It was getting hot but we were spared the worst ravages of the sun by huge awnings erected over the tables where guests were talking and laughing as slaves served an endless supply of food cooked by field kitchens adjacent to the compound. The newly-weds were first served with a delicacy called jahaver polo , a dish of rice mixed with orange peel, berries, almonds and pistachios. It was very colourful and signified jewels and thus the wealth the couple would hopefully enjoy in the future.

  Claudia next to me rolled her eyes. ‘One cannot even eat without the food having some sort of religious significance.’

  ‘As a servant of the gods I would have thought you approve.’

  She sniffed in disapproval. ‘These Zoroastrians think there is only one god, like Aaron. Look around you, father, do you think one god is responsible for the world and everything that is in it?’

  ‘How can Shamash direct the sun above us and administer affairs in the underworld?’ she continued. ‘The simple answer is, he cannot.’

  ‘You look lovely today,’ I complimented her, ‘white suits you.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I agreed to wear this ridiculous dress out of respect for Isabella, nothing more. I feel like a harlot.’

  I roared with laughter, Gallia next to me frowning and the others at the top table giving me quizzical looks. All the women – Gallia, Diana, Rasha, Jamal, Praxima, Roxanne, Isabella, Eszter and Claudia, – wore sleeveless white silk dresses and I had to say they all looked beautiful and regal. Only the scowl on Claudia’s face ruined the ensemble.

  The spicy aroma from the field kitchens filled the air as veiled female slaves carried large silver platters heaped with local delicacies. These included a plethora of stews, including fesenjan containing walnuts and pomegranates; bademjan , made from eggplant and tomatoes; baghali polo , a delicious concoction of rice mixed with dill and fava beans; and a thick green herb stew called gormeh sabzi . Meat eaters were not forgotten – whole roasted chickens and slabs of beef and mutton were served as kebabs, being presented on long, thick skewers. The Agraci warlords and Kalet’s friends were grabbing the kebabs and eating greedily from them, in between guzzling wine and hauma , guests at other tables looking at them with slight disdain. But they responded by raising their meat and drink and toasting the fine ladies and gentlemen of Sakastan.

  Peroz looked a happy man. It was true the rulers of Aria and Drangiana had declined to attend, but they had sent their ambassadors to convey their good wishes to the newly-weds. That was something at least. I looked at Claudia eating rice with her hands. Despite her ordeal and journey into the Scythian Sisterhood she was still a good-looking woman, apart from when she frowned. She was frowning now. Then her eyes narrowed and she jumped up.

  ‘Defend the king,’ she bellowed.

  I spat out a piece of meat in response, the others at the table looking at her with furrowed brows. But Claudia was not thinking of them as she hitched up her dress to reveal a dagger in a sheath strapped to her leg. She drew the blade and threw it at a slave girl who had just refilled Peroz’s silver cup with wine. I watched open-mouthed as the point of the dagger pierced the slave’s side. She yelped in pain and collapsed, a dagger that she had been holding in her left hand falling on the grass. Roxanne screamed in grief as another veiled slave, who had appeared behind Peroz, drew a knife across his throat. If the king felt anything it must have been only for a split-second because he was already dead by the time his head fell into the bowl of stew he had been eating.

  The slave who had killed the king spun and stabbed Agbar in the stomach repeatedly, the commander of the king’s guard dying in a sea of his own blood that stained his yellow tunic. Isabella was frozen in fear when the assassin turned to face her, blood-covered dagger in her gore-encased hand. I jumped up to place myself before the veiled killer and Isabella but out of the corner of my eye saw a blurred movement, turning at the last moment to see another veiled assailant thrusting her dagger at me. My reflexes, honed by many years of war, took over. I grabbed a silver platter of rice and swung it sideways, the point of the dagger going into the metal and piercing it, though thankfully not me.

  I yanked the platter back to wrest the dagger from the girl but she surrendered it easily. Claudia had grabbed a knife from the table and was repeatedly stabbing it into the girl’s neck, blood sheeting over her, my daughter and me as my eldest child nearly decapitated the assassin.

