Peter Darman - Parthian Vengeance

I reached over and shook his hand. ‘It is good to see you again, my friend.’

Orodes greeted Malik similarly. It was a happy reunion of friends who had fought together many times. He rode beside us as we walked our horses through the heaving tented city that was Palmyra where the trade caravans, their personnel and animals were housed in a separate area to the south of the main settlement. After we had brushed the dust from our clothes and rested we were shown to Haytham’s tent, situated in the middle of Palmyra. Our horses were taken from us and guards escorted us inside. Like King Haytham the tent was big and imposing. The central section was cool and light, courtesy of a ventilation hole cut in the top of the roof. The king rose from the cushions on the carpet-covered floor and we bowed our heads to him. He looked in a relaxed mood in his baggy black leggings and white shirt, his black hair hanging loosely around his shoulders.

‘Ah, you are here, good.’

He walked over and embraced me, then Orodes.

‘You look well, lord king.’

‘You do not have to call me lord, Pacorus. You are, after all, a king yourself.’

In truth I had never been able to put aside my sense of awe when in the presence of Haytham. He was the leader of the entire Agraci people, the man Parthian parents invoked when they wanted to frighten their children. Though he had proved a good friend and valuable ally, he still unnerved me somewhat. He turned to Orodes.

‘Now you Orodes should be a king, and would be if Pacorus had killed your stepbrother when he had a chance.’

‘How’s Byrd?’ I asked, changing the subject.

Byrd may have been the Parthian army’s chief scout but he had made his home in Palmyra with an Agraci woman named Noora. Haytham gestured for us to sit on the cushions.

‘He’s well, as far as I know. Keeps himself to himself. Malik knows more than I do.’

Servants brought us water. ‘He prospers,’ said Malik. ‘He seems happy enough.’

‘Gallia wanted him to live in the palace with us; but I think the desert suits him better.’

More servants carried in bread that had been cooked on an open fire, mutton mixed with rice and vegetables, butter, yoghurt, cheese, honey and eggs.

‘Rasha is well, lord?’ I asked.

Rasha was Haytham’s young daughter and was the chief reason that I was now sitting in the tent of my people’s greatest enemy. When I first came to Dura I found Rasha a captive in the Citadel. Ever since their first meeting she and my wife had forged a close bond. We had subsequently returned Rasha to her father, and good fortune had favoured all of us ever since.

‘Growing ever more the princess,’ he replied. ‘Gallia spoils her.’ Rasha had her own room in the Citadel at Dura, and I knew that Gallia had a tendency to treat her as one of her own children. ‘I fear you are right, lord.’

‘When she is at Dura there are five women to gang up on Pacorus,’ said Orodes, shoving a piece of cheese into his mouth. ‘He is outnumbered and outwitted at every turn.’

Haytham smiled. ‘Three daughters and no sons. You should rectify that.’

I avoided his eyes. ‘Alas lord, there will be no more children.’

Haytham looked solemn. ‘I grieve for you.’

I looked up at him. ‘Alcaeus, our Greek physician, told me after the birth of Eszter that Gallia would be able to bear no more children. Shamash has blessed me with my wife and three daughters. I can ask no more.’

Orodes fidgeted with his food and Malik looked uncomfortable.

‘I am sure that you did not invite us here to discuss my children,’ I said.

Haytham pointed at one of the guards standing by the entrance to the dining area where we sat cross-legged on the floor. He bowed and disappeared outside.

‘No indeed,’ replied Haytham. ‘I have someone here whom you might find interesting.’

A few minutes later the guard returned with a man in tow, a figure of medium height and build with an untidy black beard and scruffy clothes. I estimated him to be in his early twenties. He eyed Orodes and me warily as he bowed his head to Haytham.

‘This is Aaron, Pacorus, a Jew and a man who kills Romans. Is that not correct, Aaron?’

Aaron’s eyes darted from Haytham to me. ‘I have killed my enemies, it is true.’

Haytham nodded at me. ‘This is King Pacorus, Aaron, a warrior who has won many great victories, most of them against the Romans. He has killed more Romans than you.’

Aaron bowed his head to me. ‘Then it is an honour to meet you, lord.’

‘Perhaps Aaron could sit with us,’ I said to Haytham, ‘so that we may be spared aching necks from having to look up at him.’

Haytham waved his hand at Aaron for him to sit with us. The way he tucked into the food before him indicated that he had not eaten properly for weeks. This view was confirmed by Haytham who told us his story while our guest tried to devour everything that was brought to us by the servants, in between taking large gulps of water and then wine. The son of a merchant, he had spent the last two years in hiding in Judea and fighting the troops of a Jewish king named Hyrcanus. Aaron had been in the army of another king named Aristobulus who had lost the civil war in Judea. The names meant nothing to me, but the end of Aaron’s story did intrigue me.

‘Ever since that bastard Pompey came to Judea my homeland is nothing more than a plaything of the Romans.’

I stopped eating. ‘Pompey?’

Aaron also desisted his interpretation of a pig feasting. ‘You know this name, lord?’

Both Orodes and Malik looked at me and at each other.

‘Indeed,’ I answered. ‘With his army he thought to conquer my kingdom.’

Aaron was wide eyed. ‘What happened?’

‘I persuaded him that retreat was preferable to fighting.’

Haytham slapped his hands together. ‘Not quite as I remember it.’

‘Nor I,’ added Orodes.

‘Pacorus summoned the might of Parthia to his side,’ said Malik, ‘and then my father added his army to the strength of Pacorus. Pompey turned back and never returned.’

Aaron wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘I would have liked to have seen that, lord. To have seen the Romans run.’

‘I thought you may have a use for Aaron, Pacorus,’ said Haytham.

‘You are going to march against the Romans?’ Aaron’s eyes flashed with excitement.

‘Not unless they march against me,’ I replied.

His excitement disappeared. ‘They will. There are two legions in Syria, and Judea sucks up to the Romans like a helpless lamb. They will swallow up Egypt soon enough, and then…’

He held out his arms in a forlorn gesture and spoke no more. I looked at Orodes and Malik. We knew the Romans and also knew that what Aaron had said was correct. Rome had an insatiable desire for lands and peoples to subjugate. The mood lightened somewhat when I questioned Aaron on his talents, of which he appeared to have many. His mother tongue was Aramaic but he could speak Greek, Agraci and Parthian well enough, though he said he refused to speak any Latin. His travels accompanying his father had taken him to Antioch, Jerusalem, Egypt and other towns and cities along the Mediterranean coast. Haytham was right, I could use such a man, or at least Godarz or Rsan could.

Aaron was delighted when I told him he would be welcome to accompany us back to Dura.

‘One thing you should know, though,’ I told him. ‘The man who commands my foot soldiers is a Roman.’

Aaron’s eyes opened wide in horror. ‘A Roman?’

‘A fine man,’ said Orodes.

‘And a great warrior,’ added Malik. ‘A man I am proud to call a friend.’

Aaron looked confused. ‘I do not understand. King Haytham, you said that King Pacorus has fought the Romans.’