Agbar accompanied the governor to welcome us to the Kingdom of Sakastan. A huge man with a shaven head, gold earrings and large belly, Governor Rogerio smiled a lot to reveal immaculate white teeth. He arrived in a large litter carried by a dozen slaves who looked clean, fresh and were dressed in fine white clothes, red sandals on their feet. We, in contrast, presented a sorry spectacle – unwashed, unshaven, our clothes dusty and our horses in need of a good brush and re-shoeing. I saw surprise in Rogerio’s eyes when he alighted from his curtained litter to stand before us, but he was all smiles when Agbar introduced the kings and queens standing in front of him. He clicked his fingers to bring four slaves forward holding large umbrellas that they used as sunshades for Gallia, Diana, Praxima and Rasha. His eyes were filled with lust as he beheld my wife’s blonde hair.

  ‘We have all heard of Queen Gallia of Dura but the stories do not do you justice, majesty,’ he bowed deeply, took her hand and kissed it. ‘Such beauty is rare in this world.’

  Gallia laughed. ‘I fear days of being blasted by sandstorms and roasted under the hottest sun I have ever experienced have taken their toll, but I thank you for your kind words.’

  Rogerio kissed her hand again. ‘I have seen much of this world, majesty, but you are one of its wonders, truly.’

  He continued to hold her hand, which Gallia gently removed from his grasp.

  ‘We need water for our horses and men,’ I told him.

  ‘Of course, majesty, I have arranged for your army to be quartered north of the city where there is an abundance of water.’

  We had arrived from the west, riding parallel to the great Silk Road running from the east through Bam and on to the west. Our thousands of horses and camels could not be accommodated within the various caravan parks around the city, so had to be quartered in a specially designated area beyond the extensive groves of date palms resembling a fat green serpent wrapped around the city. I was about to thank the governor when he barked orders to bring forward another litter, this one with carved ivory decorations and pure white curtains on all four sides. Then he stepped forward and went down on one knee before Isabella.

  ‘Welcome home, princess.’

  Isabella grinned and held out her hand for Rogerio to kiss. This time there were no honeyed words or flashing smile, just a governor welcoming home a woman who would one day be his queen. Hopefully it would be many years before she wore Sakastan’s crown.

  ‘Your litter awaits, highness.’

  Eszter giggled as Rogerio led Isabella to her waiting litter, clapping his hands when she was lying on the stuffed mattress and cushions, drawing the curtains to shield her from having to look at the city’s common folk as she made her way to the palace. Agbar and his men, who like us were dishevelled and in need of fresh uniforms, surrounded the litter as the slaves carrying it sweated in the heat.

  ‘My back aches like fury,’ complained Gafarn, ‘I could do with one of those.’

  ‘Please take mine, majesty,’ offered Rogerio.

  ‘We will be riding to our quarters,’ said Diana sternly.

  But first Rogerio assigned officers from the garrison to escort the various contingents of our army to the camping area. I pulled Kalet to one side to emphasise the fact that we were guests in Sakastan and not part of a conquering army. He nodded earnestly as I stressed the need for him, the lords and their warriors to behave themselves and not cause any trouble. But even as the words were leaving my lips I could tell they were wasted. Bam was a rich city and wealthy cities are filled with brothels where those with money can indulge their fantasies, after first sating their thirst in one of the dozens of inns ranging from back-street gambling and fighting pits to establishments with their own stables and fine dining.

  ‘Try not to get yourself killed,’ were my parting words to a Kalet salivating at experiencing everything an eastern city had to offer.

  Bam was an imposing place, surrounded by a high mud-brick wall with over thirty square towers along its extent. The defences were bolstered by a wide, deep moat filled with water, wooden causeways across it giving access to the city. Guards shoved curious onlookers aside when the kings and queens and their bodyguards rode through the teeming city to the citadel positioned on a hilltop at its centre. Faces of every race stared at our column, barefoot urchins ran up to us to beg for money and the scent of market stalls selling spices from China filled our nostrils. Bam was a dusty, crowded, busy city, a hive of commerce in the middle of a stony, barren plain.

