Only when the army and its civilian servants were safely in camp could I finally relax. After a change of clothes and a meal my limbs and eyelids felt like lead and I had to lie down to sleep. Younger men can do without sleep for a night and a day but I was no longer a young buck. Neither did Gallia have unlimited reserves of energy, though she was loath to admit it. She joined me in our cot, though she insisted she did so only to provide me with body warmth after my immersion in the Araxes the previous night. When I reminded her that she too had carried out a river crossing, she put a finger to my lips and told me to get some sleep. I needed no second prompting but after what seemed to be less than a minute of blissful slumber, I was woken by the sound of Azad’s voice.

  ‘The king and queen are resting,’ I heard Klietas say.

  Azad muttered something under his breath I could not hear.

  ‘Can I offer you some wine, general?’ asked Klietas.

  I raised myself up, swung my legs off the cot and stood, shaking my head to clear the drowsiness. I walked into the reception area of the tent and Azad bowed his head.

  ‘How long have I been asleep?’ I asked Klietas.

  ‘Two hours, highborn.’

  ‘That long?’

  I walked over to a bronze bowl on a stand, filled it with water and washed my face, Klietas handing me a towel.

  ‘How can I help you, general?’

  Klietas filled two cups with wine, handed me one and the other to Azad. We toasted each other.

  ‘I thank the gods we are alive and still have all our body parts.’

  Azad beamed. ‘As one gets older, that becomes more and more important. I have someone who might be of interest to you?’

  I gestured for him to take a seat and sat myself down.

  ‘When we hit their left flank, the Armenians sent in their cataphracts to support their foot soldiers. But their foot soldiers, just farmers, really, panicked, turned tail and ran straight into their own horsemen. We took advantage of the ensuing chaos to inflict many casualties. We also took some prisoners.’

  My interest was pricked. ‘Oh?’

  ‘One of them was a lord called Vahan.’

  The name meant nothing to me.

  ‘He is the son of General Geghard, commander of the Armenian army, majesty, and he is very free with his tongue. He has some interesting information you should hear.’

  How strange is fate and the lives of men, which are entwined like the strands of a rope, one woven by the hands of the gods. Some would dismiss the capture of the son of Geghard as a mere coincidence, with nothing to do with the gods or destiny. But I believed the immortals to be at work when the young man with a heavy brow and black hair and beard was brought before us later, Gallia having roused from her slumbers, washed and changed her clothes. He was tall and handsome in a sort of intimidating manner, with broad shoulders and a slightly haughty manner, even in captivity. I offered him a seat and commanded Klietas to serve him wine in an attempt to put him at ease. Azad stood behind him and Chrestus, whom I had invited to attend, stood next to my commander of cataphracts.

  ‘I assume you will be handing me over to King Spartacus,’ he said in Greek, his eyes studying Gallia’s face and hair.

  ‘Why would you assume that?’ I asked.

  Vahan sipped at his wine, his eyes registering surprise when he discovered it was not vinegar.

  ‘We have fine wines in Parthia,’ Gallia told him, ‘and we are not barbarians. We certainly do not prostitute our own daughters in Parthia.’

  ‘Not now,’ I said softly to her.

  She ignored me. ‘Tell me, Vahan, how much was your father paid to marry his daughter to Nabu Egibi?’

  He was shamefaced, staring into his wine.

  ‘I did not hold with that decision,’ he muttered.

  ‘And yet last year you and your father invaded Media in an attempt to kill its king and queen, after first allowing the traitor Atrax to march through Armenia.’

  He looked up. ‘I know nothing of the agreement made between our king and Lord Atrax.’

  ‘How convenient,’ she sneered.

  ‘But we did not purposely invade Media.’

  ‘You just happened to find yourself there?’ I said. ‘Perhaps you took a wrong turn on a track and went south instead of north.’

  Chrestus and Azad smiled and even Gallia smirked.

  ‘We were pursuing the army of Gordyene,’ Vahan told me, ‘which had been plundering my homeland but then suddenly turned back south and crossed the Araxes into Media. We followed.’

