‘Surely,’ I continued, ‘as both Media and Hatra will benefit from the bridge, both should share the costs, which I assumed were considerable. It looks a very sturdy bridge. And it will expedite the crossing of the army over the Tigris greatly.’

  Gafarn rolled his eyes. ‘We will pay half, as our illustrious Roman friend desires, if only to shut his king up.’

  Gafarn suddenly stopped to face me.

  ‘That reminds me, my treasurer informed me before you arrived, Pacorus, that he had an official approach from Lord Aaron at Dura, your own treasurer, concerning the purchase of Duran grain.’

  I knew what was coming but feigned innocence.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The price quoted was a third higher than the grain normally purchased from Media,’ continued Gafarn, ‘which is interesting as Media’s recent troubles mean its exports will be markedly reduced this year. One might think Dura is taking advantage of Media’s misfortune.’

  ‘It is a seller’s market, or so Aaron told me,’ I replied.

  ‘I always wondered why Dura’s palace was sited atop a rock escarpment,’ mused Gafarn, ‘and now I know.’

  ‘Please enlighten us,’ said Diana.

  ‘It is quite simple, my dear,’ he told his wife, ‘it is so the treasury vaults can be dug deep to accommodate all the gold that Dura exhorts from other kingdoms.’

  ‘I preferred it when you were laid up at Hatra with a bad leg,’ I told him.

  Assur was a somewhat bleak mud-brick stronghold, which had been substantially strengthened when Hatra and Media had not been allies. Its layout took advantage of the Tigris that protected two sides of the city and there was a moat that covered the other two sides. Behind this water obstacle on the landward side was a double wall, the space in between filled with buildings to house troops of the garrison. On top of the outer wall was a parapet protected by battlements, the latter containing narrow slits from where archers could shoot down on attackers below. But the only people who occupied the spaces beyond the city wall were the drivers and guards of the camel caravans on their way to Hatra and on to Syria.

  At least it was spring, which meant the current of the Tigris was rapid, because in the autumn and winter when its brown waters meandered slowly south, the stench from the river could be overpowering, a result of the city authorities using it as a giant sewer. But the builders of the governor’s mansion had also taken advantage of the Tigris to tap into it upstream to bring fresh water to the building via grooves in the paved floor. Thus, the kitchens, latrines and private chambers had fresh water, and other tiled channels beneath the floors carried wastewater to the city’s sewer and thence to the nearby Tigris.

  My whole body was aching as I removed my dust-covered clothes to ease myself into the large round bath sunk in the floor. It had been filled by slaves and had a plug to take away the water after we had bathed in it. Gallia joined me, and we closed our eyes as female slaves massaged our heads, necks and shoulders with oils. Slowly the hours in the saddle were eased away and my mind and body became relaxed and free of worry.

  ‘So, we have a Roman bridge across the Tigris.’

  I opened my eyes and looked at Gallia, the slave using the ends of her fingers to gently massage her blonde locks.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘The pontoon bridge over the Tigris built by Lucius. I was just thinking of Dobbai.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Do you remember her letter that accompanied the griffin banner she sent to you, when we were at Hatra?’

  I did not. ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘She was so perceptive and wise,’ she said wistfully.

  I thought of Dobbai’s barb tongue. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘She said your fate would be bound up with the Romans and so it has proved. Your foot soldiers mimic those of Rome, they and your horsemen sleep in a Roman camp when on campaign and a Roman trained your army. I was just thinking about him, Domitus I mean. Remember when we were trapped in this city and he saved us?’

  ‘Like it was yesterday.’

  ‘I miss them, Pacorus, all our old friends that have died. It seems like we are being kept alive so we may witness the passing of those we are closest to. We should have died at Irbil but instead Rasha fell, and at Ctesiphon when Phraates lost his crown and had to flee, Nergal and Praxima died. And at Irbil we were given armour that could defeat all weapons.’

  ‘If you try to fathom the minds of the gods you will go insane,’ I said. ‘The only thing we can do is remain steadfast in our aims.’

  ‘Which are what?’

  ‘To keep Parthia free and strong so it may determine its own destiny.’

