Ira stopped perusing a ledger sheet and looked up at the general.

  ‘If he does not have a command of numeracy, how is it he is a centurion, general, for surely the army has certain standards when it comes to holding positions of command?’

  The veins on Chrestus’ thick neck began to bulge.

  ‘It was a joke, book-keeper.’

  ‘Not a very funny one,’ retorted Ira.

  ‘That is a shame about Centurion Bullus,’ I said quickly before Chrestus’ short-temper manifested itself. ‘What are those notes before you, Ira?’

  Aaron’s deputy looked at his master who nodded. Ira held up the sheet.

  ‘An inventory, majesty, a projection of this year’s crop yield.’

  Chrestus sighed and the eyes of Azad and Sporaces glazed over, but Ira was undeterred.

  ‘God willing, when the crops are gathered in the kingdom will have a great surplus of flour, dates, honey, flax, olives and wine.’

  I was surprised by the latter commodity. ‘Wine?’

  Ira looked surprised. ‘Have you not visited the vineyards to the south of the city, majesty?’

  I had not. ‘I rarely get a chance to journey the length and breadth of the kingdom, I regret to say.’

  ‘That is a pity, majesty,’ said Ira. ‘The southern lands have been expanded greatly and there are now dozens of medium- and large-sized farms extending south from the city for a distance of two hundred and fifty miles, all watered by a complex system of irrigation systems financed by the city treasury, which means we benefit from taxes paid to the treasury by those farms benefiting from said systems.’

  ‘ We?’ queried Gallia.

  ‘Meaning the city treasury, majesty,’ smiled Ira.

  ‘Ira has a plan to increase revenues substantially, majesty,’ Aaron informed me.

  ‘We would like to hear it,’ I said, Chrestus sighing again.

  ‘Media had traditionally exported commodities to surrounding kingdoms,’ reported Ira, ‘especially Mesene, Atropaiene, Babylon and Susiana, though its goods have also found their way to Persis further south. However, the recent invasions of Media have had a detrimental effect on the kingdom’s agricultural output, resulting in exports falling drastically.’

  ‘And so, Dura will step in to fill the gap,’ said Chrestus.

  Ira nodded. ‘As it is currently a sellers’ market, our exports will be priced with a thirty percent mark-up across the board.’

  ‘More revenue means more money for the army,’ added Aaron.

  ‘At the expense of Mesene, Atropaiene, Babylon and Susiana,’ I said.

  Ira shrugged. ‘Market conditions are what they are, majesty. It would be foolish not to take advantage of the happy position Dura finds itself in.’

  Gallia was unhappy, or rather unhappier than when she had entered the room.

  ‘We should not take advantage of our allies.’

  She was thinking of Atropaiene and Mesene, the latter formerly ruled by Nergal and Praxima, Nergal always a loyal supporter of Dura and Hatra.

  ‘I agree with the queen,’ I said, ‘export produce to foreign kingdoms by all means, Aaron, but only increase the price for goods going to Babylon and Susiana. They can afford it.’

  It was perhaps churlish, but those kingdoms were ruled directly by Phraates and it would be a way of sending a message to the high king that Dura’s rulers were displeased with him. My ignoring his messages had probably already intimated that he was no longer welcome in the kingdom, but it would do no harm to emphasise the point.

  The rest of the meeting consisted of Rsan reporting on renovations to the caravan park immediately north of the city, Aaron listing revenues earned from trade caravans, and Chrestus briefing us on army recruitment.

  ‘Most new recruits now come from within the kingdom,’ he informed us. ‘The days when the army was composed mostly of foreigners are long gone.’

  The Exiles had always been composed almost exclusively of non-Parthians: men who had travelled from foreign lands, usually under the control of Rome, to fight for Dura, hence their name. In the early days, many harboured dreams of returning to their homelands as soldiers of Dura’s army, though I had always made it plain the kingdom’s army was for the defence of Dura and Parthia only. The Durans were initially composed of men recruited from within the Parthian Empire, mostly runaway slaves eager to escape their masters, criminals with a price on their heads, and poor commoners who were technically free but were actually slaves to a life that was slowly grinding them into the earth.