  ‘You will have to do better than that, Vahan,’ I told him. ‘I remember the battle on the Diyana Plain where your king’s army and that of the rebel Atrax combined to give battle to your brother-in-law.’

  ‘It is the truth,’ he insisted in a raised voice.

  ‘Watch yourself, boy,’ growled Chrestus, placing a hand on the Armenian’s shoulder.

  ‘She is well, by the way,’ said Gallia, ‘your sister, I mean. She is a fine queen and her people love her.’

  ‘And is soon to be a mother,’ I added.

  Vahan’s eyes lit up. ‘Lusin is pregnant?’

  ‘Her son will make a fine future King of Media,’ I said. ‘But enough small talk. What information do you have that I might be interested in?’

  He took a long sip of wine.

  ‘Parthia has invaded Armenia because of a lie,’ he told me.

  ‘We invaded your land because your army was mustering to launch a fresh invasion of Media,’ I corrected him. ‘Do you deny your army was being assembled?’

  ‘No, majesty,’ he said. ‘But the reason was not to invade Media but to launch a campaign against the Aorsi, to finally rid Armenia of their murdering and plundering.’

  ‘What has that to do with Media?’ said Gallia.

  ‘Nothing, majesty,’ answered Vahan. ‘That is why my king did not take the bait.’

  I looked at Gallia in confusion and then at Azad, who spoke to Vahan.

  ‘Tell King Pacorus. He will not think ill of you for speaking the truth.’

  ‘What truth?’ I asked.

  Vahan emptied his cup. ‘The King of Gordyene thought he could deceive us by sending his Sarmatian allies into Armenia wearing the uniforms of the soldiers of Media, thus provoking my king into launching an invasion of that kingdom.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ snapped Gallia.

  ‘Not nonsense, majesty,’ he insisted. ‘For years the Aorsi have tormented my people, burning villages, killing civilians and carrying off the young and women to sell as slaves. You think horsemen wearing blue tunics, grey leggings and carrying dragon banners would be mistaken for Media’s soldiers? Men who used the same tactics, carried out the same atrocities and spoke the same language as the Aorsi?’

  ‘We have only your word for that,’ said Gallia.

  But I knew he was speaking the truth. I knew the Aorsi had, with the blessing of Spartacus, used Armenia as their plaything for years, and their bandit leader had even been given the Armenian city of Van to abuse, before he and his bandits had been evicted by the Armenians.

  ‘I will speak with the King of Gordyene on this matter,’ I said.

  ‘I ask for a noble’s death, majesty,’ he pleaded, ‘rather than a lowly end at the hands of the Sarmatians, for that will surely be my fate if you hand me over to King Spartacus.’

  I nodded to Klietas to refill Vahan’s cup.

  ‘You will not be staying with us, it is true,’ I said, ‘but nor will you be handed over to King Spartacus. In the morning, you will be riding south with an escort to Irbil, to be entertained by your sister and brother-in-law until such time as a ransom for your return to Armenia can be arranged and paid.’

  ‘You will find much to interest you in the city,’ Gallia told him, ‘not least its strengthened defences, which you can report to King Artaxias when you see him again.’

  A mixture of surprise and relief spread across Vahan’s face and he enjoyed his second cup of wine more than the first. In the now more relaxed atmosphere, I probed him concerning the fortifications of Artaxata and the remaining strength of the Armenian army. He was cagey about the latter but effusive regarding the former, being clearly in awe of a city that was relatively new, having been founded only one hundred and fifty years ago. After more than an hour of conversation, I indicated to Azad that Vahan should be returned to his quarters.

  ‘In the morning, send him south with a party of mounted wounded,’ I told Azad. ‘Impress upon the commander that he should be watched closely at all times. If he proves difficult, have him bound. Get him to Irbil. I will pen a note for the party’s commander to present to King Akmon.’

  ‘Or you could just hand him over to King Spartacus, majesty.’

  ‘I have never sanctioned the killing of prisoners, Azad, and I do not intend to start now.’