  After we had bathed, been massaged and had slept, we were woken by an apologetic steward who informed us Lucius Varsas had arrived at the palace and was desirous of an audience. Refreshed and wearing clean clothes, we made our way to the audience chamber where we found him pacing up and down, helmet in the crook of his arm. From a distance he looked like Domitus with his cropped hair and shaven face, though my quartermaster general was taller and not as solid.

  ‘You look like a sentry,’ I told him.

  He turned, snapped to attention and bowed his head.

  ‘It is good to see you, Lucius,’ I said, ‘and my compliments on the pontoon bridge. I look forward to seeing Irbil’s new perimeter wall.’

  He wore a most severe countenance and when he spoke I understood why.

  ‘The wall is not the only thing you will see at Irbil, majesty. King of Kings Phraates is in the city.’

  Chapter 6

  I harboured hopes Phraates would mature to become like his father: a good, just high king who dedicated his life to the service of the empire. In retrospect, I was naïve to believe that anyone could live up to the example that Orodes had set. In the aftermath of the defeat of Tiridates, when Phraates had been grateful to Dura, Hatra and Gordyene for saving not only his rule but also his skin, he had shown magnanimity and gratitude, and had taken my advice regarding making King Ali Lord High General of the Empire and appointing Silani to the vacant throne of Persis. But I had forgotten Claudia’s warning that Phraates had a malicious and scheming nature, or perhaps I had hoped that with age and experience the baser aspects of his nature would disappear. How wrong I was.

  The news that Phraates was in Irbil was greeted with pained expressions and heavy sighs. Gafarn and I had liaised closely with Akmon regarding the march of the army through his kingdom to the Araxes River, assuring him there would be no destruction of crops or property, and urging him to remain in his capital. There was little point in fighting for the security of his reign if he himself fell in battle in Armenia. He had agreed to the transit of the army through his realm but had remained silent regarding staying in his kingdom.

  When we crossed over the Tigris we struck northeast, which would take us past Irbil, so there was no possibility of avoiding Phraates, not unless he left the city before we arrived. But, as Gafarn pointed out, why would he leave before we arrived as his visit was intended purely to intercept us before we reached the Armenian border? And it would be impossible to meet with Akmon and Lusin without greeting Phraates.

  ‘He will be like a viper in a tent,’ said Malik, ‘an unwelcome visitor but impossible to ignore.’

  One of the things, among many, that annoyed me about Phraates was his ability to bring out the petulant and childish side of individuals, and I was not immune to this. Four days after crossing the Tigris we approached Irbil and I ordered every Duran cataphract to wear his scale armour and full-face armour, shoulder a kontus and ensure his horse was fully covered with armour. Similarly, the legionaries were ordered to march in full equipment rather than carrying their shields and furcas on their backs and helmets hanging from their belts. Not to be outdone, Gafarn ordered all his cataphracts and squires to march as on a parade, complete with white plumes and companies of horse archers carrying a profusion of horse head banners. And to add to the display I heard a sound that made my blood boil, an irritating thumping sound making me swing in the saddle. Gafarn beside me grinned like an impish child.

  ‘Please tell me that is not what I think it is.’

  Another impish smirk. ‘Hatra’s first kettledrummers, and I have to say they sound magnificent.’

  The dirge was like a woodpecker tapping at my skull. I caught sight of Irbil’s citadel in the distance and my heart sank further. Boom, boom, boom. Shamash give me strength, I knew this day would be long and arduous.

  ‘Dura should get itself a corps of kettledrummers,’ said Gafarn, strumming his fingers on one of the front horns of his saddle to the rhythm of his mounted musicians, ‘they are rather invigorating.’

  ‘That is one word for it,’ I groaned.

