‘Welcome, King Pacorus, will you partake of wine?’

  Ashleen snapped his fingers and a beautiful young slave girl with more gold around her neck and dangling from her ears than all my daughters combined owned, walked forward carrying a silver tray holding gold rhytons. I held out a hand to her.

  ‘I would prefer to drink after negotiations have been concluded.’

  ‘Negotiations?’ Timo’s voice was mocking. ‘The Romans will listen to the high king’s demands and obey them.’

  ‘If we approach these talks with that attitude we will achieve nothing,’ I said. ‘We all want the same thing, after all.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked Phraates.

  ‘To be rid of the Romans,’ I answered.

  ‘Pacorus is right,’ the gruff voice of Aschek filled the chamber. ‘The longer they stay the more my kingdom will be stripped of food and fodder. Supporting an army as big as this one is an onerous task.’

  He bowed to Phraates, as did Prince Ali.

  ‘The sooner they are gone the sooner we can get back to normality,’ said Aschek, he and his son standing next to me.

  Gafarn, Spartacus and Nergal were the next to arrive, Silaces and Valak the last to join us. Aschek finished a rhyton of wine straight away but Spartacus, Gafarn and Nergal refused any drink. Phraates began fidgeting with the arrow, his nervousness having returned.

  ‘I hear you have met this Mark Antony before, King Pacorus,’ said Ashleen.

  ‘I have, many years ago.’

  ‘My uncle captured him during a battle,’ stated Spartacus.

  ‘A battle in which you fought besides the Agraci, I believe,’ said the oily Ashleen.

  ‘In which we defeated the Romans and their allies and thus prevented an invasion of Parthia,’ I said firmly to the amusement of the other kings.

  ‘You should have killed Mark Antony then, thus saving us a great deal of time and trouble,’ said Phraates, who had taken to biting his bottom lip.

  ‘Queen Gallia wanted to do so,’ I replied, ‘but had we done so a great prize would not have been returned to us.’

  ‘What prize?’ asked Ashleen.

  I smiled at the courtier. ‘The Princess Rasha who was being held by the enemy. Unless you feel her life was worth less because she is Agraci?’

  Ashleen’s polished sheen began to crumble as he realised he had strayed into dangerous territory. The fearsome King Spartacus was but a few paces away and the whole empire knew the King of Gordyene was one who favoured letting his sword do the talking before his tongue.

  ‘Well, I certainly did not mean to imply…’ stuttered Ashleen.

  ‘What my Chief of Court is trying to say,’ interrupted Phraates, ‘is we are glad Princess Rasha was exchanged for Mark Antony, and we are also glad the King and Queen of Gordyene are the guardians of the empire’s northern border.’

  ‘The Chief of Court lives to scheme another day,’ said Silaces rather too loudly.

  Ashleen bristled at the insult and his cheeks coloured but he held his tongue. Spartacus accepted the high king’s compliment and smiled.

  All further conversation was halted when an officer of Phraates’ royal bodyguard entered the chamber and announced the Romans had arrived. I looked at Nergal and Gafarn and their expressions said it all. Would we never escape the embrace of Rome? Thirty-five years had passed since we had left Italy and yet here we were, battling the Romans once again.

  They were just as I remembered them as they strode into the chamber and gave Phraates a curt nod, at their head the husband of Queen Cleopatra and the would-be conqueror of Parthia. Mark Antony was now in his late forties but had retained his handsome features, his jaw still square and determined, his large forehead free of wrinkles and his thick curly hair showing no signs of grey. He wore a white tunic with purple stripes and a muscled cuirass made of hammered bronze to resemble the muscles of a man’s chest, embossed with silver. At his hip was a spatha with an ivory and wood handle to indicate he was a veteran commander of horsemen. A large silver pin in the shape of an Egyptian scarab fastened the scarlet cloak to his right shoulder and in the crook of his arm he carried a burnished helmet with a huge red plume.

  ‘Ostentatious, these Romans,’ Aschek whispered.

  ‘Their gaudiness is only matched by their arrogance,’ hissed Gafarn.

