Rsan, pleased and relieved to see his king and queen safely returned to the city, was nevertheless perturbed concerning the first item on the agenda, as was Aaron who pushed the papyrus sheet he and his friend had been studying sideways to his deputy Ira. The cunning and clever accountant studied the words before looking up. I nodded to him to indicate he should begin the meeting.

  ‘Your siege engines have been impounded, majesty.’

  ‘Impounded?’ I said. ‘By whom?’

  ‘By King Castus of Gordyene, majesty. He is demanding thirty talents of gold before they are released.’

  ‘Little bastard,’ seethed Chrestus, ‘he should have his arse tanned for his insolence.’

  Everyone nodded in agreement, even Kewab who was usually diplomacy personified. Castus was obviously still resentful over losing twenty thousand talents of gold and was making it clear he blamed me. A ton of gold was not an insignificant sum.

  ‘Write back and say Dura will pay the gold,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ Chrestus was not amused. ‘That would set a bad precedent, majesty. You should demand your own property back, and if you don’t get it, make clear you will take it back by force.’

  ‘Blackmail should not be encouraged, majesty,’ agreed Rsan.

  ‘It would send a bad signal, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.

  I reached over to take the water jug and poured myself a cup of the liquid, taking a sip. I looked at all the faces at the table and smiled.

  ‘I am old now, and the benefit of age, one of the few, is wisdom. Or at least, experience. Castus is still sulking over the gold he was forced to surrender in Cappadocia, forced to do so by myself. It is an unhappy coincidence that Dura’s siege engines were despatched to Vanadzor to prevent them being used in Pontus. That was also my responsibility.’

  ‘That was a sound military decision,’ said Kewab.

  ‘Well, it has resulted in the current, unfortunate situation. It seems we have three choices. We can refuse to pay the gold, we can pay it, or,’ I glanced at the crop-haired Chrestus, ‘next year we can march against Gordyene to reclaim our siege engines.’

  Ira raised his stylus.

  ‘Yes, Ira?’ I said.

  ‘Forgive me, majesty, but having talked with General Varsas, I believe that these engines are made of wood.’

  ‘Wood is their main component, yes.’

  He smiled with satisfaction. ‘Dura has an abundance of timber growing along the Euphrates, majesty. Could not the army build some more engines?’

  Chrestus sighed with frustration.

  ‘Perhaps you could enlighten Ira on why we want the engines back, Chrestus.’

  The general’s eyes bored into the pale Jew.

  ‘If Gordyene has siege engines, then it can reduce the Armenian capital to ashes, Sinope too if Castus has a mind to return to Pontus.’

  Ira was not convinced. ‘Surely, King Castus can also build his own siege engines. I assume Gordyene has trees?’

  ‘Order the gold to be despatched immediately,’ I told Aaron. ‘Chrestus, order Sporaces to ride north with two thousand horse archers to escort my siege engines back to Dura. And you are right, Ira, Gordyene might build its own engines. But Castus has to pay for a large army, which makes heavy demands on his treasury. Getting our engines back will delay the manufacture of his own engines, should he decided to invest in a siege train and hire personnel capable of operating it.’

  ‘He is like a child who has a new toy,’ commented Gallia derisively.

  ‘Or we could march with whole army and array it before the walls of Vanadzor,’ said Chrestus casually.

  ‘You would like that,’ I replied. ‘But I remember a time when High King Orodes did the same thing, in an attempt to rein in another king of Gordyene by the name of Surena. That ended in a great battle in which Surena was killed. I have no desire to see history repeat itself.’

  I saw Eszter nodding at Dalir, who cleared his throat.

  ‘You have something to add, Dalir?’ I asked.

  ‘We will pay the gold, lord,’ he said, to everyone’s surprise.

  ‘High King Phraates gave us fifty talents of gold for a wedding gift,’ said Eszter, ‘most of which remains unused.’

  ‘It is what my father would have wanted, lord,’ stated Dalir.

