Unfortunately, everyone began coughing upon entering the temple due to a thick haze of incense filling the cavernous building. No expense had been spared to emphasise the solemnity and significance of the ceremony. Beside each of the forty white marble columns supporting the roof of cedar was a censer producing the aroma of burning myrrh, cassia, flower of nard, saffron, kostus and cinnamon. Any one would have been pleasant enough; together they produced a pungent and overwhelming smell.

  ‘So that’s Phraates’ intention,’ whispered Gafarn, ‘to kill us all with fumes.’

  And then the young man himself appeared, dressed in a pure white silk gown to symbolise his purity. Timo beckoned him towards the altar as eunuchs recited ancient prayers in the old Scythian language. Priests holding gold bowls filled with water and others holding white towels stood to one side. The holy men’s white gowns seemed to glow as sunlight flooded the temple, increasing the brightness. I glanced at Khosrou with his two sons who rolled his eyes.

  ‘Great Shamash,’ Timo’s voice was deep and loud, ‘we have gathered here today to crown King Phraates as King of Kings of the Parthian Empire. Great one, the giver of truth and justice, smile upon Phraates and infuse his soul with virtues to make him a great high king.’

  The eunuchs continued to mumble their prayers as the priests walked forward and the ceremonial washings began.

  Timo, who was handed a cloth to dip in the bowl, carried out the actual ablutions. First he washed Phraates’ hands and dried them with a towel.

  ‘Thus is the king free of all the prohibited things he has touched.’

  Priests took away the bowl and towel and more came forward with fresh water and a towel. Timo then proceeded to rinse Phraates’ mouth.

  ‘Thus is the king’s mouth cleansed of all the falsehoods and faults that may have issued from it.’

  There were chuckles when Timo twisted a wet cloth and proceeded to shove it up Phraates’ nostrils.

  ‘Thus is the king cleansed of all the forbidden things he has smelled.’

  Finally Timo knelt and washed Phraates’ feet, declaring.

  ‘Thus is the king cleansed from every instance of having walked on rebellious and mistaken paths.’

  A pair of leather shoes was presented to the king and then Demaratus walked forward carrying a red pillow upon which was a golden crown. Phraates, who had been mortified at having been washed in front of the kings of the empire, now beamed with delight as the ancient crown of the king of kings was lifted from the pillow by Timo and placed on his head.

  ‘Lord of the Sun,’ declared Timo, ‘who sees all and judges all, smile upon your servant on earth and most devoted disciple. Hail King of Kings Phraates.’

  As one we all responded. ‘Hail Phraates.’

  Next came the royal procession, which originally involved the new high king walking round the walls of Ctesiphon. The dilapidated state of stretches of the wall meant it would be both unseemly and dangerous for Phraates to walk around their full extent, not to mention insufferably hot for him and all of us. So a symbolic procession was made whereupon he walked around the edge of the temple terrace, all following him like chicks behind a hen.

  ‘Well, it’s done.’

  I heard the voice of Khosrou behind me.

  ‘Yes, lord, let us hope it heralds the dawn of a new age.’

  ‘Not much to look at, is he?’ observed Khosrou.

  Despite the gold crown, white silk robe and expensive shoes I had to admit Phraates did not look like a high king. Pale, thin and with a propensity to sneer at the slightest provocation, I hoped the son of Orodes would grow into a wise ruler.

  ‘He is young, lord, just starting out on his great journey. We should give him the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘At least we’ll be well fed tonight,’ was Khosrou’s only comment.

  I had to admit I too was looking forward to the feast, having been told by Demaratus the slaughterhouses of Seleucia had been busy for a week providing carcasses for the kitchens of the palace complex.

  Gallia stormed into our tent. ‘We are leaving.’

  After the incense in the temple had befuddled my senses I had taken the opportunity to lie down and rest but my slumber was rudely interrupted. She walked over to the cot I was lying in and shook me violently.

  ‘Rasha and Spartacus have been insulted and I will not stay here while my family are abused. Guard!’

  A cataphract appeared from outside.

  ‘Give the order to strike camp. We are leaving for Dura immediately.’

  The guard bowed and left.

  I swung my legs out of the cot and shook my head.

  ‘What in the name of the gods is going on?’

