Khosrou was bored but I found it fascinating. ‘It is an impressive image, as are all inside this chamber.’

  ‘They were painted by some of India’s finest artists, lord,’ she beamed, ‘it would be a tragedy if the world lost such works of art.’

  ‘It would,’ I agreed.

  The queen invited us to take refreshments in her private gazebo, which was sited on a small lake to the rear of the palace. She was like a small child in her desire to please the rough-hewn Parthians and single Agraci who had invaded her kingdom. She instructed the ever-present Tusha to convey the chest of gold to our camp and assured us she had sent instructions to General Kaniska that he was to disband his army and send the men back to their villages, a goodwill gesture that we all appreciated.

  Slaves served us wine, fruit juice, pastries and fruit as we reclined on plush couches and were fanned by other slaves who stood with heads bowed. I noticed all the slaves performed their duties with their heads cast down to avoid any eye contact. Swans swam gracefully on the water, skirting water lilies, and pond herons perched on branches overhanging the water. It was an extremely pleasant setting and the conviviality of the queen made us forget we were her enemies.

  The next day Rana took us to the keeper of the royal couriers, the title of the individual who cared for the pigeons that took messages to the far corners of the Kushan Empire and beyond. A fastidious man, he fussed over his birds and took a dim view of any who encroached upon his domain. He had a few slaves that he treated abysmally, beating them with a small whip for the slightest transgression. But he loved his birds, having a name for each one and conversing with them as though they were human. They were treated, fed and housed better than most of the slaves in the palace, a fact that the keeper emphasised to us as he entered the royal coop to retrieve one of his precious charges. His name was Fani, which means ‘snake’, though he looked more like an overweight cat with his facial hair and pointed ears.

  ‘This is Canda,’ he cooed, gently holding one of the pigeons that looked just like the others, ‘and like her name she is fierce and passionate.’

  I looked at Khosrou who rolled his eyes but Spartacus smiled as the bird pecked at Fani’s hand.

  ‘There, there,’ he said softly, ‘you are in the presence of royalty and should act accordingly.’

  Queen Rana handed me a small piece of papyrus, upon which were the words:

  Make haste back to Indraprastha, I am in danger, Rana

  They were written in Greek, which Rana assured me Kujula spoke fluently. I showed it to Spartacus who nodded and passed it back to the queen. There was no point in showing Khosrou or Malik as neither had knowledge of the Greek language.

  ‘Normally I would write to my brother in our own language,’ said Rana, ‘but out of courtesy it is in Greek so you can see there is no subterfuge.’

  She looked at me pitifully with her brown eyes and my heart went out to her. She was so small and delicate I wished I had left my sword in camp to show her I offered no ill intent.

  Spartacus iterated our collective thoughts. ‘We wish you only good fortune, lady.’

  ‘You are all very kind,’ she sighed.

  Fani rolled up the papyrus and slid it into a tiny metal tube attached to the pigeon’s leg. The queen nodded at him and he took the bird outside the aviary into the royal gardens. We followed and watched as he released the bird that flew into the air, circled the palace twice and headed west.

  ‘At least it’s going in the right direction,’ said Khosrou.

  Fani gave a disapproving grunt.

  ‘How far can a pigeon fly in a day?’ asked Spartacus.

  ‘It is not unknown for them to cover seven hundred miles in a day,’ replied Fani with pride. ‘Though Canda will only fly to the staging post on the western side of the Indus, from where another will be sent to the emperor.’

  He had inadvertently revealed the Kushans had already established messaging posts in Parthian territory. This indicated to me that Kujula had long planned his invasion and was determined to consolidate and expand the territorial gains he had already made.

  Rana then took us all by surprise. ‘My brother raised his siege of Sigal two days ago.’

  We all looked at each other. If true, then our mission had succeeded. Khosrou sounded a note of caution.

  ‘Words are cheap, lady. I do not wish to be rude but we need to see proof.’

  ‘I would not expect anything else,’ said Rana, frowning at Fani who bowed and withdrew from the royal presence.

