‘Good morning, Spartacus, I trust you slept well.’

  He slapped me hard on the back.

  ‘Like a newborn. So, today we relieve the Armenians of a large amount of gold.’

  ‘Remember, you must offer them something in return. Do not humiliate Artaxias, for if you do you will be sowing the seeds of resentment and future conflict.’

  He held up his hand and smiled. ‘I will be both conciliatory and humble.’

  I doubted that but it augured well he was in a good mood. Both Gafarn and Diana were also in high spirits, though their cheery mood was due to the prospect of their imminent return to Hatra. The only person unhappy was Lucius, who reported to me as Gallia and I were eating our breakfast. I ordered him to sit and told Klietas to fetch more porridge and warm wine.

  ‘The ground is waterlogged, majesty, which means it will take longer to transport and re-assemble the ballistae in front of the city walls.’

  The machines had been dismantled, their constituent parts loaded onto carts and transported back into camp, just in case the Armenians were tempted to launch a night-time raid to destroy them.

  ‘As the Armenians have agreed to negotiate, do we need to re-assemble them at all?’

  Klietas placed a bowl of porridge in front of Lucius.

  ‘The presence of the ballistae will encourage the enemy to be more amenable, majesty,’ said my quartermaster-general, who proceeded to devour the porridge. I ordered my squire to refill his bowl.

  ‘Take Klietas with you,’ I told Lucius, ‘it will be good for his education to see how Dura’s siege engines are assembled.’

  ‘And used?’ said Lucius.

  ‘Only if negotiations go badly.’

  The process to begin said negotiations was long and tortuous. Heralds went to and from the city to transmit messages between us and Artaxias, or rather his chief advisers. Where were the talks to be held? Inside our camp? Artaxias refused point-blank. Inside the city? We refused point-blank. At a spot halfway between the camp and the city? Artaxias refused, fearing our forces that now formed a cordon around the city would seize him. What about a short distance from the northern entrance to the city, which would be within range of archers on the walls?

  Midday came and went.

  Artaxias agreed to the location of the meeting place near the northern entrance. What about respective delegations? The Parthian party would naturally include the kings and queens of Hatra and Dura and the King of Gordyene. To prevent him from feeling ‘threatened’, Artaxias insisted the commander of his army, the commander of his bodyguard and the high priest of the Temple of Aramazd be present to equal out the numbers. We agreed. His other demands were: no weapons to be worn in the tent, slaves to test wine before it was served as a defence against poisoning, all parties to remain seated throughout the negotiations, all hands to be visible at all times, and no raised voices.

  Gafarn could not contain his laughter.

  ‘No raised voices? Are we meeting a king or a novice of a silent religious order?’

  ‘Artaxias is a weak vessel,’ shrugged Spartacus, ‘like most Armenians.’

  ‘As you are the only one who has met him,’ I reminded my nephew, ‘I think most of the terms of the meeting are directed at you.’

  ‘Try to remember your manners,’ Diana told him sternly.

  Spartacus bowed his head. ‘Of course, mother.’

  It was four hours after midday, the sun showing its face only intermittently as thick white clouds began to gather in the sky, when we rode from camp in the company of the Amazons, a company of Hatra’s Royal Bodyguard and a hundred King’s Guard. On our right before we swung left to skirt the western side of the city, Lucius’ re-assembled machines stood in a line, around them centuries of Exiles standing at ease, though ready to form a square around them should the garrison launch an attack. But the drawbridge was in a vertical position and there were few soldiers visible on the battlements. The drawbridge spanning the moat in front of the northern entrance into the city had been lowered, however, and when we reached the large circular tent that had been pitched not more than fifty paces from the bridge, the ramparts were lined with soldiers. There was also a small army of slaves, frightened individuals who avoided eye contact as they stood around the interior of the tent, the floor of which had been covered by wooden planking, in top of which had been laid a thick purple carpet. Spartacus pointed at it.

  ‘To the Armenians, purple is the colour associated with wisdom. It would be a travesty if it was red.’

  ‘Why, what does red symbolise?’ asked Gafarn.

  Spartacus laughed. ‘Bravery.’

  ‘Remember what I told you,’ I snapped. ‘You might like holidaying in Armenia; I do not.’