  I stood, walked over to the table and poured water into a bowl, splashing it on my face to wake me up some more. Gallia began pacing, clenching and unclenching her fists as she did so.

  ‘Is this how we are treated, we who have shed blood for the empire?’

  I dried my face on a towel and grabbed her arms.

  ‘Stop. Tell me what is wrong.’

  Her eyes were burning with fury. I had not seen that look in a long while.

  ‘Breathe,’ I told her.

  She shook her arms free. ‘While you were at the temple I and Praxima took the opportunity to visit Rasha. We were interrupted by an envoy from King of Kings Phraates, so called, who informed Rasha she would not be permitted to attend the feast tonight.’

  I was confused. ‘Why?’

  ‘When questioned he condescendingly replied he was merely relaying the will of Phraates. Praxima nearly killed him on the spot.’

  ‘There has clearly been some sort of mistake,’ I said. ‘I will go to the palace and sort it out.’

  Thoughts of an angry Spartacus flashed through my mind.

  ‘Guard!’ I shouted.

  The sentry re-entered the tent. ‘Majesty?’

  ‘Bring me my horse.’

  He bowed and left. I began pulling on my boots. Minutes later I was mounted on Tegha galloping towards Ctesiphon’s palace, four cataphracts with me. I had sent Gallia to the Gordyene camp to try to intercept Spartacus before he headed for the palace, which I knew he would do. The sun was high in the sky and my throat was parched as I rode through the perimeter gates and on to the palace.

  I told my men to wait in the shade in the palace’s grand portico while I sought an audience with Phraates. Guards at the palace doors initially blocked my entrance and kept me waiting while a palace steward was summoned and left with my request for an audience. As the temperature rose so did my temper but as Spartacus had not yet made an appearance there was something of a relief.

  At length the official returned with news Phraates would see me and led me through the hushed, cool interior of the palace to the throne room. The tall, gold-inlaid doors swung open and the official left me. I walked across the white marble tiles, guards closing the doors behind me and others standing like statues beside the marble pillars.

  ‘King Pacorus, welcome.’

  The slightly high-pitched voice of Phraates echoed around the spacious chamber. I halted in front of the dais, helmet in the crook of my arm, and bowed to Phraates. Flanking the throne were the standing figures of Demaratus and Timo. Another figure, a podgy man in a purple robe and thick black curly hair, stood beside the dais. He appeared to have black makeup around his eyes.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, highness,’ I said.

  Phraates nodded. ‘It always a pleasure to welcome a friend of my late father and the former lord high general of the empire.’

  ‘I have heard of a most regrettable matter, majesty.’

  ‘Oh, what matter would that be?’

  ‘The exclusion of Queen Rasha from tonight’s feast.’

  Phraates forehead creased into a frown. He looked at the curly haired man expectantly. The man giggled girlishly, bowed deeply and shuffled on to the dais. He whispered into the young man’s ear.

  ‘Ah, yes, the Agraci woman,’ said Phraates.

  ‘The Queen of Gordyene,’ I stated forcefully.

  Timo stared down his nose at me, the curly haired man giggled and retreated from the dais. Demaratus looked most uncomfortable.

  ‘The Agraci are the enemies of the empire, King Pacorus,’ replied Phraates, ‘it is inappropriate for one of their number to attend the first feast of the new king of kings.’

  ‘Most inappropriate,’ repeated the curly haired man.

  ‘We are entering a new age,’ stated Timo, ‘one in which only Parthians will rule its kingdoms.’

  ‘A new age,’ echoed the curly haired man.

  I pointed at him. ‘Has the high king’s pet been taught to repeat the words of his master?’

  Phraates stood. ‘This is our most loyal and trusted adviser, Ashleen, King Pacorus, a man who was close to my uncle during his time as high king.’

  I stared at the wretch. ‘Your uncle?’

  ‘King of Kings Mithridates,’ answered Ashleen.

  ‘I thought we had rid the empire of Mithridates and his ilk,’ I said.

  Ashleen bristled at the insult but said nothing, leaving others to fight for him.

  ‘Lord Ashleen is from one of Susiana’s most ancient families,’ said Phraates, retaking his throne, ‘a man who served my uncle before retiring from public service in the aftermath of the empire’s civil war. He has only recently come out of retirement.’