  Rana reached into a small silk pouch that she had been carrying and pulled out a crumpled piece of papyrus. She handed it to me and I saw it was written in the Kushan language, a mixture of Greek and Bactrian. I focused on the words and eventually managed to decipher them: ‘have left Sigal and heading north, Kujula.’

  ‘Why did you keep this from us?’ demanded Malik.

  The guards behind the queen moved menacingly towards us but Rana held up a hand to halt them.

  ‘I did not know your intentions, lord. You had defeated my army and arrived outside my city with your own army. If you knew two days ago that my brother had abandoned his siege, you might have put this city to the sword. I did not know then you were men of honour. I hope you can forgive me.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ I said, ‘our argument is with your brother, not you.’

  The scrap of papyrus seemed genuine and it was difficult not to believe the queen. What would she benefit by lying? It was obvious she had few soldiers to oppose us and if we so desired we could slay her on the spot, not that I would countenance such an atrocious act. I was inclined to give Rana the benefit of the doubt, which meant we could depart Indraprastha and return to Parthia. But as soon as we did so Kujula, alerted by his sister, might turn back and recommence his siege. Therefore, it looked as though we would be guests of Queen Rana for a while longer.

  Rana herself was more than accommodating, ordering that all the gates into the city were to be kept open and allowing our soldiers to man the western entrance at all times. She sent carts filled with food to our camp and organised hunts for our senior officers. But despite this the men, confined to camp, chafed at the bit to be away from the city and return to Parthia, either that or be allowed to raid and plunder the rich land they found themselves in.

  Two days after our first meeting, after taking refreshments with the queen, we returned to the palace stables to retrieve our horses, the adjacent barracks largely empty as a result of General Kaniska emptying the city of most of its soldiers. But there was still a small army of male and female slaves to sweep the courtyard in front of the stables, muck out the stalls, fill the hay and water troughs and rub down the horses. There was also a forge where sweating, bare-chested slaves worked metal in a furnace and on anvils.

  ‘Where’s Tegha ?’ I demanded as the horses of the others were brought from the stables.

  The head slave bowed his head. ‘Apologies, highness, one of the farriers noticed that one of your horse’s shoes was loose and is having it fixed.’

  Khosrou was in the saddle. ‘Everything all right, Pacorus?’

  ‘My horse has a loose shoe,’ I told him, ‘I’ll see you back in camp.’

  The six Duran horse archers of my escort were waiting by their mounts so I did not fear for my life. Khosrou and the others also had their own escorts.

  ‘We’ll wait for you, uncle,’ said Spartacus.

  ‘There is no need,’ I told him, ‘you go ahead.’

  The other kings raised their hands and trotted from the courtyard.

  ‘Here he is, highness.’

  The slave was smiling at me as a tall, clean-shaven man wearing a sleeveless white kurta led Tegha towards me.

  ‘Hurry,’ snapped his supervisor.

  The man increased his pace, bowed and handed me the reins. The supervisor struck him with the bamboo cane he was carrying.

  ‘On your knees, dog.’

  The man fell to his knees and elbows to offer himself as a mounting block.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I insisted, ‘I can gain a saddle without assistance.’

  The supervisor went to strike the slave again but I seized his cane.

  ‘You may go.’

  I released the cane, he bowed and withdrew. The slave rose to his feet and pointed to Tegha ’s right rear foot.

  ‘The shoe was loose on that foot, majesty.’

  I took a couple of steps, straddled Tegha ’s leg and lifted it to look at the shoe. I nodded in approval.

  ‘Excellent work.’

  The slave moved closer and looked around to ensure no one but me could hear.

  ‘Do not trust the queen, majesty, you are all in danger.’

  It was an incredible thing to say, not because it was true or false. But for a slave to speak about his mistress was a death sentence. I could have drawn my sword and slain him on the spot and no one would have batted an eyelid. I could have killed him anyway if I had a mind to. What was a slave but a commodity? Though Queen Rana would have had a right to demand compensation for the loss of her property. Instead I looked at him.

  ‘Why would you say such a thing?’