  ‘We accept your generosity, Prince Dalir,’ smiled Aaron, relieved that the kingdom’s treasury would be spared having to pay Castus.

  I was about to object but Gallia caught my eye and shook her head. Dalir and Eszter obviously wanted to make the gesture and it would have been churlish of me to refuse. Perhaps in doing so it meant something positive would come of the campaign that had cost Kalet’s life.

  The rest of the meeting was far more agreeable. Ira reported record yields of barley and wheat following the harvest, which I congratulated Almas for. It was his foresight and energy in overseeing the building of the kingdom’s irrigation system that was responsible for the great crop surplus enjoyed by the kingdom. Farmers paid their taxes in produce, which the treasury then sold abroad through foreign agents in the city, most going to Media. The agents paid gold on behalf of their lords, which went into the treasury’s coffers.

  Ira also reported an increase in traffic on the Silk Road, camel caravans travelling east and west stopping off at Dura before journeying on to Egypt or back to the east. Each caravan paid dues to camp in the caravan park to the north of the city, and the guards and cameleers visited the city to spend their wages on drink, whores or food, all of which benefited Aaron’s coffers.

  But my treasurer had the eyes of a hawk and the mind of an elephant, the large beasts that the rulers of the empire’s eastern kingdoms used in their armies, which I was reliably informed had memories to rival that of the most intelligent Greek. At the end of the meeting I asked of there if there was any other business, expecting no one to speak. But Aaron raised a hand.

  ‘Just one small matter, majesty.’

  He held out his hand to Ira, who handed him a papyrus scroll. Aaron unrolled it and perused its contents.

  ‘This is a list of items to be purchased for your former squire, a young man by the name of Klietas. Let’s see. Two oxen, seeds to sow his land, a large area of land by all accounts, which the treasury is also to purchase, along with ploughs, tools, ropes, and so forth. Finally, the treasury is to make available an interest-free loan to this Klietas, which equates to a gift.’

  He shook his grey-haired head. ‘It amounts to a major outlay, majesty.’

  ‘It is an investment, Aaron,’ I told him.

  ‘In a young man who has no collateral, little experience and has no sons to assist him on his farm?’

  ‘No, Aaron, in the future of the kingdom. Until now Dura has been a kingdom organised for war, the treasury’s income being primarily directed to the upkeep and enlargement of the army. That army has, over the decades, marched thousands of miles in the service of the empire, winning great victories but also incurring considerable costs.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Aaron without thinking.

  ‘The same army that has allowed you and your family to live in peace and security,’ growled Chrestus.

  ‘The point is,’ I continued, eager to avoid a confrontation between the pair, ‘I want Dura to be a centre of agriculture as well as a staging post on the Silk Road. Men such as Klietas will build the future of the kingdom, while the army will continue to provide its security. As for Klietas himself, he saved my life and I consider a few seeds and a couple of oxen a small price to pay for my life.’

  Aaron, long used to knowing when to concede an argument, rolled up the scroll and handed it back to Ira.

  ‘I shall see to the matter personally, majesty.’

  After the meeting, I rode down to the Palmyrene Gate and left Horns at the gatehouse before walking up the steps in one of the towers flanking the entrance. I emerged from a small door beneath the fighting platform above, smiling when I saw the stone griffin standing on its base above the gates, staring west unblinking, towards the legionary camp half a mile away and the desert beyond. I dismissed the two guards standing sentry over the griffin, as I liked to be alone in its company, purely for sentimental reasons. After I had stroked one of the statues legs, I leaned back against the plinth it sat on and surveyed my kingdom. To the west was the road to Palmyra, the dusty track filled with camel caravans as far as the eye could see. Behind me was my city and the Citadel, the pleasing aroma of spices being sold in the markets drifting to my nostrils, a city filled with thriving, healthy people protected by an army that was rated by friend and foe alike as a truly formidable instrument. To the south was a great band of green, now extending from the river inland to a distance of ten miles. When I first came to Dura only a thin strip of palm trees hugging the river provided any colour, the rest was a great expanse of yellow, sun-blasted dirt, an abode of snakes, scorpions and Agraci raiders. Now the Agraci were friends and allies and the waters of the Euphrates were used to turn desert into fertile land.