  I was slightly alarmed. ‘Does Dura have a large enough pool of potential recruits to maintain the army’s strength?’

  Ira gave me a quizzical look. ‘Have you seen the latest population census, majesty?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There are more people living outside the city than there are in it,’ he reported.

  ‘When I first came to Dura,’ I reminisced, ‘the only people living outside the city were lords and their retainers inhabiting walled strongholds. The land south of the city was a wasteland.’

  Rsan was smiling as he too remembered the dark days when most of the desert had belonged to the Agraci, at the time sworn enemies of Parthia. But that had been forty years ago. Now the desert bloomed with crops and settlements. If I had achieved nothing else, that was a fine legacy to leave: peace and prosperity.

  ‘Peace and prosperity,’ I said absentmindedly.

  They all looked at me, but Aaron seized upon my words.

  ‘Happily, majesty, we appear to be entering a new age for Dura, an age, as you say, of peace and prosperity. We now have permanent peace with Rome, the Agraci have been friends of Dura for many years and King of Kings Phraates is a young man with hopefully many years of life ahead of him.

  ‘As Ira has alluded to, the kingdom’s population is expanding, which in turn means an increase in agricultural produce, leading to a further expansion of the kingdom’s population.’

  ‘The gods shine on Dura,’ agreed Almas.

  An image came into my mind of a camp with no camels or horses where Gallia and I had been entertained one evening, where the hosts were not of this earth. The blessing of the immortals could be a double-edged sword, however. Aaron’s voice interrupted my daydream. He took one of Ira’s papyrus sheets and perused it before speaking.

  ‘Ten thousand foot soldiers, one thousand cataphracts, five thousand horse archers and two thousand squires, to say nothing of the queen’s bodyguard, Farid’s fifteen hundred camels and their drivers, and the muleteers who service the legions, all of which impose a considerable burden on the treasury, majesty.’

  ‘The army safeguards the kingdom,’ growled Chrestus.

  ‘Indeed, general,’ said Aaron, ‘but as the kingdom no longer appears to be in any great danger, one wonders if that army has outlived its usefulness.’

  ‘What!’ roared Chrestus, pointing at the window. ‘Why don’t you and your clerks take a trip outside the city to visit the legionary camp, in the centre of which is a tent housing the Staff of Victory. It is decorated with silver discs commemorating the army’s victories during four decades of service. The newest disc, recently cast, celebrates the Battle of Diyana, fought only a few months ago and only two hundred miles from this city.’

  ‘There will be no change in the army’s numbers,’ I said to calm Chrestus’ rage, much to the disappointment of Aaron.

  ‘But do not forward the results of your census to Ctesiphon, Ira,’ commanded Gallia. ‘There is no need to broadcast Dura’s prosperity to the whole world. It will only encourage envy and place the kingdom in jeopardy.’

  Ira was delighted. ‘Yes, majesty, you can rely on my discretion.’

  Aaron began drumming his fingers on the table top, much to the amusement of the three commanders present. Sophus, more attune to the workings of the treasury, allowed himself a wry smile. The annual tribute that all kingdoms paid to Ctesiphon was calculated according to the number of soldiers each kingdom could put into the field, the figure loosely based on the population figures for each realm. Dura’s population increase would result in a commensurate increase in the amount paid to the high king’s coffers, something neither Aaron nor the king and queen desired.

  Immediately after the meeting I caught up with Gallia as she marched to the stables, prior to riding from the Citadel, where to I had no idea.

  ‘Did you have to threaten Klietas like that? Having involved him in your nefarious scheme, I would have thought you realised he is reliable.’

  She stopped to face me. ‘He is a useful idiot, there is a difference.’

  ‘Explain.’

  She gave me a malicious leer. ‘He is in love with Haya, which means he is like a red-hot piece of iron – easily malleable. He would walk over hot coals for her.’

  ‘You should not take advantage of his affections.’

  ‘Why not?’ she scoffed. ‘That is what men do to women all the time.’

  ‘There is no need for this, you know, this bitterness and resentment. We are both on the same side.’

  She continued pacing towards the stables.

