‘I am once again in your debt, Vima,’ I said.

  The trader peered at the horsemen and foot soldiers of Aria and Drangiana below.

  ‘They will not stay here long, I think. We arrived just in time.’

  ‘What are your tactics, lord?’ asked Talib. ‘Even with surprise the odds against us will be heavy.’

  ‘The cover of night will even the odds,’ I told him.

  We had arrived by horse but they would be left behind in camp. It would be too dangerous to launch a mounted assault downhill in the dark, over terrain that was uneven and covered with grassy tufts.

  The day had been warm and sunny but the night was cool and breezy. The lighting of campfires had been forbidden for fear of alerting our presence to the enemy that vastly outnumbered us. So, we groomed our horses, cleaned our weapons, chewed on cured meat, drank cold water and wrapped ourselves in blankets in an effort to keep warm.

  I assembled Malik and his senior warlords and Kalet and his roguish commanders as the light faded fast. It was all a great lark for them, though I noticed that not one of them was drunk or had been drinking. Raiding and slitting throats was too serious a business to spoil with alcohol. They crouched in a circle around me and listened to my instructions, though I was careful to stress that Malik was in joint command. He too was a king.

  ‘We wait until just before dawn and then we attack. We go to kill as many as possible because the more we slay here the less will be marching south to Sigal.’

  I looked at Kalet and his comrades. ‘Leave anything that might make a noise in camp. I don’t want forty thousand men waiting for us.’

  They grumbled in umbrage and a swarthy one with a facial scar that made mine look like a scratch took exception.

  ‘We know how to creep up on an enemy, lord, we have been doing it for decades.’

  ‘You should come with us on a raid against Syria,’ said another. ‘We are in and out before anyone notices.’

  They and the Agraci laughed. I held up a hand.

  ‘You have been raiding Syria?’

  Kalet sought to soothe my concern. ‘One stretch of desert looks very similar to another, lord, it’s easy to stray over the border.’

  ‘I will lay aside the fact that each and every one of you has a detailed knowledge of the Syrian desert,’ I said, ‘but here and now I expressly forbid any raiding of Roman Syria. Having just fought a hard campaign against the Romans I do not want to provoke them into another war over a few thieved goats.’

  ‘I resent that, lord,’ complained scar-face. ‘I would never cross the border just for goats. Horses, yes.’

  The others laughed. They were incorrigible.

  ‘We will speak of this when we get back to Dura,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, may Shamash be with you all.’

  Scar-face gave me an evil grin and Kalet rubbed his hands. Malik remained as the group dispersed, placing an arm around my shoulder.

  ‘You know what they are like, Pacorus. Wild and untamed, like the land they inhabit. I have no doubt that some of my lords also raid the Romans.’

  ‘And you do not mind?’

  He shrugged. ‘The Agraci have always raided, it is in our blood. And now that we have the friendship of Dura the Romans are reluctant to launch reprisals against us. Besides, the trade route through Palmyra benefits Rome as well as Parthia. Why would they cut off their noses to spite their faces?’

  ‘What if a delegation from Damascus arrived at Palmyra demanding restitution?’

  ‘I would ask for proof that it was the Agraci who thieved the goods,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, they won’t do that?’

  ‘Oh, why not?’

  He smiled. ‘Byrd, acting on my behalf, is negotiating with the Romans concerning hiring their stonemasons to construct some buildings in Palmyra. It will be a lucrative contract. They will not want to jeopardise it.’

  I shared his joy. Years ago, I had told his father, Haytham, that one day Palmyra would be a city of stone. He had dismissed the idea but his son was about to make the prophecy real. I prayed that I would live to see the day when the first stone was laid.

  I was kneeling on the ground with my eyes closed, praying to Shamash while clutching the lock of Gallia’s hair just before we moved out of camp. When I opened my eyes and stood, I was aware of someone behind me. I turned, squinted and recognised Vima holding his horse’s reins.

  ‘I will take my leave now, majesty.’