  I noticed the other half a dozen Romans were dressed as richly as their commander, though none wore boots as elaborate as those of Mark Antony: ornate with flaps in the form of lions’ heads.

  ‘Welcome, Mark Antony,’ said Ashleen in Greek, ‘I am Chief of Court to King of Kings Phraates, son of Orodes and grandson of Phraates, great-grandson of Sinatruces whose bloodline can be traced back to the first king of the Parthians, Arsaces himself.’

  Ashleen extended an arm to where we were standing.

  ‘Behold the kings whose soldiers now swell the army of High King Phraates – King Pacorus of Dura, King Gafarn of Hatra, King Silaces of Elymais, King Nergal of Mesene, King Spartacus of Gordyene and King Aschek of Atropaiene.’

  Mark Antony raised his right arm. ‘In the name of the People and Senate of Rome I hail King of Kings Phraates whose fame has spread to the four corners of the known world.’

  So far so good.

  Then he turned to us and smiled at me.

  ‘King Pacorus and I are old rivals and perhaps friends, though present circumstances dictate we must face each other on the battlefield. As for the rest of you, I salute your courage and steadfastness.’

  Phraates leaned forward. ‘King Pacorus is our Lord High General, having been appointed because of his vast experience in dealing with Roman armies.’

  Mark Antony was all smiles. ‘I would not have expected anything less, your majesty. I had the honour of being the guest of King Pacorus for a night many years ago and value the brief time we had in each other’s company.’

  ‘This man could charm the birds out of the trees,’ Aschek whispered to me.

  ‘You are too kind, general,’ I said to Antony.

  ‘Can I assume it was you devised the tactic of refusing battle, King Pacorus?’

  I turned to Kewab. ‘It was actually the strategy of Commander Kewab, general, one of my most talented commanders. He is Egyptian but has made Dura his home.’

  Mark Antony was surprised. ‘Egyptian?’

  Ashleen cleared his throat. ‘Be that as it may, we are here to resolve the current situation.’

  Phraates now spoke. ‘It grieves us you have invaded our lands, Triumvir Mark Antony, to lay waste many towns and villages. Winter is approaching and your army is surrounded and without access to supplies. To avoid any further unnecessary bloodshed, we are prepared to allow you to withdraw back to Armenia with what remains of your army.’

  Mark Antony’s cheerful visage vanished as he turned to consult with his subordinates.

  ‘We should demand their surrender,’ hissed Spartacus, ‘so next year their bones are being picked clean by ravens.’

  ‘They still number ten legions, thousands of auxiliaries and at least ten thousand horsemen,’ I told him quietly. ‘If we defeat them Rome might send another army against Parthia. While Mark Antony lives the Roman Empire is divided and we should aim to keep it that way.’

  ‘All those scholars Pacorus has lured to Dura has turned him into a diplomat,’ smiled Gafarn.

  ‘More like a realist,’ I told him.

  Mark Antony addressed Phraates once more.

  ‘Great king, I am prepared to lift the siege of Phraaspa and march back to Armenia by the quickest route. In exchange for my doing so I request I take back with me the eagles that were lost at Carrhae and the two taken when my siege train was destroyed.’

  Phraates was horrified. ‘My eagles, you want my eagles? How dare you. I should have you all executed for your insolence.’

  Every Roman hand when to the hilt of a sword. I stepped forward and raised my hands.

  ‘This is formal meeting in which both sides have pledged on their honours and before whatever gods they worship they will not violate the ancient customs associated with such meetings. There will be no violence. This I pledge.’

  Gafarn stepped forward. ‘As do I.’

  ‘And I,’ said Nergal.

  ‘Me too,’ added Silaces.

  ‘We might be at war but even enemies can accord each other respect,’ I said loudly.

  Phraates sank into his throne staring at his feet like a child who had been deprived of a cake.

  ‘They are my eagles and I will not give them up,’ he announced sullenly.

  ‘That is your final word on the matter, great king?’ asked Mark Antony, he and his men having relaxed somewhat.

  Phraates looked up at Ashleen, the old man leaning in so the high king could whisper in his ear.