  The ‘walking wounded’ were soldiers who had suffered sprained wrists or ankles, or incurred cuts that were not life-threatening but which would exclude them from military duties in the short term. Any head wounds tended to exclude men from the ranks for long periods, so those suffering them left the army if circumstances permitted. Fortunately, we were next to the Araxes, on the other side of which was Gordyene, so those wounded in the battle could be speedily evacuated to Vanadzor. The party of injured horse archers escorting Vahan, however, would ride south to skirt the eastern shore of Lake Urmia and then head for Irbil.

  Afterwards, sitting alone with Gallia as the oil lamps flickered in our tent, I wondered if I should take Dura’s army home.

  ‘Vahan spoke the truth,’ I stated bluntly.

  She did not disagree.

  ‘I do not blame him, Spartacus, I mean. The Armenians supported Atrax and were complicit in the death of Rasha.’

  ‘That does not excuse him from luring us here on false pretences, to say nothing of the dead we have incurred after his deception.’

  Gallia’s face was a pale yellow in the half-light, her hair appearing white.

  ‘What are your intentions?’

  ‘My initial thought was to leave for Dura tomorrow,’ I replied. ‘However, to do so would mean abandoning both Spartacus and Gafarn and Diana in enemy territory, which I am not prepared to do. And we only have friend Vahan’s word that Spartacus has deceived us.’

  ‘Though you are convinced he spoke the truth.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  She looked at me expectantly. ‘So?’

  ‘So, I intend to pull the rug out from beneath my nephew’s feet.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  I stood, cupped her face and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘You will see, my love.’

  The next day Spartacus was deliriously happy, smiling to all and sundry, whistling to himself, handing out compliments and generally being far removed from the snarling, menacing figure that had cast a black shadow over Armenia for many years. The cause of his happiness was the return of Spadines, who reported he, his men and women had raided far and wide, up to the walls of Artaxata itself. The Armenian army had withdrawn into the city after a forced march covered by its horsemen, but not before hundreds of its more poorly trained soldiers had drifted away from the colours, to be butchered by the Sarmatians. Like the wolves they were, the Aorsi had hovered around the retreating Armenians, ready to pounce on the lost, wounded and vulnerable.

  ‘We killed many, lord,’ he boasted as we conducted a leisurely march from the Araxes towards the Armenian capital. ‘The enemy has withdrawn into the city where they wait for the siege engines of Dura.’

  As much as I loathed Spadines, he had carried out a near-perfect harassing exercise, picking off enemy stragglers to weaken and demoralise the enemy.

  ‘The Armenians have been debilitated by two defeats,’ said a contented Spartacus. ‘They lost thousands of men last year on the Diyana Plain and now they have suffered fresh losses. Artaxias will not offer another battle; he will ask for terms.’

  ‘This campaign will be over before the month is out,’ said Gafarn. He looked at his son. ‘What are your terms, by the way?’

  ‘I have three demands,’ he answered instantly. ‘First, a pledge from Artaxias that he will no longer wage war against Gordyene or Media. Second, an indemnity of five thousand talents of gold shall be paid to the treasury in Vanadzor for the costs incurred during this year’s campaign and last year’s. Third, Artaxias will immediately surrender Atrax and Titus Tullus so that summary justice can be served on them.’

  Castus behind his father smiled at Haytham, the former tapping the hilt of his sword. I assumed this meant their father had promised them they could cut off the heads of those responsible for their mother’s death, indirectly at least.

  ‘Atrax and Titus Tullus are not in Armenia,’ I told Spartacus.

  ‘And you know this how?’ he demanded.

  ‘Phraates informed me in a conversation we had at Irbil. They have fled to Pontus where I assume they currently reside, along with Tiridates.’

  ‘They will pay, you have my word,’ said Gallia. ‘Nothing is ever forgotten.’

  Spartacus smiled at her. ‘There is plenty of time, aunt. In the meantime, I will raise the indemnity the Armenians will have to pay to ten thousand talents of gold.’

  It was a staggering sum, the equivalent of three hundred tons of gold.

  ‘Do the Armenians possess such a sum?’ asked Diana.

  ‘Their temples are full of gold,’ answered her son.