  We stood waiting for the King of Armenia, slaves brushing the luxurious couches that had been positioned in a large circle, a man with a huge belly who informed us he was the marshal of the court asking if we carried any weapons.

  ‘None,’ Spartacus told him, Gafarn and I doing likewise.

  Interestingly, he did not pose the same question to either Gallia or Diana, not that they were carrying any weapons. Neither was Artaxias when he appeared shortly after our arrival, striding across the drawbridge in a striking purple and white striped robe, a black leather belt at his waist and a tall conical, jewel-encrusted hat that accentuated his height. The king was in his late twenties, tall with low eyebrows and brown, narrow eyes. He was also pale and that plus his rich attire reminded me of a younger Phraates.

  When he and his entourage had entered the tent, Spartacus stepped forward and tipped his head to Artaxias.

  ‘It is good to see you again, lord.’

  Artaxias, obviously surprised by my nephew’s apparent conviviality, was initially lost for words, his mouth opening but no words coming out. Spartacus extended an arm to his parents.

  ‘May I introduce King Gafarn and Queen Diana of Hatra, my parents, and my uncle and aunt, King Pacorus and Queen Gallia of Dura?’

  I bowed my head to Artaxias. ‘It is an honour to meet you, lord.’

  ‘Hatra salutes a noble son of the Artaxiad dynasty,’ said Gafarn.

  Whatever Artaxias had expected of us, it obviously did not include politeness and respect, which resulted in him being uncertain how to proceed. But the tall, thin, black bearded man I assumed to be his high priest, wearing a simple white robe, took command of proceedings.

  ‘The king thanks you for your courtesy and asks you to share wine with him before we sit.’

  He clapped his hands and slaves carrying trays hurried forward, each one holding beautiful gold chalices. We watched as wine from silver jugs was poured into wooden cups so slaves could taste it before we were served. There was an awkward couple of minutes as we studied the slaves who had tasted the wine, waiting for any signs of poisoning. I smiled when I realised Artaxias had missed an opportunity to rid himself and his homeland of the man who had plagued it for years, along with his family members. So not much like Phraates, after all.

  The slaves served the wine, we took our seats and Artaxias spoke at last, introducing the tall, heavily built commander of his army, the severe Geghard with sharp cheekbones and a heavy brow. The commander of his bodyguard, Toros, was younger and less stern looking, though just as broad. The high priest was called Voski, which Spartacus whispered in my ear meant ‘gold’ in Armenian, though we conversed in Greek, the language of diplomacy.

  ‘An entirely apt name for these proceedings,’ he said.

  He flopped back on his couch, chalice in his left hand.

  ‘I will come straight to the point, lord. Artaxata is surrounded by a great Parthian army, an army that reluctantly ventured north to settle long-held grievances.’

  ‘Grievances, King Spartacus?’ said Artaxias.

  Spartacus ignored him.

  ‘Our terms for withdrawing from Armenia are as follows. First, you will pledge to no longer wage war against Gordyene or Media. Second, an indemnity of ten thousand talents of Armenian gold shall be paid to the treasury in Vanadzor for the costs incurred during this year’s campaign and last year’s.’

  Geghard shook with anger. ‘You insult King Artaxias.’

  Spartacus took a long sip of wine.

  ‘Or we could resume the burning of Artaxata. Tell me, general, how long will it take for your lords to organise another army to march to the relief of Artaxata? Unless they can be here within two days, the city will burn for certain.’

  ‘Aramazd is watching you, King Spartacus,’ growled the high priest.

  ‘Who is Aramazd?’ asked Diana.

  Voski was all smiles when it came to the Queen of Hatra.

  ‘The father of the gods, majesty, all-powerful and all-seeing.’

  ‘Then he must have seen Armenian soldiers in Media last year,’ smirked Spartacus, ‘and wondered, as did we all, why they were there. But let us not talk of the gods. Let us instead talk of what I can do for you, lord.’

  Artaxias was again surprised. ‘Me?’

  ‘In return for your pledging to never again attack Gordyene, I in turn promise not to wage war against Armenia, and that includes the Aorsi.’