  ‘Watermelons!’

  Eszter jumped from her horse and ran over to a stall piled high with large green oval balls. The column halted and Rasha joined my daughter, bartering with the scrawny stallholder who wielded a knife with dexterity when a price had been agreed. The two women squealed with delight as he cut up a pair of watermelons and they began feasting on the juicy red innards.

  ‘I’ll have one as well,’ called Nergal, sliding off his horse.

  Within half a minute we had all dismounted and the stallholder was clapping his hands together with delight as his goods were purchased. Even Claudia dismounted for the opportunity to gorge on a watermelon. We stood like naughty children, juices spilling on our dirty tunics and leggings, grinning like idiots as we devoured the sweet-tasting fruit.

  ‘It is to your liking, highborn?’ the stallholder asked me, his purse now bulging with coin.

  ‘Immensely,’ I replied, juice running down my neck.

  Our yellow-uniformed escorts lowered their spears to keep a curious crowd at bay, their commander calling to us.

  ‘We should get to the citadel, majesties, the city is full of thieves and beggars.’

  We were beginning to attract a growing crowd of young children, all in filthy rags and rank in odour, each one holding out a hand in the expectation of money from a highborn. It was time to leave, I agreed.

  We pushed our way through the throng to get back to our horses, Eszter and Rasha buying more watermelons that they tossed into the crowd by way of a diversion. I arrived at Tegha being held by soldier of our escort and felt a tug on my tunic. Fearing a thief, I spun and drew my spatha , to see a terrified boy no older than ten staring at me, wide eyes filled with alarm.

  ‘What?’ I grunted irritably.

  He held out a small rolled parchment. ‘For you, great one.’

  I sheathed my sword, took the papyrus and tossed him a coin for his troubles.

  ‘Don’t sneak up on people, it might end badly.’

  He gave me a wolfish grin. ‘Thank you, king slayer.’

  Hot, tired and now irritable, I shoved the scroll into my tunic and did not think of it again until Gallia and I were in a luxurious large stone bath sunk into the floor of our bedroom, slaves having filled it with fresh, cool water drawn from a nearby well.

  ‘Qanats,’ I said.

  Gallia opposite opened her eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘The water that gives this city life comes from qanats, which are underground tunnels tapping into underground mountain lakes. They were built four hundred years ago by the Persians.’

  ‘That would explain why the water is so cool,’ she said, a slave girl rinsing the last sand particles from her blonde locks. The girl then began to massage my wife’s skull with her fingers, making Gallia drowsy.

  ‘What was in the letter?’ she sighed.

  ‘I had clean forgot. It will wait.’

  After our bath our limbs were covered in oils and massaged to ease the stresses of the past few days from our bodies. It did not take long for both of us to slip into a deep sleep, the slaves absenting themselves to allow us to rest. When I awoke the light outside was fading and oil lamps were burning in our room. I picked up the unopened letter and broke the wax seal bearing the image of a peacock, the emblem of Carmania.

  ‘Who is it from?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘Hamide, the mother of Phanes and Peroz.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  I tossed the letter on the bedside table. ‘I have been summoned to a meeting with her.’

  The next morning, when the steward allocated to attend to our every need arrived at our door, I requested that he fetch me clean goose feathers. He assured me that he already had an abundance of writing instruments and there was no need to fashion them myself. But I told him that I needed them for my helmet.

  ‘You are not a soldier reporting for duty, Pacorus,’ Gallia teased me as I pulled on a fresh pair of leggings.

  ‘I might as well try to make a good impression on Peroz’s mother,’ I told her, ‘Agbar has informed me she is a formidable figure.’

  ‘I doubt she wants to welcome you to Sakastan,’ said Gallia, ‘more likely she is here to cause trouble.’

  The steward, newly returned with a basket of white goose feathers, assisted me putting on my armour: a two-piece black leather cuirass. They were muscled pieces, the front embossed on the upper chest with a golden sun motif, two golden winged lions immediately below. Fringed strips of black leather, adorned with bees, protected my shoulders and thighs.