  ‘My name is Titus Rutilus, majesty, formerly a horseman serving under Publius Licinius Crassus. I was captured at Carrhae and have been a slave ever since, first in Parthia before being sold to the Kushans.’

  I was taken aback and stunned. After all these years I had no idea those taken at Carrhae were still enslaved, or even alive. I heard Dobbai’s mocking laughter.

  ‘What a fool you are, son of Hatra, what did you think would happen to those you took at your greatest victory?

  Rutilus said nothing more, dropping his head as I hoisted myself into the saddle.

  ‘I will send for you, Titus Rutilus, and we will speak some more.’

  I sent a note to the queen’s palace that I required the services of the farrier who had attended my own horse with such efficiency. Rutilus appeared that afternoon with a rope around his neck, his hands bounds, led by a soldier of the queen’s guard. I waited until the guard had ridden out of sight before cutting the bonds around his wrist and tossing aside the rope the soldier had passed to me. After being given water and a stool to sit on, Rutilus expanded on his knowledge of the queen’s affairs as the other kings, whom I had informed of my meeting with a Roman slave, listened.

  ‘Emperor Kujula has abandoned the siege of Sigal.’

  ‘We were told this earlier,’ said Khosrou, annoyed that he had been recalled from a tiger hunt to listen to a low-born slave.

  ‘The queen told us herself,’ added Spartacus.

  ‘But did you know that he left Sigal over three weeks ago,’ said Rutilus, ‘before you had even crossed the Indus?’

  We did not.

  ‘How do you know this?’ I asked.

  ‘Palaces are places of gossip, majesty, and Fani is a notorious gossip. As well as being a pompous fool he is a boaster and regales his slaves with stories of the feats of his pigeons. Even before your army had crossed the Indus the emperor was on his way back to his homeland.’

  ‘Why?’ queried Malik.

  Rutilus looked at me. ‘To defeat and capture the king who provided the inspiration for his army and its tactics – King Pacorus of Dura.’

  ‘I hardly think so,’ I said.

  ‘The emperor has studied your military methods closely, majesty, which is why I ended up here. He learned I had fought at Carrhae and ordered me to dictate to his scribes everything I remembered about the battle.’

  ‘You are a legend, Pacorus,’ laughed Khosrou. ‘Let’s go and kill that duplicitous bitch Rana.’

  ‘I would advise you to quit your camp and ride west to the Indus immediately,’ said Rutilus.

  ‘We are not slaves,’ sneered Khosrou, ‘we still have our balls and are not afraid of any woman.’

  ‘We have scouts keeping watch all the way to the river,’ said Spartacus.

  ‘But do you know that an army is currently marching from Mathura, majesty, the capital of the Kushan Empire,’ replied Rutilus, ‘a mere hundred miles to the east?’

  ‘Impossible,’ snapped Khosrou.

  But why would the Roman lie? We could send him back to the palace with news of his gossip, which would result in his death. He risked much, too much for it all to be false.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

  ‘To be allowed to ride back with you to Parthia,’ came the answer, ‘and then on to Rome.’

  ‘Many years have passed since you were last there,’ I told him.

  A luck of utter desolation appeared on his face. ‘It is my home, majesty.’

  It was a heartfelt plea and whereas Khosrou and Malik thought him a pathetic creature they had not been slaves and knew nothing of the things that kept those in chains able to endure the unendurable. I did.

  ‘I will make this bargain with you, Titus Rutilus. If what you say is the truth, then I will provide you with a horse and safe passage through Parthia so you can return home. But now you must return to the palace.’

  He marched back to the city with his head held high, two of my horse archers accompanying him, a rope around his neck, though I had given orders he was not to be abused during the journey. Meanwhile, we sent parties of scouts east to search for an army supposedly on its way to Indraprastha.

  They found it, a long column of elephants, foot soldiers and carts though few horsemen, which meant its speed of march was slow. But when they returned on sweating horses the scouts informed us it was a mere twenty miles from Queen Rana’s city. The queen herself was all charm and hospitality, inviting us to a banquet to be held two days hence. The intention was clear: while we were being feasted our camp would be surrounded and attacked. Either that or the Kushan army would enter the city to secure it and there wait for Kujula to arrive. Either way we would be either captives or dead men.