  ‘War is coming, Pacorus, any fool can see it.’

  ‘What war?’ I said loudly, causing stable hands within earshot to stop what they were doing to stare at us.

  She turned to face me. ‘You want peace and a happy retirement? The only way to ensure both is to eradicate our enemies before they have time to mobilise. I have the interests of Dura at heart. Do you?’

  At the time I thought her attitude preposterous, but I had reckoned without her feminine intuition and had allowed my desire for peace to blind me to what was happening beyond Dura’s borders.

  The first sign of gathering storm clouds was the visit of Claudia to Dura.

  Chapter 2

  Determined to see for myself what took place within the walls of ‘The Sanctuary’, I walked with Klietas from the Citadel the next morning after riding out to the training fields to watch my squire being put through his paces by a company of horse archers, and afterwards eating breakfast alone on the palace terrace. Gallia was still maintaining her resentful demeanour and decided to eat breakfast with the Amazons, at least those who were not guarding their secretive headquarters. The duty centurion allotted a score of Exiles to provide an escort for the trip into the city. The streets were heaving with people, carts, camels and donkeys, making the going slow as we left the main street to head towards the city’s central square, leading off of which were side streets where the majority of Dura’s brothels were located.

  The Exiles used the non-lethal end of their javelins to usher people out of the way, who tended to stop and stare when their commander shouted, ‘make way for the king’. Klietas, sling tucked in his belt and a wicked knife in a sheath next to it, looked around nervously.

  ‘Is someone after you?’ I asked.

  ‘No, highborn.’

  ‘Then why do you look like a rabbit frightened of being seized by an eagle?’

  He shook his head. ‘You should not wander the streets, highborn, there are dangerous people about.’

  ‘I am not wandering the streets, as you quaintly put it. I am taking a stroll in the city I rule. Any king who cannot walk around his own city is either a fool or a tyrant. Have you been to this Sanctuary?’

  ‘No, highborn, men are not allowed inside.’

  ‘Is that what Haya told you? I hear you are fond of her.’

  He beamed with delight. ‘Yes, highborn, she would make a fine wife.’

  I laughed. ‘I have no doubt, and I assume you are the one who wishes to marry her?’

  ‘If I prove worthy, highborn, yes.’

  I wondered if she had told him about the mortal wound she had suffered at Irbil and her miraculous recovery afterwards.

  ‘I am informed your horsemanship and archery skills are improving by the day,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘You are doing well, Klietas, but you must not let distractions interfere with your training.’

  ‘Distractions, highborn?’

  ‘Thoughts of marriage and getting involved in the schemes of the Amazons,’ I told him. ‘If the queen approaches you again about anything, you must inform me immediately.’

  ‘Yes, highborn.’

  ‘We are here, majesty.’

  I turned to see the commander of the party of Exiles pointing his javelin at the former brothel now den of the Amazons. I was surprised at its spruced-up appearance. The last time I had seen it was when Salar, my son-in-law, was in the city and had wished to see the place where his now dead mother and father had first met. It had always been an impressive two-storey building, with twin oak doors fronting the street it was located in, though when I had seen it last the plaster on the walls was peeling and the doors were cracked and in need of a new coat of paint. There was also a sign over the door depicting a scantily clad buxom woman reclining on a couch. But the sign had gone, the doors were freshly painted, and the plaster was new. The roof tiles, formerly cracked and aged, had also been replaced. The motto of the Amazons – behind every strong man there is a stronger woman – had been chiselled into a dark-grey marble plaque mounted above the doors. Adjacent to the building was a wide alley that led to stables at the rear of the establishment, formerly for the convenience of wealthy clients visiting their favourite whores, but now used for the comings and goings of Amazons. Two of them stood guard either side of the alley’s entrance, another two outside the closed doors of The Sanctuary.

  We were spotted immediately, one of the guards at the doors disappearing inside the building and the other taking up position in front of them. The street was empty, which was surprising because when the building had been a brothel it was always bustling with customers at all hours. I told the Exiles to stay where they were and walked up to the doors, Klietas beside me.

  The Amazon bowed her head. ‘Majesty.’