  The compound was filled with shrieking and screaming guests as more and more veiled assailants attacked us. Where were the guards? Who were these veiled attackers? My mind suddenly returned to Isabella who stood, frozen in fear, in front of her Kalet throttling the woman who had killed Peroz.

  ‘To me,’ I shouted, Malik ushering his wife to safety, his Agraci warlords closing around her. They all pulled knives with long, wicked blades from their robes.

  Kalet’s lords grabbed Isabella, Eszter, Byrd, Noora and Salar and bundled them towards me. I took the knife from the woman Claudia had killed and ran towards Gallia, who had armed herself with two kebab skewers as she and Praxima defended Diana.

  ‘Roxanne,’ screamed my wife, ‘Roxanne, leave him.’

  Roxanne was cradling the dead Peroz, tears streaming down her face as she rocked to and fro, oblivious to the death being meted out around her. Gallia killed an assassin as Praxima held the woman in a headlock, stabbing her belly furiously, blood spouting out of her body like a fountain. But she could do nothing to save Roxanne who was suddenly surrounded by four killers and stabbed repeatedly, the queen of Sakastan joining her husband in the afterlife.

  Around us more veiled attackers were targeting and slaughtering guests, those who ran being hunted down and knifed in the back.

  ‘Let’s get these bastards,’ shouted Kalet, his warlords drawing swords they should not have been wearing under their flowing robes but which I thanked the gods for. He and his half a dozen lords ran at a group of female murderers, slashing and hacking with their swords, killing two immediately and forcing the others to flee. Malik’s men joined them, black-clad killers chasing white-veiled assassins. Around us was carnage, the king and queen of Sakastan lay dead, and lying around and on tables were the dead bodies of the kingdom’s most important lords and officials.

  I heard a gurgling sound and turned to see Praxima and Eszter each holding the arm of a woman I recognised. Indira! The sister of Spada who had fought my wife at Dura and whom I had released afterwards. How I regretted that now. Nearby were two of her comrades, both dead from knife wounds. Gallia had grabbed Indira’s hair, yanked it back before slitting her throat, the woman from Persis dying as blood shot from her neck in a hideous but satisfying spectacle.

  Prince Pacorus was standing defiantly in front of his shocked mother and father, bloody knife in hand and eyes filled with wrath.

  ‘Get the women out of here,’ I told him.

  Gallia kicked the lifeless body of Indira to the ground.

  ‘The women are going nowhere. Defend the king.’

  Salar, ashen faced and shaking, was staring at the bodies of his parents, Isabella clinging to him for dear life. Rasha and Spartacus, having killed three assassins and armed themselves with their weapons, were beside the new rulers of Sakastan. Spartacus looked at me.

  ‘We should go, uncle, back to the palace.’

  ‘Where are the guards?’ murmured Salar forlornly.

  Where indeed? But there was no time to ponder that question so I ushered everyone towards the entrance to the compound, checking to see Gallia and my daughters were present. They were all covered in blood, thankfully not their own. But their appearance was fitting for the foul desecration that had taken place and which would be avenged. But not today.

  The guests, those still living, had fled and an eerie quiet had descended on the scene of slaughter. Where before there had been laughter and joy, there was now death, gore and the sound of buzzing flies. No matter where I had fought there had always been swarms of flies after the killing to gorge on the dead.

  I walked back with my head down, in front of me my wife, children and friends hastening to leave this place of dead flesh.

  ‘My lord, beware.’

  I heard the voice, spun and saw a hate-filled visage before me and a dagger being thrust at my face. I brought up my own knife to block the blow but there would not be time. The world seemed to slow as I beheld my death and then saw the body of the female assassin crumple before me, hit by a spear with such force that it flung her back, away from me. Everyone stopped and ran back to me as the assassin shuddered and then died, the blade of the spear having gone clean through her body and out through her back.

  The athletic Vima appeared beside me. ‘Are you hurt, lord?’

  ‘That was some spear throw,’ said Gafarn admiringly.

  ‘We are in your debt, sir,’ smiled Gallia, who looked like a demon just arisen from the underworld with her blood-splattered dress, arms and hair.

  ‘I owe you my life,’ I told him.