  Geghard laughed. ‘The Aorsi obey only their own insatiable desire to plunder and kill.’

  ‘The Aorsi are under my control,’ said Spartacus forcefully.

  Geghard leaned forward to fix Spartacus with his black eyes.

  ‘So, you admit the Aorsi are under your command.’

  ‘Naturally, they are loyal servants of the crown.’

  Geghard looked fit to burst.

  ‘And the years of raiding and atrocities, they were all at your command?’

  Spartacus held his stare. ‘Every one of them.’

  ‘We are not here to rake over the past,’ snapped Artaxias. ‘I would hear what Hatra and Dura have to say on Gordyene’s proposals.’

  ‘Hatra stands firmly with Gordyene,’ said Gafarn.

  ‘As does Dura,’ I added.

  ‘And do Hatra and Dura also pledge not to attack Armenia in the future?’ queried Artaxias.

  ‘As long as Armenia does not attack Parthia,’ I answered, ‘then Dura will not wage war against your kingdom.’

  ‘And neither will Hatra,’ confirmed Gafarn.

  ‘Ten thousand talents of gold is a significant sum,’ said Artaxias. ‘We will need time to assemble such an amount.’

  Spartacus smiled. ‘As long as it is paid by the end of the year, lord, by which time you will see that it is I who controls the Aorsi, then Gordyene will count Armenia as a friend. And the border between our two realms will no longer be soaked in blood.’

  Artaxias’ eyes shifted from him to Gafarn and then to me, briefly alighting on Gallia, who thus far had been like a stone statue.

  ‘What of Spadines?’ he said to Spartacus.

  ‘What of him? He does what I tell him and his warriors do what he tells them.’

  ‘I agree to your terms,’ said Artaxias, ‘subject to the peace you propose between our two kingdoms becoming a reality. If the peace holds, then I promise to pay ten thousand talents of gold to Gordyene at the end of the year.’

  ‘Plus the immediate reimbursement of campaign costs incurred by Gordyene, Hatra and Dura.’

  Spartacus did a quick calculation in his mind.

  ‘Another three thousand talents of gold, payable within the month.

  Geghard jumped up. ‘Your terms are unacceptable.’

  ‘You treat Armenia with disrespect,’ roared Voski.

  ‘I offer Armenia a lasting peace, priest,’ Spartacus retorted. ‘You would trade that for a few pieces of gold?’

  ‘You call thirteen thousand talents a few pieces of gold?’ said an exasperated Artaxias.

  Spartacus held out his chalice to be topped up, pointing it at the city walls visible through the open tent flaps.

  ‘I’ll warrant the fine ladies of Artaxata wear more than that around their necks. Time for your nobles to pay up, lord, so their gilded lives can continue uninterrupted.’

  ‘I agree it is a large sum,’ I said, ‘but if I have learnt anything over the years, it is that peace brings trade and trade brings wealth. A little inconvenience now will reap rich rewards, of that I am certain.’

  Artaxias sighed. ‘I inherited a kingdom occupied by the Romans, King Pacorus, who murdered my parents and sought to make Armenia a part of their empire. After the defeat of Mark Antony, Armenia was tormented by the soldiers of Gordyene and Aorsi raids. I gave Prince Atrax permission to march his army through my kingdom in the hope it would lead to peace with Parthia. I was wrong and my mistake has brought Parthia to the door of my palace. I cannot undo what has happened but I have no wish to embroil Armenia in any more wars. My people have suffered enough. I will pay the gold and you all will depart my kingdom forthwith.’

  ‘We will be marching south tomorrow, lord,’ I promised without consulting Spartacus.

  Artaxias stood, gave each Parthian king a curt nod and turned on his heels.

  ‘We have your son, Lord Geghard.’

  I shook my head at Gallia but she ignored me. Artaxias stopped and Geghard’s jaw dropped.

  ‘That’s right,’ gloated Gallia. ‘Our soldiers captured him at the battle at the river. He is on his way to Irbil to visit his sister. You remember her, general? The girl you tried to sell into slavery?’

  ‘Not now, Gallia,’ I pleaded.

  ‘Perhaps you wish to buy him back?’ Gallia goaded him. ‘I know you like to barter your children to the highest bidder.’