  Fortunately, we left the column before my headache got worse to head towards the city; the same city Gallia and I had been trapped in the year before. Then a simple ditch, earth bank and wooden wall surrounded Irbil, but now the defences looked much more impressive. Lucius, who accompanied us on our visit, explained that the mud-brick wall that would eventually surround the city was as yet unfinished, but by the end of the year would be completed. The western gates into the city, the same portal Gallia and I had defended when Atrax had attacked the city, had been considerably strengthened. The ditch in front of the gates had been widened and made deeper, sharpened stakes decorating its base, while the drawbridge over it could be raised and lowered by chains operated by soldiers in the impressive gatehouse. Soldiers in blue tunics eyed us through narrow slits in the walls above, archers I assumed. On the other side of the drawbridge an imposing figure wearing shining armour sat on his horse at the head of a party of cataphracts, a huge blue plume atop his open-faced helmet. He nudged his horse forward, which trotted over the bridge before halting in front of us. General Joro, scion of an ancient Median family and head of the kingdom’s army, such as it was, bowed his head.

  ‘Welcome to Irbil, majesties, King Akmon is eager to see you all. If you would follow me.’

  He showed no trace of emotion when he spotted the black-robed figure of Malik among us and I wondered what a very traditional Parthian made of an Agraci king entering the capital of one of the oldest kingdoms in the empire. But Joro was a professional and he would never debase his position with unseemly behaviour. I urged Horns ahead to draw level with the general as we rode through the city. There were no longer any tents housing refugees behind the walls on the city side.

  ‘The villagers have returned to their homes, I see.’

  ‘Yes, majesty, the north of the kingdom is returning to some sort of normality at last. That was why the king was so aggrieved to learn the Armenians are planning a fresh invasion.’

  ‘There will be no fresh invasion, or any future invasion, be assured.’

  His worry-lined face cracked a smile. ‘That is good to hear, majesty.’

  Irbil also looked to be on the road to recovery, its streets packed with people and its shops doing a brisk trade, those I saw anyway. At the citadel, the walled stronghold atop the stone mound in the centre of the city, it was more peaceful, a guard of honour lining the ramp that led to the huge gatehouse on the mound’s southern side. I recognised the palace guard I had fought beside to defend the city the year before: soldiers in helmets with large cheek guards and neck protectors wearing short-sleeved scale-armour tunics and carrying large oval shields faced with hide painted black and sporting a white dragon motif. A huge dragon banner fluttered from the gatehouse, alongside the flags of the kingdoms Phraates ruled: one showing the horned bull of Babylon, the other an eagle clutching a snake in its talons – the emblem of Susiana.

  Gafarn pointed at the latter. ‘If Susiana’s banner was redesigned to show Phraates being held in an eagle’s talons, do you think everyone would understand what it meant?’

  Gallia laughed but I was not in a humorous mood.

  ‘Try not to make this more uncomfortable than it already is, Gafarn.’

  The citadel stood in stark contrast to the bustle and energy of the city that surrounded it; its narrow streets and alleyways largely empty save for white-robed priests and servants going about their business. It was the home of the king, his wealthiest and most powerful nobles, and the Temple of Shamash, the home of the Sun God. The royal palace a short walk from the temple was enclosed by a wall and contained stables, barracks and storerooms, as well as the king and queen’s living quarters. When we rode into the courtyard I saw an honour guard of Median cataphracts commanded by Joro’s son and a line of Babylonian Guards – big, powerful men sitting on large horses wearing purple leggings and tunics and dragon-skin armour comprising a leather vest covered with overlapping silver plates protecting their torsos. Their burnished steel helmets sported purple plumes and their purple saddlecloths were edged with gold with golden bulls stitched in each corner. No expense had been spared to equip the high king’s bodyguard, which numbered five hundred men, each one armed with a lance, bow, sword and long knife. The trumpeters played a fanfare and slaves walked forward to take our reins after we had halted and dismounted, my gaze being drawn to the figure of the high king at the top of the palace steps. Now broad shouldered and tall like his father, he wore a purple silk robe fastened at the waist by a wide leather belt with gold stitching, on his feet a pair of purple leather boots. Behind him was the strapping figure of Adapa, the commander of his bodyguard, previously Adapa the leper and social outcast, condemned to wander the earth shunned by all, until Claudia had intervened in his life. And now he stood at the right hand of the king of kings of the Parthia Empire. Such is the will of the gods.