  ‘Beautiful armour, majesty,’ he said, ‘the lion is the emblem of Dura?’

  ‘No, the griffin. This armour was a gift from a friend and was taken from a dead enemy soldier.’

  ‘Castus,’ said Gallia.

  I stared out of the window at the blue sky and thought of my long-dead German friend. Was it really thirty years ago?

  ‘Good times.’

  ‘Majesty?’

  The steward was looking at me in expectation. I returned to the land of the living and picked up my helmet, a splendid steel piece with large hinged cheek plates and a brightly polished brass crest. For comfort it was padded on the inside.

  ‘Place the feather in the crest.’

  I strapped on my sword belt and examined my boots, which were spotless, slaves having removed them the previous evening and returned them gleaming. I had sent orders that Azad and Kewab were to escort me to the camp of Queen Hamide, which was located south of the city among the extensive date groves ringing Bam. With them were a hundred cataphracts in full armour, including full-face helmets. Their horses were covered in scale armour protecting their heads and necks, the eyes of the beasts shielded by metal grills. The men also wore light white cloaks that draped over the hindquarters of their horses. It took half an hour to ride from Bam’s citadel to the outer gates, the press of people and carts slowing our progress to a crawl. Azad wanted to use his ukku sword on the hordes of beggars flocking around us, some of the children trying to prise away the metal scales on the horses’ scale armour, earning them a slap round the face from the irritated horsemen. Finally, we reached the gates to leave the good citizens of Bam behind, and cantered to the camp of the Carmanians.

  Away from the bustle of the city the queen’s camp, sited to take advantage of the shade offered by date palms nearly all over seventy feet tall, was an oasis of calm and order. Guards armed with spears, swords and carrying large round shields painted red and bearing a golden peacock guarded the perimeter, a group of them halting our column until the commander of the queen’s escort could vouch for us. He arrived with a group of mounted spearmen who also carried shields sporting a golden peacock, escorting me to the tent of Queen Hamide herself, situated on the edge of the expansive grove. I say tent but it was a large pavilion surrounded by wood and canvas stables, a wagon park and a corral filled with camels, which was mercifully downwind of the royal quarters.

  Azad and the cataphracts were escorted to the stabling block where they would be at least be able to take off their helmets, and wait in the shade until my audience was over. I and Kewab, helmets in the crook of our arms, followed the commander of the queen’s guard into the pavilion to an audience chamber where Hamide was sitting on a couch.

  She was a small woman with white hair and a round face, her skin wrinkled, giving her an unattractive appearance. Her dark brown eyes looked at the handsome Kewab in his gleaming armour and then me.

  ‘Which one is the king?’

  I stepped forward and give a slight tilt of my head. ‘I am.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You are shorter than I expected and not as imposing as I had been told. But then, stories are always embellished and the further away the topic of conversation the greater the exaggeration.’

  She pointed at Kewab. ‘Who is this, your son?’

  I smiled. ‘Commander Kewab is one of my senior officers.’

  ‘He will stand; you can sit.’

  She pointed at a couch opposite the one she was lounging on, a low table piled high with dates, sweet meats and pastries between the two. A fawning slave took my helmet and requested that I unbuckle my sword belt. I asked why.

  ‘Because everyone knows King Pacorus of Dura is quick to use his sword when provoked. My guards think it prudent to disarm you lest you try something.’

  I unbuckled the belt and handed the slave my sword.

  ‘I can assure you I have no intention of using it.’

  Hamide chewed on a date. ‘Another myth shattered. Today is threatening to become one of disappointments.’

  I sat on the couch and Kewab also surrendered his weapon. Hamide clapped and two slaves came forward, one carrying a silver tray holding a gold cup, the other a silver jug. The cup was filled with a white liquid and offered to me. I eyed the liquid.

  ‘It is called kallu ,’ said Hamide, ‘palm wine, if you will. It is quite safe.’

  I sipped at the liquid, which had an agreeable, sweet taste.

  ‘Does Governor Rogerio know you are here, lady?’

  ‘Governor Rogerio is a fat sycophant who is best avoided,’ she said. ‘I specifically requested a place away from him and his city.’