  ‘High King Phraates,’ said Ashleen, ‘requests Triumvir Mark Antony and his officers withdraw from his pavilion after their refusal of his generous offer. He furthermore states no mercy will be shown to him, them or his soldiers when hostilities resume after their departure.’

  Phraates stood, accepted our bows and stormed from the chamber. I walked with Mark Antony and his officers back to their horses to ensure they came to no harm. I did not trust Phraates, who was clearly being manipulated by Ashleen, not to attempt something rash. In the event nothing untoward happened as the Romans’ horses were brought from the royal stables behind the pavilion.

  Mark Antony pulled his cloak around him as a defence against the biting wind.

  ‘I trust your wife is well,’ he grinned at me.

  ‘She is. And Queen Cleopatra?’

  ‘One of the wonders of the world, King Pacorus,’ he said wistfully, ‘I miss her greatly.’

  ‘Perhaps if you had not invaded Parthia you could be enjoying her company instead of conversing with an old adversary.’

  He slapped me on the arm. ‘I will see her soon enough, my old friend.’

  ‘You will abandon your siege, then?’

  His horse was brought to him, a magnificent brown stallion. He offered me his hand. I took it.

  ‘Your man Kewab, he is responsible for all of this. Could not place him at first but I remember the name now. Is one man’s life worth the deaths of thousands?’

  His men were reunited with their mounts, horsemen of the Babylonian guard assembling behind us to escort the Romans back to their camp.

  ‘If we abandon individuals for the sake of convenience, general, then we abandon the very bedrock of civilisation.’

  He laughed. ‘At heart, despite your crown and your titles, you are still that young horsemen who rode beside Spartacus all those years ago. I forgive your insult of my wife, by the way.’

  I was taken aback. ‘Insult?’

  He hauled himself into the saddle. ‘The letter you sent to her after the failure of her delegation.’

  ‘I think your wife and I are equal when it comes to trading insults, general.’

  He put on his helmet with its ridiculous plume.

  ‘One of the other kings named Spartacus, is he?’

  ‘Related to the slave general?’ I anticipated. ‘He is his son who accompanied us out of the Silarus Valley all those years ago.’

  He raised his hand. ‘Farewell, King Pacorus, may the gods be with you.’

  ‘And with you, Mark Antony.’

  I watched him and his men trot away from the pavilion.

  Two days later the Romans abandoned their siege of Phraaspa and began their retreat west. Everything had worked out perfectly thus far. But the gods can be cruel and what they give with one hand they may take away with the other.

  Chapter 9

  Talib had entered Phraaspa while we had been amusing the Romans west of the city during the battle that never was and, after meeting with Prince Darius, managed to slip back out again under cover of darkness and past tired and cold Roman sentries. For two months Mark Antony had laid siege to the city but denied his siege engines and towers and subsequently a supply of timber to replace them, no assault had been made against Phraaspa’s high and strong walls. And inside those walls well-stocked warehouses and a low population meant Darius and his soldiers did not starve.

  ‘He gave the order to fill the city with livestock and supplies before he arrived, lord.’

  Talib drank the milk greedily, his beard and moustache becoming white as he gulped down the hot liquid. I ordered more to be brought from the field kitchens.

  ‘So the prince is not entirely devoid of sense,’ I said, pulling the cloak around me.

  Talib finished the bowl of milk. ‘He is a prince no longer.’

  ‘What is he, then?’ asked Gallia, entering the tent after leading a patrol of Amazons. Talib rose and bowed but she told him to retake his seat.

  ‘He is a king now,’ replied Talib, ‘as he never tired of telling me.’

  Gallia mocked the notion and flopped down in a chair as a servant brought more hot milk for Talib.

  ‘Darius is now King of Media, it is true,’ I said.

  ‘Let us hope he acts like one,’ sniffed Gallia, ordering milk to be brought for her.

  ‘Darius is angry and volatile,’ stated Talib, ‘like a caged wild animal. He will want revenge against the Romans for killing his father.’

  ‘He told you that?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘No, majesty, but,’ he glanced at me and hesitated.