  ‘How convenient,’ I remarked dryly.

  ‘Lord Ashleen retains our absolute trust and confidence,’ Phraates warned me.

  I came to the point. ‘Will you allow Queen Rasha to attend the banquet?’

  ‘I will not,’ answered Phraates. ‘Neither she nor her slave husband are welcome here. However, your queen will be made most welcome.’

  ‘My queen?’

  ‘Though Queen Gallia is not Parthian I am prepared to make an exception for her, in recognition of your loyal service to my late father and the empire.’

  ‘My wife is the Queen of Dura,’ I shot back.

  ‘But not Parthian,’ smirked Ashleen, ‘you see what you don’t realise, King Pacorus, is the empire can grow strong only by ensuring those who rule it are wholly Parthian.’

  ‘The gods will it,’ added Timo. ‘King of Kings Phraates is the issue of a long and prestigious line of Parthian monarchs.’

  ‘And his mother, Queen Axsen,’ whined Ashleen, ‘could trace her lineage back to the kings of ancient Persia.’

  ‘And who was also the friend of my wife and Queen Rasha.’

  Phraates waved a hand at me. ‘The matter is not open to discussion. It has been decided. The Agraci are not welcome within the empire.’

  ‘King Spartacus will not take the matter lightly,’ I warned.

  ‘King Spartacus?’ snapped Ashleen. ‘He is only a king because he was made so by high king Orodes on your advice, King Pacorus.’

  ‘A most regrettable decision,’ lamented Timo.

  ‘One that can be reversed with ease,’ gloated Phraates.

  ‘It is within your power, high one,’ slavered Ashleen.

  ‘And will you be stripping King Nergal and Queen Praxima of their crowns also?’ I asked.

  Timo regarded me coldly.

  ‘It is well known King Nergal and Queen Allatu were sent by the gods to sit on Mesene’s throne. We do not act against the divine ones’ wishes, King Pacorus.’

  ‘Praxima was a slave in Italy,’ I said despairingly.

  ‘A god may assume many forms before revealing himself or herself, King Pacorus,’ answered Timo, ‘as any fool knows.’

  ‘Any fool,’ repeated Ashleen.

  ‘You may leave us now,’ ordered Phraates, ‘we are tired.’

  ‘You are making a mistake, Phraates,’ I cautioned.

  Timo’s eyes widened. ‘The king of kings is incapable of making mistakes, which you would do well to remember.’

  ‘King Pacorus,’ said Phraates sternly, ‘do not think to take advantage of the affection my later father held you in. I am high king and not my father.’

  ‘That much is certain,’ I agreed.

  ‘You insult the high king,’ spat Ashleen.

  ‘I think it would be wise to withdraw, Pacorus,’ said Demaratus. He bowed to Phraates and ushered me away. ‘Come.’

  ‘Who is Ashleen?’ I demanded while standing waiting for Tegha to be brought to me.

  ‘Arrived a few weeks before Orodes’ death, all fawning and begging forgiveness. Orodes forgave him of course and he wormed his way into Phraates’ affections. To be fair, and I know you won’t agree, he is very knowledgeable about government and customs. He seems to have the interests of the empire at heart.’

  I laughed. ‘Believe me, my old friend, men like him have only their own interests at heart.’

  A slave brought Tegha and I hauled myself into his saddle.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Demaratus.’

  ‘Will you and Gallia attend the feast, Pacorus?’

  ‘I have just lost my appetite.’

  I left Ctesiphon the same afternoon, along with Gallia, Spartacus, Nergal and Praxima. They might have been living gods but the first loyalty of Mesene’s rulers was to their friends rather than to the empire. Gafarn and Diana also wanted to leave but I pleaded with them to remain. Hatra was the western shield of the empire and the first city of Parthia. Dura had always been regarded as a semi-lawless frontier city and Mesene was a poor relation in the empire’s family of kingdoms. Their absence from the feast would not reflect badly on the beginning of the new high king’s reign, but Hatra’s non-attendance would be noted both within and outside the empire. So Gafarn and Diana stayed and I wondered whether lobbying so hard for Phraates had been a mistake.