  ‘It is a magnificent city.’

  ‘Bam is like all cities, King Pacorus, it stinks of shit and is full of detestable common folk. That is why rulers build citadels with high walls on hills, to keep them out of sight and mind. Unfortunately, high ramparts do not prevent noxious smells from permeating even the strongest of strongholds. I find the snakes and frogs of the date palm grove more to my liking.’

  ‘I’m sure you did not summon me here to complain about Governor Rogerio.’

  She clicked her fingers to prompt a slave to offer me a dish of pastries.

  ‘You go to Sigal to attend the wedding of your daughter Isabella to my grandson Salar.’

  I nodded. ‘After we have recovered from our journey. I take it you will not be attending.’

  ‘You suppose right. But if I was I would tell my son Peroz the same as I hope you will advise him.’

  The pastry was delicious. ‘Which is what?’

  ‘To abdicate in favour of Salar who would become a regent until a suitable candidate for king can be found.’

  I nearly choked on my food. ‘Why would Peroz abdicate?’

  ‘To prevent war,’ she answered bluntly, ‘war between Carmania and Sakastan. My late husband recognised the rivalry between Phanes and Peroz and knew that it might grow into hostility. My sons were never close but they are fast becoming bitter enemies, which will lead to war between their two kingdoms sooner or later.’

  ‘What is that to do with me?’ I enquired.

  She smiled, an expression alien to her, I surmised.

  ‘Do you know who the queen of Carmania is?’

  I wracked my brains in vain. I turned to give Kewab a pleading look but he was likewise ignorant as to the name of Phanes’ wife.’

  ‘Her name is Arundhati,’ she told us.

  ‘I’m sure she is delightful,’ I said.

  Hamide rolled her eyes. ‘She is a bland bore, but that is irrelevant. Her ancient family is known and respected not only throughout Carmania but on the other side of the Indus as well. She has produced a son and two daughters, all of whom have an excellent lineage. The son’s right to the throne will not be challenged.

  ‘Now, can you tell me the name of the Queen of Sakastan?’

  ‘Roxanne,’ I answered immediately.

  ‘A whore from Dura,’ she sneered, ‘who is queen because my son was allowed to mix with whores during his stay in your city, King Pacorus.’

  ‘Peroz was not my prisoner,’ I said.

  ‘More’s the pity,’ she spat, ‘if he was then at least he would not have been free to mix with undesirables, though I have heard that morals in Dura are somewhat lax.’

  I bristled at the insult. ‘As you say, lady, stories become twisted and embellished with their telling.’

  But Hamide had just begun. ‘Whores are not supposed to become queens; it is against the natural order of things. You should have reminded my son of that when he was visiting the brothel she worked in. It is as well that High King Orodes gave Peroz the crown of Sakastan because otherwise my late husband would have been forced to banish him so outraged was Phanes.’

  ‘So, things worked out in the end,’ I said naively.

  ‘My son’s patience is fast running out and it is only a matter of time before he attacks Sakastan,’ warned Hamide, ‘both to remove the shame inflicted on his family name by the marriage of his brother to a whore, and to teach the insolent Sakas a lesson.’

  I suddenly regretted not learning more about the peoples who inhabited the eastern kingdoms of the empire. Kewab cleared his throat. We looked at him.

  ‘If I may throw some light on the topic, majesty?’

  ‘Please do,’ I told him.

  ‘The Sakas are related to the Scythians, majesty, the nomads who inhabit the great steppes to the northeast of the Parthian Empire.’

  ‘They are thieves and murderers who wormed their way into the empire,’ added Hamide, ‘and now dare to call themselves Parthian.’

  I held up a finger. ‘If I remember correctly, Sakastan has always paid its annual dues to Ctesiphon.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ snapped Hamide, ‘they raid Carmania’s northern border incessantly.’

  I smiled; having heard the reverse was true. I wondered which side was telling the truth.

  ‘Something amuses you, King Pacorus?’ glowered the queen. ‘I suppose I should thank you for killing King Porus, who was a tyrant with an insatiable appetite for whores and land.’