  He smiled. ‘We should get everyone out of here.’

  We needed no second prompting and hurried from the compound, passing slaughtered guards when we had exited. Clearly the attack had been carefully planned and executed. I prayed that the assassins who still lived had been apprehended by Kalet and the Agraci. But when we reached the sanctuary of the palace, a phalanx of guards from the fortress having joined up with us beforehand, two questions filled my mind. Who had ordered the attack, and how did Vima, a spice trader, learn how to use a spear so expertly?

  Chapter 5

  We burned the bodies of Peroz and Roxanne side by side on a huge pyre outside the city, by the river, so the people of Sigal could pay their respects to their murdered rulers. I and the other kings brought their soldiers into the city to supplement the garrison, which had lost its king, commander and head of the kingdom’s army. Sorrow mixed with dread infested the city, made worse by the knowledge that the most high-ranking officials in the kingdom had been slaughtered at the wedding, along with their wives. Now all eyes turned to the new rulers, who were both barely out of their teens. At the cremation Salar and Isabella clung to each other like frightened and overawed children.

  Afterwards the city was placed under curfew and we organised patrols to quell any disturbances and reassure Sigal’s inhabitants that their city was not about to be engulfed by veiled female assassins. For good measure, I got Salar to issue a decree forbidding the wearing of veils within Sigal’s environs for the foreseeable future.

  He sat on his father’s throne in the fortress’ great hall and fidgeted with the crown that for some reason he was reluctant to put on his head. Perhaps he thought he was not worthy to wear it. More likely he was still grieving and was not thinking clearly. But clear minds had to swing into action for I was certain the carnage at the wedding was just the precursor to more violence.

  ‘Well. What now?’

  Gafarn’s voice echoed around the high-ceilinged chamber.

  ‘We hunted down and killed all those murdering bitches,’ said Kalet proudly.

  Gallia gave him a warm smile. Like Praxima and Rasha she had discarded the dress she had worn for the wedding and was attired for war: boots, leggings, white tunic and a sword belt round her waist.

  ‘Perhaps we should have taken one alive,’ mused Malik. He saw Kalet’s frowning face. ‘To try to get information regarding who ordered the attack.’

  ‘My uncle,’ said Salar quietly, ‘who else would want my father and mother dead?’

  Spartacus clapped his hands together. ‘Well, then, we march on Carmania. How many soldiers can you raise, Salar?’

  The young king, not yet officially proclaimed as such, opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked at Isabella sitting next to him but she could offer no advice.

  ‘Perhaps I might counsel caution at this juncture,’ I interrupted. ‘We do not yet know the full facts. There is no proof Phanes ordered this attack.’

  ‘He did,’ stated Salar flatly.

  Spartacus pointed at him. ‘That’s all the confirmation I need.’

  ‘I will castrate Phanes myself,’ threatened Rasha, earning her a grin from Malik and Kalet.

  ‘Well said,’ shouted Praxima.

  ‘Who commands Sakastan’s army?’ asked Nergal.

  It was a good question and one to which Salar had no answer. Agbar was dead, as was the army’s commander. Salar was physically wilting under the strain of it all.

  ‘Who is the most senior commander left?’ I asked him. ‘Think!’

  He jumped when I spat the last word at him but he at least focused on something and after half a minute gave me an answer.

  ‘Shapur. He is the commander of the army’s elephants.’

  ‘Send for him,’ I said, ‘he at least will be able to give us an accurate account of your army’s capabilities.’

  The doors of the chamber had been closed but we all turned when raised voices were heard in the hall outside. One of the doors opened and an officer entered, ran up to the dais and bowed to Salar.

  ‘Forgive me, highness, but there is a man outside by the name of Talib who is demanding to be admitted to the throne room.’

  ‘He is my chief scout,’ I said.

  ‘Let him in,’ ordered Salar. ‘And send word to Lord Shapur that he is to attend us immediately.’

  The officer bowed, scurried back to the door and left the chamber, a dust-covered Talib entering a few seconds later.

  ‘Idiot,’ he spat as the door was closed.

