Peter Darman - Parthian Vengeance

She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Yes, I saw you gawping at her chest. Behaviour hardly becoming of a king.’

I told my daughters to sit down and eat their food in silence, but just as they had taken their seats Dobbai appeared and they began racing around once more, tugging on Dobbai’s black robes.

‘Can you calm them down?’ I asked her.

Dobbai kissed Claudia, Isabella and little Eszter and then ushered the first two back to their chairs.

‘Feeling delicate, son of Hatra?’

‘Too much drinking and leering last night,’ sneered Gallia.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Dobbai, ‘grown men acting like small boys. It must have been excruciating for you, my dear.’

‘Gallia is jealous of Godarz’s new love.’

Gallia glared at me. ‘I am not. I hope he is happy.’

‘Just not with a beautiful woman half his age,’ I replied mischievously.

‘How pathetic are the carnal desires of men,’ said Dobbai as she sat down in her wicker chair stuffed with cushions. She rarely left the palace these days, being content to amble around the palace and watch over our daughters.

‘They love each other,’ I said.

They both looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses.

Dobbai picked at a date. ‘She wants something from him that is all. If you had any brains you would see that.’

Gallia nodded gravely. ‘That is what I think. I should tell Godarz before he gets hurt.’

‘You will do no such thing,’ I said. ‘He is happy and deserves to be. We will leave well alone.’

‘Ill omens are abroad in Hatra, you both would do well to take care.’ Dobbai’s face was blank as she relayed this news to us, as though speaking on behalf of another.

‘Ill omens?’ Gallia looked concerned.

Claudia put down her food and walked over to Dobbai and hoisted herself on to the old woman’s knee.

‘I saw an owl perched above the gates of the Citadel last night,’ said Dobbai, stroking Claudia’s long fair hair.

I felt a sense of dread. An owl was a sign that evil was present and was usually a portent of imminent death and destruction, or at the very least grave misfortune. Owls were believed to represent the souls of people who had died unavenged. I immediately became alarmed for the safety of my wife and children. Dobbai saw my look of concern towards the little ones.

‘They are not in danger, son of Hatra. It is you that faces peril.’

She smiled at Claudia. ‘Tell your father what happened to the smoke from the fire near the stables.’

Claudia looked very serious. ‘The smoke did not disappear, father. It hung over the flames. It should have risen straight towards the heavens. But it did not. A bad omen.’

‘What nonsense is this?’ I asked Dobbai irritably.

‘No nonsense, son of Hatra. It is an old Scythian ritual that can determine whether evil spirits are near.’

I pointed at Claudia. ‘You should not fill her head with such foolishness.’

Then I turned to Gallia. ‘This is just the sort of thing I was talking about.’

‘What about that Jew you brought back with you from the desert?’ asked Dobbai.

‘Aaron? What about him?’

‘He is an assassin,’ she replied, ‘I have seen his eyes. They are full of hate.’

‘He will be arrested,’ announced Gallia. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘If Aaron is an assassin as you say, then he had plenty of opportunities to kill me on the journey from Palmyra.’

‘You should kill him,’ said Dobbai, ‘just to make sure.’

‘Kill him, kill him,’ shouted Isabella, not knowing what it meant, or at least I hoped that she did not. Poor Aaron, Haytham was thinking of having him killed and now Dobbai wanted his head.

‘Quiet!’ I shouted. Isabella fell silent and then began to cry. Gallia walked over and picked her up.

‘Now look what you have done.’

I held my head in my hands. ‘Aaron is under my protection,’ I said, looking at Gallia and then Dobbai. ‘No harm shall come to him.’

‘Let us hope the same can be said of you, son of Hatra,’ quipped Dobbai.

I had suddenly lost my appetite, so I rose and walked from the terrace. The rigours of the training fields beckoned and were a welcome relief from the wittering of an old woman.

‘You can turn a deaf ear to me if you wish, son of Hatra,’ remarked Dobbai as I left them, ‘but you are foolish not to heed the warning signs that the gods are sending you.’

Gods! How they tormented us mortals! I worshipped and feared Shamash, God of the Sun, and respected the other deities that dwelt in heaven, but I sometimes despaired of their intrigues. It was well known throughout the empire that Dobbai was sent visions by the gods, but they were often so vague and shrouded in mystery as to be almost impossible to decipher. The movement of smoke over a fire did not bother me but the appearance of an owl perched on the Citadel’s walls was not to be dismissed lightly. We had already increased the number of guards in and around the palace and there had been no new arrivals among the palace servants, most of whom had been with us for years, so I did not fear danger from that quarter. But then, any one of my soldiers could stick an arrow or blade into me at any time should they so wish. It all came down to trust. Did I trust them? Dura was different from many kingdoms in the empire in that it had a standing army. The Silk Road that passed through it paid for their weapons, equipment and wages. Each man was paid monthly for his services. The levels of pay were dictated by rank and length of service, with records diligently maintained and held in the headquarters building in the Citadel. Each man, and every woman in the Amazons, irrespective of rank or race received equality of treatment when it came to rewards and punishments. In return I demanded loyalty. In all the time I had been King of Dura I had experienced no mutinies or disloyalties. My soldiers had always obeyed orders unquestioningly. In the end that is all any commander can hope for.

A welcome diversion came with an invitation from Godarz for Gallia and me to dine with him and Nadira at the governor’s mansion. It had probably been a mistake that the latter’s first meeting with us had been at the Companions’ feast, but what was done was done. At least this time there would be no raucous Germans present to humiliate me.

‘Try to keep your eyes in their sockets this time, Pacorus.’

Gallia looked stunning on the evening we made the short journey from the Citadel to Godarz’s residence, a score of legionaries acting as our escort.

My queen wore a blue, sleeveless dress with a gold belt around her waist, gold armlets and gold bracelets. Her long, thick blonde hair hung freely around her shoulders and over her breasts. Even among her curls were thin slivers of gold. She looked every bit the queen she was. I wore a simple white silk shirt, baggy brown leggings and red leather boots. As usual my Roman spatha , the gift from Spartacus, was worn at my hip. On the opposite hip was my dagger, a weapon taken from a dead Roman centurion.

The night was still and warm, the only noise the crunching sound made by the legionaries’ hobnailed sandals as they marched beside us on the stone slabs. The road that led from the Citadel to the Palmyrene Gate was paved, though most of the streets in the city were dirt. I had instructed Rsan to embark on a programme to pave all the main roads inside the city to save us from the permanent cloud of dust that hung over Dura in the hottest months, especially over the tallest part — the Citadel — and the work was continuing apace. The Greeks had originally built the city and its roads and buildings were arranged like a giant grid with streets perpendicular to each other, the whole surrounded by a thick, strong circuit wall.