  ‘I thought I would find you here.’

  ‘It’s my favourite spot.’

  ‘Congratulations on extricating yourself from Cappadocia, son of Hatra, that was no mean feat, though why one tasked with defending the Parthian Empire found himself in Roman lands remains a mystery. A trip down memory lane, perhaps?’

  I did not turn to face her. Hearing her voice was enough.

  ‘I was tricked into participating.’

  ‘The great King of Dura, famous lord of war, tricked? What is the world coming to? Did not Claudia explain to you the legend of Gordis and what happens to rulers of Gordyene who stray from their domains?’

  ‘Spartacus was family.’

  A mocking cackle. ‘He was not. He was the son of a foreign slave whose memory you have grown ridiculously sentimentally attached to. So much so that it has clouded your judgement. Things will be better now that his son has joined him in the afterlife.’

  ‘Castus might cause trouble.’

  ‘Castus is a mere shadow of his father,’ she replied, ‘more interested in money than settling scores, as you have discovered.’

  ‘What scores?’ I asked.

  She sighed. ‘Now that his father is dead, the Armenians will renege on their agreement to pay Gordyene gold.’

  ‘Which will lead to war between the two.’

  Another cackle. ‘Wars are expensive, son of Hatra. Castus is more devious than his father and will find other ways of exhorting gold from the Armenians. Talking of gold, I see you are lavishing it on that illiterate farm boy you rescued in Media.’

  ‘I don’t want him to be a soldier. Soil is easier to wash off than blood.’

  She laughed mockingly. ‘Even after all these years, you are still a sentimental fool, taking pity on the world’s waifs and strays and seeing value in the most worthless of individuals. I think that is why the gods love you, son of Hatra, because they take pity on the hopelessness of your causes. And give you great gifts, of course.’

  Now it was my turn to mock. ‘What gifts? Everything I have done, everything I have achieved, has been through my own efforts.’

  ‘Of course, calm down. How is your Egyptian doing?’

  ‘Kewab? Fine.’ I grew alarmed. ‘What do you know? Is he in danger?’

  ‘No more than you or I. Well, you, anyway. It was his plan that rescued you from the witch at Kayseri, was it not?’

  ‘Glaphyra? She is a wily opponent and her plan nearly succeeded. I will not deny it was Kewab’s battle plan that saved us.’

  ‘How strange that he should suddenly pitch up at Dura all those years ago, a foreigner in a foreign land who just happened to join your army. Who then went on to rise through the ranks, who saved the eastern half of the empire from collapse and returned to save your hide in Cappadocia. Coincidence, son of Hatra? And, of course, there is the greatest gift of all, who will tidy up your loose ends.’

  ‘Who?’ I demanded to know, turning to see only thin air.

  Epilogue

  Gallia had always loved Dura, ever since the first time she had seen its yellow stone walls all those years ago. Even before she entered the city she had fallen in love with it, its stout fortifications, the strong, square towers spaced along the perimeter wall, and the mighty Citadel, the brooding stronghold that was higher than any other part of Dura. In the long years since she had arrived her affection for the city had never dimmed. She had held it against Roman legions and rebel Parthians, had welcomed kings, princes and a king of kings to its Citadel, and had raised three daughters in its palace. And it was the only place she could truly call home. Even before she met Pacorus, the dashing, romantic prince from a far-off place she had never heard of over forty years ago, she had never felt at ease in the Senones heartland. No, that is wrong. She had been made to feel unwelcome by her father, King Ambiorix, who had resented her since her birth. Her mother had given her life but had paid with her own life, making her father bitter and resentful against her, culminating in him selling her to a rich Roman, the owner of a gladiator school in the city of Capua.