  I offered him my hand. He was surprised but took it.

  ‘I have never shaken the hand of a king before.’

  His grip was firm, determined.

  ‘I am a man thanking another man for saving his life and giving me a great gift.’

  ‘Gift?’

  ‘Victory,’ I said, ‘for the enemy below is like a helpless lamb and we are wolves.’

  Every tenth man remained in camp to tend the horses and provide a small reserve should we need to retreat quickly. Only a few of Kalet’s men carried bows, including myself, most being armed with swords and daggers. The Agraci also favoured daggers, wicked curved swords and small round shields painted black. They also dressed in black and brown hues, as did my lords, their clothes blending into the gloom and thus masking their approach to the enemy camp.

  ‘You had better stick with us, lord,’ suggested Kalet just before we left camp. ‘Don’t want you getting lost on the way down.’

  ‘Us’ comprised Kalet, his brother, brother-in-law, uncle and a nephew who looked too young to be carrying a sword. My chief lord noticed my reservation.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, lord, he’s deadly with a knife.’

  The bleak mountains were half-visible in the pre-dawn light as we crept down the slope towards the tent city below. Every sword was in its scabbard and every knife in its sheath as two and half thousand men walked briskly down the grassy hill, spread out in a long line as far as the eye could see. There was no joking, talking or peering around as each man focused on his task, which was to cover the ground to the camp in silence.

  As we got closer the tension increased, my heart pounding in my chest at the thought we would be discovered. The temptation in such a situation is to start running but even as the dawn was breaking to do so risked losing one’s footing on the uneven surface. When we reached the bottom of the hill the pace increased slightly. We were now only two hundred paces from the camp perimeter, a sea of tents filling our vision as we crouched low to make ourselves as small as possible. I shivered when I saw figures leaning against spear shafts – cold and hungry guards more interested in their own discomfort than keeping watch.

  The transition from night to day always seemed to dull men’s senses and now we took full advantage of the brief lethargy. I stopped, pulled an arrow from a quiver that had been tightly packed with missiles to prevent them making a noise during the advance, nocked it in my bowstring and focused on the guard. I inhaled as I drew back the sinew, exhaled and let the bowstring slip through my fingers. There was a sharp twang, the guard looked up and then collapsed when the arrow struck him.

  ‘Move!’ hissed Kalet.

  We fast-paced across the stretch of ground between our starting position and the tents, men drawing weapons as they closed on the enemy camp. And then we were among the foe.

  Men darted into tents to stab and hack with frenzy at sleeping men, the screams and cries of wounded and dying shattering the silence that had hung over the camp. I shot a man armed with a spear springing from a tent, and another following him carrying a sword. On we went, Durans shouting in triumph as they tossed firebrands into tents and released horses tethered to temporary stalls, the beasts scattering in all directions to sow further discord.

  Trumpets and drums sounded. The enemy was now awake and attempting to rally. I sprinted forward, Kalet and his relations by my side. I spotted a man bellowing orders to a rapidly forming line of archers. I halted, aimed my bow and shot him in the chest. I reloaded and shot one of the stunned archers, then a second and a third before Kalet and his men were among them, slashing left and right with their swords to cut down the archers. He whooped with joy as he butchered the last bowman.

  Tents erupted in flames around us as the camp became a maelstrom of sound and confusion. Arrows were now flying through the air as the enemy began to rally and isolated groups of dismounted horse archers formed themselves into units to battle us. It was light now and a northerly wind had picked up, fanning flames and sending sparks and burning embers into the air to ignite straw and other tents. This in turn terrified horses that broke free and scattered in all directions. One ran past on fire, Kalet throwing himself aside to avoid being trampled. When the horse had passed we faced half a dozen fully armed spearmen carrying shields and wearing helmets. The shields carried the emblems of a deer – men from Aria.