  Gafarn looked at Haytham. ‘Remember what happened last time you plundered an Armenian temple, son. I would not wish any more harm to be visited on your family.’

  ‘I will not be plundering any temples, father,’ he assured Gafarn. ‘It will be up to the Armenians to source the gold.’

  ‘And if they do not?’ I asked.

  ‘Then my horsemen will support my Aorsi allies in their on-going dispute with the Armenians.’

  I was going to enquire what ‘on-going dispute’ he was alluding to but realised it would be futile. The Aorsi raided Armenia and the King of Gordyene was more than happy to sanction their depredations. But I was far from happy.

  ‘You will need to offer the Armenians something in return,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ came the retort.

  ‘Because, Spartacus, you will create a festering resentment that will condemn you and your kingdom to unending war with the Armenians if you do not.’

  ‘Pacorus has a point, son,’ said Gafarn.

  Spartacus sighed loudly. ‘What offer would you suggest, uncle?’

  ‘Peace,’ I answered. ‘In return for a pledge of non-aggression and ten thousand talents of gold, you promise that neither you nor the Aorsi will raid Armenia or seize Armenian territory or those living in it.’

  Spadines was indignant and went to object, but Spartacus raised a hand to still him.

  ‘I will think on it, uncle.’

  We left the river to enter the beautiful Ararat Plain, dominated by the volcano Mount Ararat, the top third of which was always covered with snow and ice. But the plain itself was a place of abundance, filled with forests of oak and pine and dotted with many villages. Because this part of Armenia was far from the sea and of a high altitude, spring and summer temperatures were mild, though winters, as in nearby northern Gordyene that shared the same elevation, were long and harsh. But the absence of blisteringly hot summer temperatures and an abundance of rain, meant the ground was fertile, villagers cultivating almonds, figs, apricots, wheat, cherries and hazelnuts, as well as keeping goats and sheep as livestock. Not that we saw any as we headed for the Armenian capital, villages being deserted of both people and animals.

  Lucius sent his engineers with parties of Talib’s men to scout the area for supplies of wood that would be needed to establish siege lines around Artaxata, now visible in the distance, especially the promontory of Khor Virap, upon which the city’s palace, temples and homes of the nobles had been constructed. Lucius’ enquiring mind found Mount Ararat fascinating, though we just regarded it as another snow-capped mountain.

  ‘You may be interested to know, majesty,’ he said, ‘that Mount Ararat is the place the Jews believe the huge ark landed during the great flood. That is what Aaron told me. He would love to see the mountain, I’m sure.’

  ‘What great flood?’ asked Spartacus.

  ‘The Jews believe that their god made it rain for forty days and forty nights to flood the entire world, majesty.’

  Castus was curious. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because the people were acting wickedly, prince,’ answered Lucius. ‘Only a man called Noah was listening to the Jewish god, who instructed him to build a huge ark, a boat which he would fill with a pair of all the creatures of the earth, one male, one female, as well as his own family.’

  ‘Childish stories,’ scoffed Spartacus.

  Castus ignored his father. ‘And did this Noah collect all the animals, general?’

  ‘He did, prince, with the assistance of the Jewish god who instructed the animals to make their way to the ark. When it began raining, the ark began to float and did so for seven months before it came to rest on Mount Ararat, though Noah and the animals had to remain on board for several more months until the earth dried out.’

  Castus was clearly impressed by the story, gazing in wonder at the mountain, which to be fair was an impressive feature dominating the landscape. The low chuckle of Spartacus diverted his eyes away from Mount Ararat.

  ‘These Jews, how foolish they are. The story of this great ark makes no sense.’

  ‘In what way?’ I asked.

  ‘Simple,’ replied Spartacus smugly. ‘Let us take as an example just one animal. A horse. It requires ten pounds of fodder and ten pounds of grain daily, plus around eight gallons of water. Multiply these requirements by thousands, and the notion that this ark could house and feed two of every type of animal in the world is nonsensical.’

  ‘He has a point, Pacorus,’ agreed Gafarn.

  ‘And who would shovel all the shit?’ asked Spartacus, prompting raucous laughter from his sons.