  Chapter 2

  Before we left the encampment I visited Spartacus to find the King of Gordyene in a surprisingly relaxed mood. His soldiers were dismantling their tents and loading them on to camels. Rasha was laughing and joking with a group of female horse archers, members of her personal bodyguard. She stopped what she was doing and rushed over when she clapped eyes on me. She kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘We are leaving too,’ I told her.

  ‘The high king insults you, he insults all of us,’ added Gallia, who seemed to have soothed Spartacus’ wrath.

  Rasha smiled. The raven-haired girl who had shared our palace at Dura had grown into an attractive woman, not beautiful but striking and determined. She made a fine wife for the equally forthright Spartacus. He invited us to their tent to share wine and food.

  ‘Nergal and Praxima will also not be attending the feast,’ I informed them both.

  ‘We won’t be coming back here again,’ said Spartacus. ‘We do not need a high king and neither does Gordyene.’

  ‘Everything is quiet on your northern border?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘The Armenians have shed enough blood trying to conquer Gordyene, uncle.’

  ‘Artavasdes has no desire to die in our kingdom,’ said Rasha.

  Artavasdes, King of Armenia, was a pale shadow of his father Tigranes the Great. Ever since his defeat just before Carrhae he had been wary of interfering in Parthian affairs. He had lost thousands of men in a vain attempt to conquer Gordyene when Surena had been its king. Orodes had made Spartacus king in the aftermath of Surena’s fall and my nephew had been assiduous in building up his kingdom’s strength.

  ‘Rather than send the annual tribute to Ctesiphon I will spend it on my army,’ said Spartacus. ‘Phraates has done Gordyene a favour.’

  ‘Try not to provoke Phraates,’ I cautioned.

  The king’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is he who should be wary of provoking me, uncle. He has insulted my wife and has lost the friendship of Gordyene and its rulers.’

  ‘Well said,’ grinned Gallia. ‘Know Gordyene does not stand alone. It will always have the support of Dura, true Pacorus?’

  ‘It is,’ I answered, ‘and Hatra as well for that matter.’

  ‘And Mesene,’ added Gallia.

  I held up my hands. ‘I have informed Phraates he has made a mistake by insulting Rasha and our absence from the feast will remind him of his error. But I would ask for your restraint at this time.’

  Rasha nibbled a date. ‘It is too late, Pacorus. I have already sent a courier to my brother begging him to bring his army across the Euphrates.’

  I nearly choked on my wine. I felt nauseous at the image of thousands of Agraci warriors riding towards Ctesiphon.

  ‘What?’ I uttered feebly.

  Rasha and Spartacus burst into laughter.

  ‘Very droll,’ I muttered.

  ‘I know the empire is not Dura,’ said Rasha, grinning mischievously at Gallia, ‘where all races mix freely and without malice towards each other.’

  I looked at them, both remarkably calm and nonplussed. Too relaxed, in fact. Something was wrong. Why were they so unconcerned?

  ‘Phraates will need Gordyene in the future,’ remarked Spartacus, ‘and then he will apologise.’

  ‘Claudia has told us,’ said Rasha.

  I looked at Gallia. ‘Told you what?’

  ‘The king of kings will come crawling to us when the time comes.’

  They knew no more but told us my daughter had visited them both before Spartacus had attended the coronation ceremony. Thus when the deliberate slight from the palace arrived they were not taken aback. I probed them further on why Phraates would need Gordyene but neither of them knew; Claudia had provided only the minimum of details.

  On the ride back to Dura I questioned my daughter concerning her visit to Gordyene’s king and queen.

  ‘I congratulate you on convincing the King and Queen of Gordyene not to be provoked by the insult directed at them.’

  Claudia laughed. ‘I did not tell them not to retaliate, father, merely to bide their time.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For when they are in a position to extract an apology from the boy king.’

  ‘You should have more respect for the king of kings,’ I said sternly.

  ‘Respect has to be earned, father,’ she shot back.

  ‘You are perhaps too young to remember the great civil war that ravaged the empire and tempted the Romans to invade our land,’ I told her. ‘But I remember it like it was yesterday and have no wish to revisit those times. You would do well to remember that when you seek to influence the actions of its rulers.’