  One jabbed his spear into the shoulder of Kalet’s brother-in-law, another tried to stab his brother in the chest but his nephew was quicker and threw his knife to hit the spearman in the throat. He dropped his spear, clutched at his throat and fell to the ground. I released my bowstring and sent an arrow through the eye socket of the soldier on the end of the line, nocked another arrow and shot that one through a spearman’s wicker shield to pierce his chest. Kalet cut down a fourth enemy whereupon the other two decided discretion was the better part of valour and retreated, keeping their shields up and their spears levelled.

  ‘Time to go,’ shouted Kalet, putting an arm around his brother-in-law.

  I agreed, stringing another arrow and felling one of the two surviving spearmen.

  Kalet’s young nephew dashed forward, retrieved his knife and then joined us as we fell back through burning tents, carts, supplies and dead bodies. Kalet cuffed him round the ear.

  ‘Sound the signal and stop pissing about.’

  The youth pulled a bone horn from his black tunic and blew it.

  ‘Again,’ ordered Kalet.

  He sounded the horn three more times as we picked up the pace to reach the eastern perimeter of the camp. The air was now filled with grey smoke that stung our eyes and choked our lungs, but at least it added to the chaos enveloping the enemy. Groups of Agraci and Durans gathered briefly at the perimeter before racing back to the hill, men looking back to see if there was any pursuit. There was none.

  When we reached the crest of the hill my lungs were on fire. Kalet slapped me on the back.

  ‘Feeling your age, lord?’

  ‘I have not had the benefit of your rustling practice,’ I shot back.

  He grinned and peered back at the camp below, now wreathed in thick grey smoke that also masked a large part of the lake.

  ‘Now that is a grand sight.’

  I had to agree and once I caught my breath I walked among the lords and their family members and retainers to convey my thanks. They forgot I was a king and slapped me on the back, embraced me and offered me waterskins filled with wine! The way they could seemingly magic alcohol out of thin air was truly amazing. More good news awaited us back in camp where Malik, not a scratch on him, was waiting with his warlords. I embraced my friend and we stood like mischievous children, grinning at each other while around us Durans and Agraci swapped stories about how many enemy soldiers they had killed. They were ecstatic, I was ecstatic but Talib brought me back to reality.

  ‘We must leave immediately, lord, the enemy will soon be despatching horsemen to hunt us down.’

  The wounded were strapped to their horses no matter the seriousness of their injuries. Some had only gashes and cuts; others had belly wounds. But the best that could be done was to bind their wounds, help them into the saddle and give their reins to a colleague who would lead their horse. It was fortunate that Parthian saddles were constructed around a wooden frame with four horns: two at the front and two at the back, all of them wrapped with bronze plates and padded. Thus, when a rider sat in the leather saddle he or she was held firmly in place by the horns, allowing him or her to turn to shoot a bow without fear of falling off. At least the wounded would not topple from the saddle, even if they passed out, though they might expire from loss of blood during the journey.

  We retraced our steps, Talib, his scouts and those men who had been left behind in camp to guard the horses forming a rearguard to keep watch for any pursuers. We set a cruel pace, pushing our horses hard to put as much distance between us and any enemy as possible. It was midday, the sun high above us in a clear blue sky, when we called the first halt. Tired, sweating men jumped down from their saddles to give their panting horses water from their waterskins before leading the beast on foot after a short break.

  I walked beside Malik, specs of blood on his robes, though fortunately not his own.

  ‘Where is the trader, dead?’

  ‘Vima? He left before our attack.’

  ‘To go back to Sigal?’

  I did not know. ‘Wherever he is I pray he is safe. He did us a great favour today.’

  Malik said nothing.

  ‘You disagree?’

  ‘He saved your life and guided us to a place from where we could launch a devastating attack on an enemy. But something tells me our merchant friend is not all he appears. It is like an itch I cannot scratch.’

  ‘If he had intended us ill he would have made his move by now, my friend. When I return to Sigal I will give thanks in the temple for his services.’

