos

  Kalet: chief lord of Dura Europos

  Klietas: squire to King Pacorus

  Lucius Varsas: Roman, quartermaster general of Dura’s army

  *Pacorus: Parthian, King of Dura Europos

  Rsan: Parthian, governor of Dura Europos

  Sporaces: commander of Dura’s horse archers

  Talib: Agraci, chief scout in Dura’s army

  Zenobia: commander of the Amazons

  The Kingdom of Hatra

  *Diana: former Roman slave, now the wife of Gafarn and Queen of Hatra

  *Gafarn: former Bedouin slave of Pacorus, now King of Hatra

  Other Parthians

  Akmon: King of Media, son of King Spartacus

  Castus: son of Spartacus, heir to the throne of Gordyene

  Haytham: son of Spartacus, prince of Gordyene

  †Phraates: King of Kings of the Parthian Empire

  Spartacus: adopted son of Gafarn and Diana, King of Gordyene

  Non-Parthians

  †Amyntas: King of Galatia

  †Artaxias: King of Armenia

  †Glaphyra: mother to King Archelaus of Cappadocia

  Karys: Jew, Satrap of Mesene

  Kewab: Egyptian, Satrap of Aria

  Lusin: Armenian, Queen of Media

  †Polemon: King of Pontus

  Spadines: Sarmatian, close ally of King Spartacus

  Chapter 1

  The atmosphere in the throne room was oppressive, beads of sweat appearing on the foreheads of those I was circling in a menacing fashion. Or at least I was attempting to be threatening as I limped up and down in front of the four individuals drawn up in a line, saying nothing at first to increase the tension. I was probably fooling myself and the truth was my leg was aching like fury, which made me wince, thus spoiling the façade of intimidation. Nevertheless, I was far from happy and wanted answers, though the one who could provide them was not present. Not yet.

  I walked slowly behind the four, all much younger and fitter than me, though all nervous in the presence of an angry King of Dura. I took a few more paces to stand before them, folding my arms across my chest prior to speaking, the overall effect being ruined as a sharp pain shot through my leg, which felt as though a red-hot branding iron had been pressed into the flesh. I grimaced in pain.

  ‘Are you hurt, highborn?’ asked Klietas, concern etched on his face.

  ‘Silence!’ I shouted. ‘You will speak when spoken to.’

  It was warm in the throne room, the morning dry and hot, the doors to the chamber having been shut and the guards instructed to leave so I could be alone with the transgressors, though I was feeling more breathless and tired than they. I walked back to my throne, though hobbled would be a more accurate description, lowering myself slowly on to the wooden seat. My leg continued to throb, and I cursed the archer that had put an arrow into my limb all those years ago.

  I stared at each of the accused in turn. Talib, the Agraci leader of the army’s scouts stood next to his wife Minu, the deputy commander of the Amazons, whose name meant ‘paradise’ in Persian but who was an accomplished killer, her lithe frame and full lips belying her deadly skills. Next to her stood another Amazon, Haya, taller, her hair slightly lighter and her heart-shaped face giving her a most charming appearance. But my eyes were drawn to the small scar on her neck, the result of an arrow wound at Irbil, which had killed her. Yet here she was. Hale and hearty. The last member of the group was my squire Klietas – the scrawny, threadbare orphan from Media who had returned with me from Irbil to be trained to eventually become a cataphract, though he had of late been absent from the palace. I continued to stare at the scar on Haya’s neck. I wondered if she knew she was a walking miracle? Probably not. I decided to break the silence.

  ‘Imagine my surprise when a former Roman slave, a man who worked in the kitchens of a villa in Zeugma, presented himself to me outside the Citadel yesterday morning, throwing himself to the ground in front of my horse and thanking me for releasing him and his family from a life of bondage.’

  Klietas, innocent that he was, smiled in recognition of his achievement. The other three stood like statues, unblinking.

  ‘General Chrestus riding beside me nearly killed the man on the spot, fearing it was an assassination attempt. Either that or due to his extreme annoyance at nearly being thrown from his horse. But I was intrigued and after I had calmed the general down, I got talking with the cook, who told me an interesting tale. Of how he and the other slaves in the household of a rich, fat Parthian and his wife had all been freed by four individuals, two men, one young, one older, and two women, again one older than the other, who had all entered the villa as slaves.’

  I nodded when I saw furtive glances between Talib and Minu.

  ‘I will not ask you to betray your mistress, for after speaking with the cook some more I learned he was the property of a man named Cookes and his wife Hanita. He was so grateful for him and his family being freed that he and they walked all the way to Dura from Hatran territory, though he informed me he and the other freed slaves had all been given money to start new lives. But he wanted to thank the King of Dura personally for sending his servants to Zeugma to free him.