  Beside Phraates stood Akmon and Lusin, the queen looking radiant in a blue silk dress that had obviously been specially made to accommodate her bulging stomach. I wondered when she was due to give birth. Akmon, no longer the pale, lean teenager who had fled to Palmyra with his love to escape her forced marriage to the repulsive Nabu Egibi, now long dead, was a young man in his prime who had shown his kingly virtues in battle. He grinned at his grandparents – Gafarn and Diana – as we halted at the foot of the steps and bowed to Phraates, Malik doing likewise, though he was not a king of the empire.

  Phraates, all smiles, brought his hands together and walked down the steps, Akmon and Lusin following, his eyes immediately focusing on the armour cuirasses worn by me and Gallia.

  ‘So, this is the famed armour I have heard so much about. It puts that worn by my bodyguard to shame. I hear it was a gift from the gods themselves, King Pacorus.’

  ‘Exaggerated gossip, highness,’ I lied. ‘It is good to see you looking so well, and you as well, Lusin. Pregnancy suits you.’

  She was blooming, her chestnut curls more lustrous than I remembered and her cheeks rosy and healthy.

  ‘I have prayed in the Temple of Marduk at Ctesiphon that the child will be a boy,’ Phraates told us with not a trace of irony, ‘so it will grow up to be a future ruler of Media.’

  ‘We all pray for that, highness,’ said Gallia, ‘and for Akmon’s reign to be prosperous and free of usurpers.’

  Gafarn supressed a smirk but Phraates merely smiled at her, took Lusin’s hand and walked back up the steps.

  ‘Come, you all must be tired after your journey. We watched your army approach from the south from the citadel’s battlements, a most impressive sight.’

  He was all charm and disarming smiles that evening, engaging all of us in convivial conversation about nothing in particular. There was no mention of Rasha’s death, the reason why we were at Irbil, or the defeat of Prince Atrax and King Artaxias. In truth, no one had the stomach to bring these subjects up, especially as Akmon was clearly blissfully happy with his wife’s pregnancy and she in turn obviously felt at home in Media. So we talked, smiled, toasted the rulers of Media with excellent wine and feasted on a wide range of meats, cheeses, vegetables and fruits. When the evening had finished we retired to the same bedroom we had occupied during the siege of the city.

  The next morning Gallia and I took breakfast on the balcony, before us magnificent views of the city below and the Zagros Mountains in the distance. We ate only slices of melon, as our stomachs were still full from the meal the evening before, but as Gallia picked at her fare I knew something was troubling her.

  ‘He’s here for a reason,’ she said at last, ‘Phraates, I mean.’

  ‘Not here to convey his felicitations to Akmon and Lusin, then?’

  She chuckled. ‘Only if there’s something in it for him. It is a pity Claudia is not here.’

  We had been surprised our daughter, supposedly chief adviser to the high king, was not with Phraates, but he had explained that she had travelled north to the Alborz Mountains to attend a meeting of the Scythian Sisters. When I asked when she would be returning he had merely shrugged and told me Claudia had not informed him as to the date of her return.

  ‘Talking of the Scythian Sisters,’ I said casually, ‘what is Saruke doing at Dura?’

  It was easy to discern when Gallia was annoyed. Her eyebrows squeezed together and her mouth twisted slightly sideways to create a crease in her cheek, which was the facial expression she now adopted.

  ‘I hope we are not going to argue once more concerning the Amazons.’

  ‘I did not mention the Amazons.’

  ‘Don’t be clever, Pacorus, it does not suit you. As for Saruke, she is at Dura to serve Dura’s interests.’

  ‘Which are what?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘As king, I would have thought you knew them well enough.’

  A knock at the door interrupted the first rumblings of an argument.

  ‘Come,’ I shouted.

  Klietas came from the corridor, bowing his head to me and then Gallia.

  ‘Should I have your horse saddled, highborn?’

  I looked up into the sky to discern the position of the sun. It was mid-morning.

  ‘Yes, we will be leaving Irbil immediately.’

  Gallia regarded my squire for a few moments.

  ‘Are you glad to be back home, Klietas?’