  We made it back to Sigal unmolested by the enemy, Talib preceding us to spread word of our great success. He must have embellished the tale because we returned to wild rumours that we had butchered over forty thousand men at the great lake, which was now red on account of the volume of Arian and Drangianan blood that had been poured into it.

  Our tired but jubilant column rode into Sigal to a rapturous reception, cheering crowds held back by the city garrison as we threaded our way through adulation to the fortress where a transformed Salar officially welcomed us back. A radiant Isabella stood on one side of the king and Gallia on the other in mail armour, Amazons forming a guard of honour in the courtyard. With my wife were Jamal, Eszter and Diana, visions of beauty and poise. The only one not beaming with delight was Claudia, who stood with a smug expression on her face. When I had left Sigal had been drenched in defeat and doom but now it bristled with defiance and certainty.

  Salar’s yellow-uniformed bodyguard snapped to attention as the king and queen descended the stone steps to receive us, slaves taking our horses to the stables.

  ‘Welcome back, father,’ said a beaming Salar. ‘You are most welcome.’

  He walked over to Malik. ‘Great king, Sakastan is in your debt.’

  Everyone seemed to be smiling, including Gallia who embraced me long and fondly.

  ‘I must go away more often,’ I teased.

  ‘Yesterday we received news that Phanes refused battle in the south and has fled back to Puta with his tail between his legs.’

  Now I beamed with delight. ‘This day gets better and better.’

  It was a happy reunion and the elixir of victory washed away exhaustion and eased tired limbs. Salar, now looking every inch a king, invited us all to a great banquet to celebrate the double success. Only Claudia seemed detached from the celebratory atmosphere.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ I asked her.

  ‘I need to speak to you about a most urgent matter, father.’

  Chapter 6

  The other kings and the army of Sakastan returned two days later, to a wild reception. The elephants led the procession into the city, their steel-encased tusks glinting in the sun and their foot guards carrying yellow and red flags. Several of the beasts raised their trunks and roared, though with anger or delight I could not tell. The cataphracts positively glistened in the sunlight and as ever Prince Pacorus and Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard looked magnificent in their scale armour and white-plumed helmets. In a nice touch both Pacorus and Azad had allowed the squires to ride into Sigal in scale armour, following their participation in the ‘great victory’ over Phanes. In a magnanimous gesture, Nergal, Spartacus and Gafarn threw captured peacock banners at the feet of Salar and Isabella in the fortress’ courtyard. The King of Sakastan wanted to hang them on the wall of one of the palace’s corridors, no doubt thinking that he would add to his collection of captured standards in the years to come, but Claudia told him that to have enemy emblems hanging on his walls would bring bad luck and she told him to burn them forthwith.

  My eldest daughter summoned me to the fortress battlements the day after the great feast to celebrate the twin victories derided by Claudia.

  ‘Salar should concentrate on reinforcing his defences instead of inflating the pride of the kings and queens that have travelled to Sigal.’

  ‘I hope you are not including me in that group.’

  She turned from me and walked along the battlements. It was late and the night was cool and clear, the sky filled with twinkling stars. Guards kept watch in towers at either end of the rampart we walked along but there was no one to disturb us. Below the walls was the sprawl of the city and beyond the great silver streak that was the River Erymanthus. Claudia was dressed entirely in black, her high cheekbones highlighted in the moonlight to give her a slightly savage appearance.

  ‘What do you see, father?’

  I looked around. ‘A fortress, a city and beyond that a river.’

  ‘Turn your gaze away from the realm of men.’

  She was staring into the sparkling sky and at one star in particular, one brighter and larger than the rest.

  ‘The evening star.’

  She shot me a rebuking glare. ‘The Goddess Ninsi-Anna, you mean, the holy torch who fills the heavens, the radiant goddess whose light fills heaven and earth. The goddess of certainty and true direction. Travellers have availed themselves of her services for centuries to find their way.’

  ‘Indeed,’ I said, somewhat humbled.

  ‘While you were away the goddess disappeared from the heavens,’ she told me, ‘only to reappear after two days.’