  ‘You can imagine my astonishment at this declaration, having had no knowledge of any mission to Zeugma.’

  At that moment the doors to the chamber were opened by the guards outside and in swept Gallia, nostrils flaring, and eyes narrowed to slits, her face a mask of steely determination. I sat back and smiled as she marched to the dais, turning to look at her co-conspirators.

  ‘You may all leave,’ she barked.

  Talib gave Minu a sideways smile, Haya looked relieved and Klietas was grinning like a mischievous teenager, which, despite his now sinewy, toned frame, he was. Caught between their queen and king and unsure what to do, I flicked my hand to indicate they all should leave. They did so, in haste.

  ‘Close the doors behind you,’ I called after them, Talib, bowing his head as he did so.

  Gallia drew herself up in front of me, eyeing me icily before speaking.

  ‘I hope you have not meted out any punishments to my loyal servants.’

  ‘ Your servants? I thought I was king at Dura. As to punishing them, in view of the fact they were acting under your orders, they are blameless of any infractions, though I do not endorse using this kingdom’s soldiers as assassins.’

  She touched her necklace, from which hung a lock of Rasha’s hair. She pulled out the lock from under her tunic and examined it.

  ‘You remember Rasha, Pacorus? The child we first met in this palace over forty years ago? Perhaps you have forgotten her already.’

  The chamber was hot and airless, my leg was aflame, and I was in no mood for my wife’s sarcasm. I rose from my seat.

  ‘How dare you! I loved Rasha as much as you did. But I have not sunk so low as to use her death as an excuse to send assassins to indulge your base instincts.’

  ‘You have gone soft, Pacorus,’ she sneered.

  ‘Soft!’ I raged. ‘I will not have the Kingdom of Dura become an abode of murderers, and I tell you this now, if I find out about any other Amazons carrying out as
sassinations in foreign kingdoms, they will be banished from Dura.’

  ‘That is not your decision to make,’ she replied with Gallia fury. ‘The Amazons answer to me and me alone.’

  ‘Not when they bring the Kingdom of Dura into disrepute.’

  She threw back her head and laughed mockingly.

  ‘The only thing the world respects, Pacorus, is strength. If Dura’s enemies know they are always in danger, that they can never rest easy, then they will think twice before instigating wars against us.’

  She pointed at me accusingly. ‘You made a mistake allowing Atrax and his sisters to leave Irbil and the result was a fresh invasion of Parthia and the death of Rasha. It pains me to say so…’

  ‘But you are going to do so anyway,’ I interrupted.

  She suddenly changed her demeanour, took her seat beside me and laid a hand on my arm.

  ‘You are an honourable man, Pacorus, but we must deal with the world as we find it, not as we want it to be. Do you really lament the death of that fat traitor Cookes?’

  ‘No, but I object to being treated like a fool. You told me it would be good for his education if Klietas accompanied Talib and Minu to Palmyra, but instead I discover he was part of a mission to Zeugma to assassinate Cookes and his wife.’

  She removed her hand.

  ‘Klietas did go to Palmyra, and then on to Syria and Zeugma.’

  ‘The point is I should have been told of your plan beforehand, not kept in the dark to learn of it from a freed Roman slave.’

  ‘Ah, so you are angry because your pride has been hurt.’

  ‘I am angry because members of Dura’s army are being sent on secret missions without my permission,’ I shot back, ‘and for your information, the Amazons are not your private army but are under my command.’

  ‘They are not,’ she hissed, putting the emphasis on the last word.

  I decided to try another tactic. ‘All our actions have repercussions, Gallia. Cast your mind back to when Cleopatra sent assassins to Dura to kill Kewab.’

  ‘They were caught and executed.’

  I smiled. ‘Exactly, and that might be the fate of your Amazons if you continue to use them as assassins.’

  ‘Menkhaf and his band of Egyptians were caught because they were careless,’ she said. ‘They did not prepare for their task thoroughly and paid the price.’

  ‘Which brings me neatly to The Sanctuary.’

  Her eyes narrowed once more.

  ‘What about it?’

  The brothel where Roxanne and Peroz had first met all those years ago had fallen into disrepair and was brought to the verge of bankruptcy following the death of the fearsome Samhat, the madam who became head of Dura’s guild of prostitutes. When it closed its cracked doors for the last time, Gallia purchased the premises and paid off the not inconsiderable debts the whorehouse had incurred. She then set about having it renovated, after which it became a residence exclusive to the Amazons.

  ‘The clue is in the name, Pacorus,’ she elucidated further. ‘It is a place where the Amazons can relax in an all-female environment, free from the prying eyes of men.’