  When she came to Dura she was an outcast, apart from the world, and so naturally took to a city full of outcasts and the unwanted, a place set apart from the rest of the Parthian Empire by the River Euphrates. Everyone had told her when she had lived for a brief time in Hatra that civilisation ended on the eastern bank of the Euphrates, beyond which was barbarism and chaos. But to her, it seemed the gods had fated her to live among the barbarians and chaos, and she in turn felt an immediate affection for the people of Dura. She felt at home and at ease in the city and its wild, untamed hinterland, which she and Pacorus set about making in their image.

  Now the city and the kingdom prospered, succeeding beyond their wildest dreams, benefiting from the Silk Road coursing through it and the establishment of dozens of settlements in the desert south of the city, made possible by peace with the Agraci. Now the city teemed with shopkeepers, entertainers, painters, scribes, metalworkers, lawyers, farmers and priests. In the centre of the city, betraying its Greek origins, was the agora, meaning ‘open place of assembly’, which was in reality an open-air marketplace. It was the beating heart of the city, the abode of confectioners, vintners, fishmongers, dressmakers, cloth merchants, shoemakers, jewellers, potters, and sellers of leather goods. Everything could be purchased in Dura’s agora, everything except slaves.

  The whole world was plagued by the spectre of slavery. Even Hatra, where Gafarn and Diana ruled, possessed thousands of slaves. Tradition had such an iron grip on that kingdom that her friends could not even banish slaves from their own palace. Every city in the Parthian Empire was infested with slaves – except Dura. Slaves accompanied the trade caravans, of course, but they were always quartered in the caravan park outside the city, and it was forbidden to bring slaves into the city itself. There were servants in the homes of the nobility, and they were probably beaten and abused like their servile counterparts in other cities. In this, Parthia was no different from Rome. But Dura was different. It was a place where slaves fled to and were given sanctuary, safe in the knowledge that their former masters and mistresses would not dare to pursue them to the kingdom where King Pacorus and his fearsome wife lived. Cruel tongues talked of Dura’s army being a force of slaves and they did nothing to contradict the rumours. The ‘army of slaves’ had never been defeated on the battlefield and with each victory its reputation had grown, until it had become a legend. Even the recent campaign, abortive though it may have been, had increased its aura of invincibility, for it should have been annihilated outside the walls of Kayseri, surrounded as it was on all sides. But it had triumphed and marched back to Dura intact. But there had been casualties.

  As Gallia trotted into the city, she cast a glance at Minu beside her. The new commander of the Amazons was remote, withdrawn. She had survived the battle in the fog but had taken several blows to her body that had ripped her mail shirt and bruised her torso. She thought nothing of it, and in the mourning for Zenobia and the thirty other Amazons who had fallen, forgot about her battered body. But two days after the fight she began bleeding heavily. Sophus did everything possible to save her unborn child but failed. Talib tried to comfort her and reassure her they would have other children. But she had lost her first child and blamed King Amyntas of Galatia. She wanted revenge upon him, upon anyone allied with him.

  They rode into the small courtyard to the rear of The Sanctuary, two stable hands, both female, taking their horses to the stalls. Formerly, the stables had housed the horses of rich clients come to taste the delights of the most famous brothel in Dura, the establishment where Roxanne, later Queen of Sakastan, had plied her trade. Now Amazons guarded every entrance and men were forbidden to enter the place where women had formerly been reduced to slavery, becoming the playthings of men.

  The two Amazons standing either side of the door that led from the stables to The Sanctuary bowed, one knocking on the door behind her. Moments later, the door opened and a handsome woman with emerald green eyes and thick, golden hair stood in the doorway. She smiled and bowed to Gallia, her tall, slender frame hidden by the black robes she always wore.

  ‘Welcome, majesty, everything is ready for your inspection.’

  She was unlike any Scythian Sister Gallia had ever seen, and that included her own daughter. But Claudia had told her she was the best at her craft, which she had been teaching those chosen to continue the war started by Spartacus.

  But which she would finish.

  Historical notes