Peter Darman - Parthian Vengeance

The day of the executions was overcast, the mood of the population sombre as the two prisoners were escorted from their confinement at the Palmyrene Gate. Notwithstanding Gallia’s desires I had given orders that they were not to be mistreated in any way. Their quarters were to be functional and their rations adequate, and on no account were they to be abused by their gaolers, especially Nadira. Raping a woman had no place in Dura’s army.

Just after dawn the pair walked from the Palmyrene Gate along the city’s main street to the market place. Domitus had lined the route with guards to ensure that they reached their place of execution — Godarz had been a popular governor and many may have been tempted to exact their own vengeance upon his killers. Soldiers also lined the outside of the square and were posted around the wooden platform that had been erected in the centre of the square where the pair was to be put to death. Directly opposite and on the northern side of the square was a second platform of the same height. That is where we assembled to watch justice being administered.

Sullen, angry people were still filing into the square as Polemo and Nadira were escorted through the throng to their appointment with the headsman. He stood impassively as the murderers were manhandled up the steps and onto the platform. The executioner was tall, fat and completely bald. He held the handle of a large curved sword in his right hand, the point resting on the wooden boards. He watched Polemo and Nadira with piggy eyes, his stare fixed on Nadira’s chest. Gallia had wanted her to be stripped naked before she was killed but I had countermanded this order as well, earning me a fierce rebuke from my wife. But I told her that I was not a barbarian. In these moments her wild Gaul side came to the fore and frankly unnerved me, but I was king in Dura. Even attired in a voluminous white gown Nadira’s voluptuous figure was still apparent. Such a waste of womanhood.

On the platform the two were handed over to the executioner’s assistants — half a dozen burly men dressed in black leggings and brown leather tunics. Two grabbed the arms of Polemo while two more stood either side of a now very pale Nadira. Polemo was stripped of his top and forced down onto his knees to face the executioner. Polemo looked up and spat at him. One of the assistants stepped forward, slapped him hard round the face and shoved his head down. The executioner hoisted his great sword onto his right shoulder and stepped to one side. He looked at me and I nodded. The crowd was silent and still whilst Nadira, wild-eyed, bit her lip and stared ahead. She was not looking at her accomplice kneeling a few feet from her.

With both hands the executioner raised the sword high above his head and then in one seamless movement brought it down on Polemo’s neck. I stared in horror as the blade sliced Polemo’s flesh but did not sever his head. The executioner once more raised the blade and sliced it down onto Polemo’s neck. It cut flesh but again did not decapitate Polemo, who tried to lift himself up, blood gushing from his neck wound. Now terrified, he looked up at the executioner as the latter’s blade once more sliced into his flesh. Polemo pitched forward, still alive, as the crowd groaned. The executioner gestured at his assistants, who stepped forward and yanked Polemo back onto his knees. Then they stepped away. The executioner wiped the blood off his blade with a cloth and then stepped forward and again aimed a blow at Polemo, this time slicing deep into his shoulder. Polemo shrieked in pain, his torso covered in blood. Nadira, now distraught at the awful spectacle unfolding before her, pissed herself. Orodes looked at Malik who shook his head, while Haytham remained impassive. Rsan, shaking, was covering his eyes with his hands.

Domitus turned to me. ‘I’ll finish this,’ and made to leave our viewing platform.

‘Stay where you are, Domitus,’ commanded Gallia, who nodded at the executioner. He nodded back, raised his sword once more then finally severed Polemo’s head. Blood poured from the headless torso as a weeping Nadira was forced down on her knees. No doubt she was being tortured by the thought of enduring the same treatment as Polemo. Domitus returned to his place as the executioner lopped off Nadira’s head with a single blow. Thus was the grisly spectacle brought to an end.

The two lifeless bodies were dumped on a cart as the populace returned to their daily lives. Rsan walked over to the edge of the platform and threw up. Haytham regarded an iron-visaged Gallia and smiled. Orodes was most unhappy and Malik was frowning. Domitus stood and looked bemused as his soldiers ushered the remnants of the crowd from the square.

‘There was no need for that,’ I said to Gallia.

‘If I had had my way,’ she said slowly and loudly enough for everyone around us to hear, ‘their deaths would have lasted for days. They got off lightly.’

With that she turned away from me and marched from the platform. Domitus slapped me on the arm.

‘Perhaps you should stay here and let Gallia march against Mithridates. That way the war will be over in no time at all.’

I shook my head. ‘I think not. There will be no one left alive from here to the Himalayas if I unleash her on the empire.’

The grisly episode was now over and it was time for the army to march east and spill some more blood.

Standing looking at the large hide map of the Parthian Empire hanging on the wall in the headquarters building I shook my head. Couriers had arrived from Hatra, Media and Atropaiene informing me that parties attacking from Gordyene, Cappadocia and Armenia were raiding them. My father wrote that once again horsemen were attacking his northern towns and cities, including Nisibus whose governor was my childhood friend Vata. I was not unduly concerned about these reports as Hatra’s army was more than capable of dealing with mere raiding parties. The same was true of Media and Atropaiene, ruled by Farhad and Aschek respectively. Still, if these raids presaged a general war with Rome, since Armenia was its client state and the Romans occupied Gordyene, then once again the empire would be under threat. I had comforted myself with the knowledge that to the east of these two realms were the kingdoms of Hyrcania and Margiana, both of which had alliances with Aschek and Farhad and both of which could raise sizeable armies. But then news reached us that the northern borders had erupted into violence and both Hyrcania and Margiana were also under assault. King Khosrou, the fierce ruler of Margiana, had written to me stating that the tribes that inhabited the great steppes to the north of his kingdom had attacked his frontier outposts and were marching against his capital, Merv. The entire northern border of the empire was in flames.

‘What are the chances of the Romans, Armenians and the tribes of the steppes working in cooperation, do you think?’ asked Domitus, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.

I shook my head again. ‘Almost nil.’

He jumped out of his chair. ‘Exactly.’

‘I thought Khosrou had peace with the northern tribes,’ said Orodes.

‘That is what he told me at Esfahan,’ I replied, ‘though that was a while ago. Perhaps relationships between the two have deteriorated since then.’

Domitus drew his dagger and used it to point at the map, moving the point from Hatra to the east towards the Caspian Sea and beyond.

‘It cannot be a coincidence that all the kingdoms under assault are friends of Dura. I detect the hand of Mithridates in all this.’

I was confused. ‘He sent assassins to kill me. If he wanted to harm Dura then he and Narses would lead their army against us. I suspect the Romans are behind this rather than Mithridates.’