  ‘I have heard otherwise. That it is a place where poisoners impart their wisdom and other dark arts are practised.’

  ‘Street gossip,’ she sneered.

  ‘Do you deny it?’

  ‘I am not on trial,’ she responded indignantly. ‘I would have thought you had more pressing things to attend to rather than pestering me about inconsequential matters.’

  ‘What more pressing things?’

  ‘Parthia’s enemies are still at large and no doubt plotting to return to the empire to wreak more mischief.’

  ‘What enemies?’

  ‘Has age dimmed your memory, Pacorus? Have you forgotten Atrax, Titus Tullus, Laodice and Tiridates so quickly?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I snapped at her. ‘But as they are not in the empire there is little I can do about them.’

  I saw a glint in her blue eyes.

  ‘No one is out of reach.’

  ‘No! I will hear no more of assassination. Henceforth, you are forbidden to send any Amazons on clandestine murder missions, and neither my scouts nor my squire are at your disposal.’

  I stood and stormed from the throne room, though limped in a rapid fashion would be a more accurate description. How I wanted to taste again the magical elixir that had restored our physiques during the time of trial at Irbil. That said, now I had officially retired from military campaigning, my daily exertions had been reduced considerably. Gallia still thirsted for revenge against those who had wronged Dura, or rather her, but I had had my fill of bloodshed. And by all accounts so had the enemies of Parthia.

  It had been twenty-seven years since I had fought Marcus Licinius Crassus at Carrhae and in the years afterwards I never dreamed that there would be a lasting peace between Rome and Parthia. And yet the Euphrates, once watched and guarded closely by Hatra and Dura, both kingdoms forming the western shield of the empire against Roman aggression, had become nothing more than the waterway that delineated the boundary between Parthia and Rome. The bitterness that existed between Rome and Ctesiphon had dissipated to such an extent that negotiations regarding the return of the eagles captured at Carrhae and Lake Urmia had formally commenced, Phraates and Octavian corresponding with each other on a regular basis regarding their repatriation to Rome and reuniting the young son of Phraates with his father. By all accounts, Octavian himself, who ensured the son of the high king enjoyed a privileged life, doted on the baby that had been captured by Tiridates and taken to Syria, thence to Rome. I wondered if the young Phraates would wish to return to a land he had never known after being ‘Romanised’? But that was a matter to be resolved later. Having fought Romans on and off for forty years, I was delighted the legions no longer cast a long shadow over Parthia.

  There was also peace in the east.

  While Gallia and I had been fighting for our lives at Irbil, King Ali of Atropaiene, Lord High General and the commander of a great army that had been mustered in the west of the empire to assist the kingdoms of the east in their fight against the Kushans, had brought the Kushan emperor Kujula to heel. After defeating one of his generals near the Indus, Ali, ably assisted by Satrap Kewab, had laid waste to large swathes of Kushan territory. Faced by the Parthian threat and the outbreak of war with the Satavahana Empire to the south, Kujula had agreed a perpetual peace with the Parthian Empire, formally recognising the Indus River as the boundary between the two empires. Ali was returning to his home in triumph, as were the horsemen of Dura.

  The horse archers and cataphracts had been away for eighteen months and when they returned the Durans, Exiles and whole city turned out to welcome them back. Azad and Sporaces had sent casualty lists ahead before their arrival and though our losses had been mercifully light, there were still women made widows who had to be cared for out of treasury funds, in addition to the children of the fallen that Dura would have to provide for. The route from the pontoon bridges to the Palmyrene Gate and on to the Citadel was lined with the Durans and Exiles, behind them cheering crowds throwing flowers and applauding the returning heroes. Cataphracts sweltered in full-scale armour, their heads covered in full-face helmets as they trotted into the city and back to their barracks, Sporaces and his horse archers doing likewise. Azad, Sporaces and their senior officers rode on to the Citadel where their king and queen waited to greet them, being joined by the uncouth and bad-tempered commander of the ammunition train, Farid.

  A colour party of Durans and Exiles stood to attention in the courtyard when they rode through the gates, trumpeters playing a fanfare, Chrestus saluting the horsemen and the colour party presenting the golden griffin and silver lion standards. Opposite them, Zenobia and a detachment of Amazons drew their swords and raised them in salute, their commander lowering the griffin banner as they did so.

  Stable hands came forward when the salutes had ended to take the new arrivals’ horses, Azad tossing his helmet to a servant and handing his kontus to another as he marched up the steps to bow to me and Gallia. Alcaeus stood between us, which the commander of my cataphracts noticed. Our Greek friend had tried to act as mediator between husband and wife to affect a reconciliation, to no avail. I was still annoyed at her and she was livid with me, a situation that showed no sign of changing.