  He sauntered over to me and bowed, but before he could speak I pointed at Salar on his throne.

  ‘This is the hall of King Salar of Sakastan, Talib, make your report to him.’

  Talib, used to being given a long leash in Dura’s army, gave Salar a bemused look. But Byrd, who had been observing events in silence, nodded to his protégé. Talib shrugged and bowed to Salar.

  ‘We reconnoitred to the north, majesty, the gossip we picked up from caravans and locals leading us towards the Dasht-I Nawar. There we discovered thousands of horsemen watering their horses, a great gathering of banners showing winged horses and deer.’

  Salar closed his eyes. ‘The combined armies of Aria and Drangiana.’

  He opened them and looked at us. ‘The Dasht-I Nawar is a great lake that is surrounded by smaller lakes and wetlands. The winged horse is the symbol of Drangiana and the deer is the symbol of Aria.’

  ‘How far away?’ I asked.

  ‘Two hundred and fifty miles,’ came the reply.

  ‘They can be here in eight days,’ said Gafarn, darkening the mood in the hall.

  ‘What about Carmania?’ asked Nergal.

  A sense of dread enveloped me. With an army massed to the north and Phanes’ kingdom to the south, Sakastan was in danger of being crushed between the two if both forces attacked.

  ‘What is the state of your army?’ I demanded of Salar.

  He looked at me, at Isabella and at Gallia as he desperately racked his brains. He was about to speak when the doors of the chamber opened and an officer entered, helmet in the crook of his arm and sword dangling by his side. All eyes turned towards him, which might have overawed many, but he continued to march purposely towards the dais, snapping to attention before his king and queen. Salar looked mightily relieved.

  ‘Lord Shapur, we are glad to see you.’

  I walked over to Salar and stood by his side, the tall, stick-thin officer in a simple yellow tunic and leggings ignoring me as he waited for orders from his king.

  ‘This is Lord Shapur,’ Salar announced to everyone, ‘the commander of the elephant corps.’

  Kalet sniggered and Spartacus rolled his eyes. They had both heard of my rout of Porus’ elephants in battle many years ago, a clash won by a swineherd thanks to the quick-thinking Lucius Domitus. They may have scoffed at the idea of elephants on the battlefield but I knew that Sakastan and the kingdoms east of the Indus saw a use for the tusked giants in combat.

  ‘You will be aware that the commander of the king’s guard and head of Sakastan’s army have been murdered,’ I said to Shapur.

  He continued to look at Salar, who nodded.

  ‘I am aware, majesty. I live to avenge their deaths.’

  ‘You won’t have to wait long,’ said Kalet.

  I looked daggers at my seditious lord.

  ‘The army needs a new commander,’ I said.

  ‘We have decided to appoint you to this position,’ Salar said to Shapur.

  The elephant commander opened his eyes in surprise but regained his composure in an instant.

  ‘Thank you, majesty. When do we march?’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ applauded Kalet.

  Salar appeared delighted by his commander’s bullish attitude and gripped his new wife’s hand. Isabella gave Shapur a beautiful smile.

  ‘Perhaps you could give us a short summary of the state of Sakastan’s army,’ I suggested, ‘as I and the other kings present are ignorant concerning its strengths and weaknesses.’

  ‘It has no weaknesses,’ Shapur shot back.

  Even I had to smile. This man who looked like a strong wind could break him in two was not only bullish, he was positively arrogant. Even the dour Byrd allowed the semblance of a smile to crease his lips.

  ‘Stand beside me, Lord Shapur,’ said Salar, ‘so you may address the kings more conveniently.’

  He needed no second invitation, stepping onto the dais and regarding all of us with his dark brown eyes. His face and arms were almost black from exposure to the sun, unlike the more olive-skinned Salar and Isabella.

  ‘The camel corps consists of a hundred elephants, each beast having a guard of twenty spearmen and slingers.’

  ‘That many guards?’ Gafarn was surprised.

  Shapur cast me a glance. ‘Several years ago, majesty, the kingdom’s elephants were discomfited by pigs. The slingers were introduced to ensure that any pigs will be killed long before their squeals reach the ears of the elephants.’