Peter Darman - Carrhae

We walked our horses ahead as the king’s chariot edged forward, and from the ranks of the royal guard behind it came the familiar figure of Rasha, who was escorted by a great brute in scale armour, helmet, face veil and carrying a huge double-bladed axe, no doubt to kill her if any mischief was attempted. She trudged disconsolately behind the chariot until she saw Gallia coming towards her mounted upon Epona.

‘Gallia!’ she shouted and raised her arm.

‘Have no fear, Rasha,’ my wife answered back. ‘We are here to take you home.’

The phalanx of guards behind her moved forward slowly to be near their king, while behind me the Amazons and the other horse archers pulled their bows from their cases and edged their horses forward, but in truth the atmosphere was not threatening. My initial impression was that the enemy wished to avoid further bloodshed.

I halted Remus around ten paces from the king’s chariot. He really was an enormous man, with a massive fat neck and a bulbous nose. His eyes were very large and protruded from his fat face so that he resembled one of the goldfish that swam in the royal ponds at Hatra. He seemed to be a rather short man until I realised that he was sitting on a chair to relieve his legs of the great strain in supporting such an enormous weight. Directly behind the chariot were half a dozen slaves, all teenage boys, carrying towels and jugs.

‘Greetings King Pacorus,’ said Sampsiceramus in a slightly quivering voice.

I raised my hand to him. ‘Greetings King Sampsiceramus.’

Gallia removed her helmet and shook her hair free. The king’s eyes bulged even more as he examined my wife.

‘And greetings to you, Queen Gallia,’ he slavered.

I could tell that Gallia was disgusted by his appearance and manner but she played the queen and gave him a dazzling smile and bowed her head, causing his heavy breathing to increase. I hoped he would not have a heart attack before our negotiations were concluded.

He nodded to Harrise who waved forward Rasha. Haytham’s daughter looked sullen as she halted next to the gilded chariot.

‘Did they mistreat you, Rasha?’ I asked.

‘No, but they stole Asad from me.’

Asad was a fine young stallion that had been given to her by her father. I pointed at Mark Antony sitting on his horse.

‘You see that we have allowed our prisoner to retain his horse, lord king. I would ask you to reciprocate the courtesy with regard to your captive.’

The king screwed up his giant nose but ordered Harrise to get Rasha’s horse. While we waited one of his slave attendants rushed forward and dabbed the sweat-covered royal forehead with a towel.

The king smiled at me. ‘This heat is intolerable.’

‘Indeed, lord king. Far better for all of us to be relaxing in our palaces rather than fighting each other in this bleak desert.’

My words made him uncomfortable and he fidgeted with his plump, ring-adorned fingers while what seemed like an eternity passed before one of his horseman came trotting up with Asad in tow. Rasha whooped with delight as he was brought to her and she vaulted into the saddle, though her guard stood before the horse gripping its reins to deter her from riding away. I waved Mark Antony forward and the guard stood aside. Rasha nudged Asad as the Roman commander halted beside me.

He offered his hand. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, King Pacorus.’

I shook his hand, much to the disgust of Gallia. ‘The pleasure has been mine. I pray that you will return to Rome safely, Mark Antony.’

He walked his horse forward, passing Rasha who rode to Gallia’s side to embrace my wife.

Sampsiceramus clapped his hands. ‘All’s well that ends well.’ He gave Mark Antony a sideways glance. ‘You may retire to the rear, out of our presence.’

Antony gave him a disparaging look before riding away, while Sampsiceramus tapped his driver on the shoulder to follow him.

‘Just a moment, lord king,’ I called.

Harrise frowned and the king registered surprise.

‘Have not the terms of the exchange been met, King Pacorus?’

‘They have, lord king, but there is another matter I wish to raise.’

‘Oh?’

‘The withdrawal of your army from King Haytham’s territory.’

‘That is between me and Haytham,’ he replied haughtily.

‘I am a friend and ally of King Haytham. I consider any aggression against him to also be an assault against me.’

Sampsiceramus became flustered. ‘I make no war upon Dura, not at all.’

‘By marching your army into my friend’s kingdom you do so.’

‘I have returned Haytham’s daughter as I agreed to do.’

‘If I ride back to Haytham without your promise to return back to Emesa he will recommence hostilities. You can see the great advantage he has in numbers, and tomorrow these will increase when Dura’s army arrives.’

His eyes bulged and he swallowed and I knew I had him. ‘Dura’s army?’

‘Yes, lord king, for I am pledged to fight alongside my ally. As we speak,’ I bluffed, ‘my legions and heavy horsemen are marching towards this place, fresh from their victories in the east and eager to add more glory to their already fearsome reputation.’

The gossip that was carried by the trade caravans would have told of our great victory at Susa, of the death of Narses and the toppling of Mithridates, who anyhow was at Antioch as a guest of the Romans. As he fidgeted with his hands once more I could tell that he was very agitated. As he looked at me and then at Harrise, the parasol above his head moved slightly, allowing the sun’s rays to fall on part of the king’s head. Sampsiceramus looked daggers at the black slave who held the sunshade and then smiled devilishly as the guard lashed his back with the whip. The slave flinched in agony as the leather cut into his flesh and again the parasol moved to expose the crown of the king’s head to the sun. The guard struck the slave’s back again with his whip, making a loud crack on impact. Behind me came angry murmurs from the Amazons, many of them former slaves who had been subjected to such cruelty. The guard flogged the slave a third time, causing him to collapse to his knees and drop the parasol.

‘Kill him,’ ordered Sampsiceramus.

The guard dropped the whip and drew his sword, grasped it with both hands and hoisted it above his head to deliver a fatal blow to the slave. The arrow hit him square in the neck, just under his mail face veil, and caused blood to flood in great spurts from the wound. He collapsed on the ground while behind him the other royal guards raced forward to protect their king.

Gallia strung another arrow in her bowstring as her Amazons and other horse archers brought up their bows and aimed their arrows at Sampsiceramus’ bulk.

‘Order your men to stand down,’ I shouted, ‘otherwise you will be turned into a pin-cushion.’

The king flipped up a fleshy hand to stop his soldiers as he stared in terror at me. This was not how negotiations between kings should be conducted, not at all, made worse by him no longer having any protection from the sun that was now cooking his pink flesh.

The royal guards had locked shields and the front rank stood ready to hurl their javelins, but their king knew that he would be the first to die and so commanded Harrise to order his guards to stay where they were.

I pointed at the slave struggling to his feet. ‘He will be coming with me. What is his name?’

The king blinked, his head beaded with sweat. ‘Name?’

‘Yes,’ I bellowed. ‘His name, what is it?’

‘Slave, er, Scarab,’ he gibbered.

‘Scarab,’ I shouted, ‘come here.’

The slave looked behind him at the dead soldier whose blood was still spurting from his neck, then at the king.