  ‘Let’s hear it,’ I told him.

  ‘After I had informed Darius you had been made lord high general, majesty, he demanded to know why you had not relieved Phraaspa immediately.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ probed Gallia.

  ‘I told him King Pacorus was waiting for the army of Prince Alexander before attacking the Romans.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘A most diplomatic answer, Talib. Perhaps you should become Dura’s ambassador.’

  ‘If it entails travelling to lands with warm climes, majesty, I accept,’ grinned Talib, sipping at his milk. ‘But you should be wary of King Darius. He is full of hate. He hates the Romans but also those whom he believes let him and his father down.’

  ‘Stupid boy,’ sneered Gallia, ‘if it had not have been for the alliance forged by my husband there would be no relief of Phraaspa.’

  I heard the wind buffeting the outside of the tent and thought I discerned the mocking laughter of the immortals as it howled.

  ‘How many men does Darius command?’ I asked.

  Talib shook his head. ‘He provided no details concerning his soldiers, majesty, and kept me under close watch during my stay in his palace. When it was time for me to leave I was escorted back to the city walls. I took your advice and informed him Phraates sent me, lord. If I had told him I was Agraci I have no doubt he would have had me thrown from the walls.’

  He finished his milk. ‘It would be better all round to allow the Romans to storm the city and butcher all those inside and then destroy Mark Antony.’

  Gallia chuckled. ‘A very Agraci way to solve the problem.’

  Talib finished his milk, rose, bowed, drew his cloak around him and took his leave.

  I looked at the empty bowl and sighed. ‘I sometime wonder if my sister had milk or poison in her breasts when her boys were infants.’

  ‘You knew what she and her sons were like before we came to this cold land,’ said Gallia, ‘what did you expect, gratitude?’

  ‘Gratitude is in even shorter supply in these parts than warmth.’

  ‘So why did we come?’ she asked.

  I looked at her. ‘For Parthia.’

  ‘Not Phraates?’

  ‘Phraates is Parthia, or at least the embodiment of the empire.’

  ‘Alas for the empire,’ was her only comment.

  When the Romans departed from Phraaspa, forming a huge square of legionaries with the mules, carts and wounded within, they did so unimpeded. Our only immediate activity was a flurry of couriers between the separate camps to coordinate our actions. As they were encouraged to do the Romans hugged the base of the mountains as they moved west, withdrawing through the gap between the slopes and Nergal’s camp. They moved slowly, expecting us to launch an assault on their square but the only Parthian troops nearing the legionaries were parties of Nergal’s horse archers who shadowed the Romans and promptly withdrew when Roman horsemen exited the square to attack them. Over twenty miles to the west, meanwhile, Phraates summoned the kings to decide a strategy.

  The weather was still cold but at least it was dry, though the sky to the north was heaped with dark grey clouds threatening snow in the mountains and then on the plains.

  ‘We only need to shadow the Romans,’ I announced to the high king and the other monarchs in Phraates’ pavilion, ‘and let the weather and their lack of supplies grind them down.’

  Braziers had been placed in the snug compartment behind the high king’s throne room to make the temperature pleasant, the more so when we were served warmed wine and pastries. Phraates was wearing a magnificent padded purple tunic and red leather boots. As ever Ashleen and Timo hovered in the background.

  ‘This meeting is for kings only,’ I said brusquely as Ashleen whispered something into the high king’s ear.

  Phraates smarted. ‘I have the utmost trust in my advisers, King Pacorus.’

  ‘As do I in mine,’ I replied, ‘but I came here to talk to you and the other kings, not share my views with priests and courtiers.’

  ‘I am the voice of the gods who see all and hear all,’ announced Timo grandly.

  ‘Then go and converse with them,’ growled Aschek, ‘and leave the rest of us to focus on more worldly matters.’

  ‘Unless you want the Romans to escape while we waste our time bickering,’ added Silaces.

  Timo’s nostrils flared in anger but Phraates ordered him and Ashleen to leave, eager to discover how more silver eagles could be wrested from the enemy.