  It was time to leave Indraprastha.

  Chapter 11

  Nearly twelve thousand Parthians, two thousand Agraci and one Roman rode west back towards the Indus after we had accepted the invitation to Queen Rana’s feast. Khosrou was like a bear with a sore head, Malik wanted to send his best assassin to slit the queen’s throat and Spartacus told us that Rana reminded him of Rasha, which blackened Khosrou’s mood further.

  ‘At least the monsoon rains have stopped,’ I offered by way of lightening the mood.

  ‘I blame you for this, Pacorus,’ said Khosrou, who then mimicked a whining female voice. ‘You have nothing to fear from us, lady, let me lick your arse, lady.’

  Malik and Spartacus were grinning fit to bust.

  ‘Very droll,’ I remarked. ‘I take it you won’t be returning your share of the gold the queen gave us?’

  ‘What?’ roared Khosrou, making his horse rear its head in alarm. ‘Don’t be a fool.’

  He shot a glance at Titus Rutilus riding behind me. ‘What are you so happy about?’

  Rutilus stopped smiling and cast his head down. ‘Nothing, highness, forgive me.’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ I said. ‘If it wasn’t for him we would all be preparing for the feast where we would all have been murdered, no doubt.’

  Khosrou mumbled something under his breath and I reassured Rutilus.

  ‘You are no longer a slave but a free man once more. I will assist you getting back to Rome but you may find it much changed after all these years.’

  ‘I expect so, majesty,’ he admitted, ‘but I live in hope that I still have family left.’

  ‘What family?’ probed Spartacus.

  ‘I had a wife and two small children, though they will be adults by now.’

  ‘Your wife might have remarried,’ said Khosrou harshly.

  ‘She might,’ admitted Rutilus. ‘I would not blame her for doing so.’

  To familiarise him with recent events I told him about the division in the Roman world between Mark Antony and Queen Cleopatra in the east and the followers of Octavian in the west, of Mark Antony’s invasion of Parthia and his defeat at our hands.

  ‘That was caused by a bitch of a queen,’ said Khosrou, ‘and like your queen she never got her hands dirty. How come Queen Rana has no husband?’

  ‘She had a husband, majesty,’ said Rutilus, ‘a wealthy noble from the south, but the queen found his presence at Indraprastha too constricting. He wanted her to be subservient and Queen Rana is like a young cobra, fierce and independent.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ asked Malik.

  ‘He was found dead in his bed one morning,’ Rutilus told us, ‘with not a mark on his body. He had gone to sleep and simply not woken up.’

  Khosrou chuckled. ‘Poison, then?’

  ‘That was the rumour, majesty,’ said Rutilus. ‘Since then no more suitors have come forward for the queen’s hand.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ remarked Khosrou dryly.

  Despite the complaining of the King of Margiana the army was in high spirits. It had been saved a costly siege, it had been well fed and now it was returning home. It was common knowledge that a Kushan army was pursuing it from the east, but that force was mostly foot soldiers and elephants and our horsemen could easily outrun them. The weather was warm and sunny, there was an abundance of water and forage and no enemy barred our way.

  Until we neared the Indus.

  Our horsemen ranged far and wide to provide a screen on all sides of the army and also shoot game that was in abundance. Mostly parties returned with carcasses of gazelle, wild pigs and antelopes, though occasionally they brought back slain aurochs – huge cattle as tall as a man that provided enough meat to feast half a company. The rains had gone but the plain was still covered with lush grass that fed the horses and numerous small lakes and streams that provided drinking water for man and beast. We moved fast, covering up to fifty miles a day to put distance between us and the Kushans advancing from the east, but had given no thought to our passage back to Parthia being contested. But on the third day an advance party of Khosrou’s men encountered a group of Kushan horsemen and, following a brisk skirmish in which his riders drove off the enemy, returned to report there were now Kushans to the west.