  ‘Who is in charge here?’

  Before she could answer one of the doors opened and Minu appeared, wearing mail armour, sheathed sword at her hip. The Amazon who had disappeared into the building followed and assumed her prior position. Klietas smiled at Minu but she ignored him, bowing and focusing her attention on me.

  ‘How can I help you, majesty?’

  ‘I wish to see inside The Sanctuary.’

  ‘Men are forbidden to enter,’ she told me.

  ‘On whose orders?’

  ‘The queen’s, majesty.’

  I jerked a thumb behind me.

  ‘You see those soldiers behind me?’

  ‘Yes, majesty.’

  ‘I could order them to force an entry if you continue to bar my way.’

  ‘That would be unfortunate, majesty.’

  I lost my temper. ‘Unfortunate! I could have you executed for your insubordination. How dare you speak to me as though we are equals. I am your king and commander and I order you to stand aside.’

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  The sound of horses’ hooves on the dirt and the jangling of harnesses and bits averted my gaze from the rock-like Minu to see Gallia at the head of a score of Amazons, the queen dismounting and striding towards me. She interposed herself between me and Minu, speaking in a low tone.

  ‘So, poking your nose where it is not wanted. Men are not allowed to enter The Sanctuary, which is called thus because it is a place of refuge from male boorishness.’

  ‘I am not just any man,’ I retorted. ‘I am the king and as such I may go where I will.’

  ‘You will not enter The Sanctuary,’ she growled in a low tone.

  I could sense her rising temper and saw her nostrils flare. But my own disposition was confrontational, and a loud argument was now inevitable. Or at least would have been had not a runner arrived to divert our attention. The man, sweating and panting, went down on one knee before us.

  ‘Speak,’ I said.

  ‘The Princess Claudia has arrived at the Citadel, majesty.’

  Gallia was shocked, ‘Claudia, here?’

  Instantly her anger and confrontational attitude disappeared, to be replaced by concern. I too forgot about The Sanctuary and thought not of my daughter but rather of a high-ranking Scythian Sister and adviser to King of Kings Phraates. Something must have happened to prise her away from Ctesiphon, something calamitous, perhaps.

  ‘I will meet you in the Citadel,’ said Gallia, returning to her horse to regain the saddle before leading the mounted Amazons away.

  I followed, my leg beginning to ache as I retraced my steps hurriedly, the commander of the Exiles slowing down his men so as not to embarrass their king. Like the runner who had sprinted back to the Citadel to keep pace with the queen, I arrived sweating and panting at the palace. In the courtyard Claudia’s escort – two score of Babylonian mounted spearmen superbly equipped in dragon-skin armour and burnished helmets adorned with purple plumes – were leading their horses to the stables. The Amazons had also dismounted, a stable hand leading the queen’s mare away.

  ‘Fetch me a towel,’ I told a remarkably fresh-looking Klietas, my squire bounding up the palace steps to disappear into the porch. Ashk, the palace steward, frowned at him as he passed, bowing to me as I walked slowly up the stone steps.

  ‘I showed the princess to the terrace, majesty, where she and the queen are waiting. Refreshments have been ordered.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I panted.

  ‘It is good to see the princess back at Dura, majesty,’ he smiled.

  ‘Indeed.’

  A sharp pain suddenly shot up my leg, causing me to collapse on the stone slabs. The guards standing next to the pillars supporting the porch roof rushed to me, but I waved them back, taking a few seconds to regain my dignity before standing, Ashk lending a hand. A towel was thrust at me.

  ‘The leg, highborn?’

  Klietas was wearing an impious grin.

  ‘Do you want a walking stick, highborn?’

  ‘What I want is for you to attend to your duties. Go the stables and assist the staff unsaddling the Babylonians’ horses.’

  ‘Why can’t they do it?’ he asked.

  ‘Just go, damn your hide.’

  He bowed, turned on his heels and sprinted away. How I envied his young mind and limbs. Ashk, who was no young man himself, assisted me from the porch to the entrance hall and into the throne room, the pain in my leg diminishing to allow me to walk unaided past the dais to the door to the rear of the chamber that led to the palace’s private quarters.