  ‘We give thanks to the gods he is alive, general,’ said Diana, seeking to calm a seething Geghard.

  ‘And assure you he is perfectly safe and indeed unharmed,’ I added hastily.

  ‘The price for his return is ten talents of gold, general,’ said Gallia, ‘payable immediately.’

  Geghard’s fists clenched but he held his rage.

  ‘How do I know he is safe, or indeed if you even have him?’ he said to Gallia.

  ‘You will just have to take my word for it, general.’

  ‘I had no idea Dura was so impoverished that its queen had to resort to extortion,’ remarked Artaxias.

  Her blue eyes bored into the Armenian king.

  ‘Dura is rich, lord, but in this particular matter money is immaterial. There is a point to be made.’

  ‘What point?’ demanded Geghard.

  ‘That daughters are not chattels. If you wish to see your son again, you will ride to Irbil.’

  Geghard was confused. ‘Irbil?’

  ‘There to hand over the gold to your daughter in exchange for your son,’ she told him, ‘and at the same time apologise to Lusin for your despicable treatment towards her.’

  The general’s cheeks were red with rage but she cleverly disarmed him.

  ‘She is pregnant, by the way.’

  ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘You are going to be a grandfather,’ I said, ‘my congratulations.’

  ‘Lord Geghard will pay the gold,’ said Artaxias, eager to be out of our company. ‘Our business is concluded here. General.’

  He glared at Geghard who withdrew in fury, followed by a glowering Voski and a bemused Toros.

  ‘Was that necessary?’ I said to Gallia.

  ‘Entirely necessary,’ she replied.

  ‘I think the phrase rubbing salt into the wound is appropriate to what just happened,’ remarked Gafarn.

  Spartacus rubbed his hands together. ‘Went better than I expected. Never thought they would agree to pay the gold. Still, kicking a kingdom when it’s down is always worthwhile.’

  Diana shook her head with disapproval but I was relieved Artaxias had agreed to peace. The war was over and we were going home.

  I was wrong on both assumptions.

  Chapter 10

  The ballistae were disassembled later that day under the watchful eyes of archers on the walls. Once loaded on carts, they were carried back to camp as the sun descended in the west. The next morning, the air crisp and cool following more rain during the previous evening, the march south began. The horsemen provided a large rearguard and flank protection, while Talib and his men rode ahead to ensure there would be no nasty surprises at the Araxes. There were no Armenian soldiers waiting to ambush us, but there were plenty of black, bloated corpses of their former colleagues providing a rich feast for hordes of ravens, vultures and crows that created a screeching racket fit to raise the dead. The nauseating stench of rotting flesh filled our nostrils and tickled the back of our throats as we were forced to wait at the river until the lengthy process of getting the siege engines, supply wagons and mules, camel trains and foot soldiers back across the river was completed. Finally, after eight hours in the river bend where the battle had taken place only a few days before, the last of the horsemen waded across the Araxes to return to Gordyene and Parthian territory. That night Spartacus feasted his parents, Malik, Gallia and me in his tent.

  Castus and Haytham were beside themselves with joy, having defeated and forced a peace on the Armenians, their mother avenged and the treasury at Vanadzor about to be filled by a huge amount of gold. They gorged themselves on freshly killed venison and drank copious amounts of wine, the scruffy Spadines sitting next to them also taking advantage of his lord’s generous hospitality. I wondered when Spartacus would inform him that his days of rape and plunder were over. That would certainly wipe the smirk off his thin face.

  Spartacus seemed remote from the proceedings, eating sparingly and barely touching his wine. But he did speak a great deal to Spadines, the Aorsi chief nodding his head and laughing loudly at regular intervals. Spartacus clearly was not ordering him to curtail his raiding habits. Spartacus caught my eye and raised his cup to me.

  ‘To you and Aunt Gallia, uncle, whose siege engines made the first part of this campaign quick and painless.’

  My blood ran cold. ‘The first part of the campaign?’

  ‘Tomorrow I march west to serve justice on my wife’s murderers.’

  Spadines belched. ‘Pontus will burn for its crimes.’

  ‘You are going to invade Pontus?’ I could not believe what I was hearing.