Peter Darman - Parthian Dawn

‘Good, I will have your commission drawn up, with commensurate pay. I don’t suppose I could persuade you to retire your cane?’

‘It would be like losing an arm.’

‘Mm, well, we must be away. If you need anything send word to the palace.’

We left the camp in the capable hands of Domitus and rode back to the city. Leaving our horses at the stables we made our way to the palace, to find my father and mother entertaining Gafarn’s wife, Diana, the young son of Spartacus and the woman who had become the centre of my world. We found them in the small ‘secret garden’ that my mother Queen Mihri, liked to tend as a hobby. The garden was part of the much larger walled royal gardens that abutted the palace and which covered several acres. It was termed ‘secret’ because only my mother was allowed to arrange the growing of flowers, plants and fig, pomegranate, nut and jujube trees that provided shade. In reality a small army of assistants — slaves — kept her garden and the larger ones tidy and lush, but my mother fancied herself to have a gift for making things grow, and so most days she could be found in a simple white dress and apron, tending to her shrubberies. In the ‘secret garden’ was a white marble fountain, with four water channels leading off it, signifying water, fire, earth and air. Larger, more ornate fountains were spread throughout the royal gardens, all fed by the springs that watered the rest of Hatra.

Peacocks walked free in the gardens, and there were also a number of dovecotes that had their own keepers. The doves had pure white plumage matching that of the white horses of my father’s bodyguard, and so the belief grew that as long as white doves flew above the city and white horses carried its warriors, Hatra would be invincible in the face of its enemies.

Goldfish and koi swam in large ponds beside small copses of date palms and sycamores. The gardens were filled with an explosion of colours from blooming daisies, cornflowers, mandrakes, roses, irises, myrtle, jasmine, mignonettes, convolvulus, celosia, narcissus, ivy, lychnis, sweet marjoram, henna, bay laurel, small yellow chrysanthemums and poppies. They were certainly places of serenity and sweet fragrances.

My mother and her guests were in the shade of the white-painted wooden pagoda that had been built near the marble fountain. Slaves fussed around with trays holding pastries and fruit, while others poured wine. I walked over to my sensual future wife and kissed her on the cheek. Gallia looked happy and relaxed, her long, thick blonde hair framing her oval face, with its high cheekbones and narrow nose, and then cascading over her shoulders and breasts. Today, like every day, she had spent the morning riding on the training fields, practising firing her bow from the saddle. Despite wearing boots and leggings she looked as femininely beautiful as ever, her blue tunic highlighting her lithe figure. By contrast, her friend, Diana, wore a simple white dress that covered her whole body save her pale arms, in which she held the infant son of Spartacus.

‘Ah, the general of the desert army returns,’ the gently mocking tones of my father came from a sofa opposite to where I had entered the pagoda.

I kissed my mother, Gallia and then Diana. ‘Father, I did not realise you were here.’

‘Are you going to kiss me, too?’

‘Alas, I have used up all my kisses for today.’

‘Leave him alone, Varaz,’ said my mother, ‘sit down next to Gallia, Pacorus, and Gafarn, you sit beside Diana. This is very pleasant.’

I sat beside my darling on a double seat and held her hand. ‘Gafarn and I have been visiting my army. Domitus and Nergal have everything in hand.’

‘Good,’ my father waved away a slave who had been serving him wine, ‘can I take it that your followers will be leaving shortly?’

‘After the wedding, father. I promise you that after the ceremony we will be a burden no longer.’

‘You are not a burden,’ stated my mother, her brown eyes glaring at my father.

‘Really? I’ve had Addu boring me to death about how much your followers are eating.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a slave fill Diana’s cup, and I heard her say ‘thank you’. My mother heard her too.

‘You don’t have to thank the slaves, Diana.’

‘No, sorry, majesty.’

My mother shook her head and smiled. ‘You must call me “mother”, Diana, for now that we have adopted Gafarn, you have become our daughter. And of that we are most pleased, are we not Varaz?’

My father was obviously bored by all this women’s talk. ‘What? Yes, of course.’

My sisters, Aliyeh and Adeleh, appeared, adorned with gold in their hair, on their arms and around their ankles, looking every bit the Hatran princesses they were. Aliyeh, in her mid-twenties, was tall and thin and possessed of an aloof, serious nature. Adeleh, on the other hand, was two years younger and had a happy disposition. They embraced Diana and fussed over the infant. Their appearance contrasted sharply to that of Diana, who wore no jewellery and was dressed in simple attire. In truth Diana was unremarkable when it came to looks, but such was the kindness in her heart and the goodness in her soul that everyone loved her, from the slave who broke a jug and received an arm round the shoulder instead of a beating, to the fiercest warrior in my father’s bodyguard, who was disarmed by her smile and charm. Gallia was far more beautiful, though her reputation as the woman who could shoot a bow as well as any man (I would say better than most), and who was also handy with a sword and a dagger, made some wary of her. She was called ‘fierce beauty’ by many, though none dared say it to her face, and people’s awe of her was further increased by the rumour that she had been sent by the gods to save me from the Romans. No such reputation was attached to Diana, but the magic she possessed to make people love her was just as powerful. It was a strange destiny that had made a kitchen slave a Parthian princess, but no stranger than my own, which had taken me to the side of a former gladiator who had conquered all Italy, if only for a while.

‘Your father says that you want to take Gafarn and Diana away from us,’ said my mother.

Aliyeh and Adeleh squealed their protests, causing the baby to cry. Aliyeh scooped him up in her arms to calm his distress.

‘I merely sought to ask them to come with me, mother.’

‘Well,’ she replied, ‘I would like them to stay, and it’s nice having an infant in the palace again. If you want to go and play kings then that’s your business, but don’t drag Gafarn and Diana along with you. Besides, I’ve heard that Dura Europos is a dismal place. I don’t know why you want to be king of such a city.’

‘Because he doesn’t want to wait to be king of Hatra,’ replied my father, ‘besides Dura Europos is closer to the Romans in Cappadocia.’

‘Why should I wish to be close to the Romans?’ I asked.

‘Because your hatred for them burns bright still,’ he said, ‘and you strain at the leash like a ravenous hound to strike at them.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘Is it? Gafarn, you know your brother well, what say you on this matter?’

‘I think Pacorus has not forgotten the insults he endured at the hands of the Romans.’ He was talking of my being chained, beaten and whipped when a slave. ‘But his love for Gallia is greater than any thirst for revenge.’

My father clapped and Gafarn bowed in mockery at him. ‘A most politic answer. Obviously all your years in the palace did not go to waste. But I stand by my words.’

‘In any case,’ I added, ‘it would have been unwise to refuse Sinatruces, who is the King of Kings after all.’

‘Most convenient for you.’ My father, like a dog with an old bone, was refusing to give up the argument. ‘He was certainly out-manoeuvred by you and that sorceress of his. He sought to entice Gallia to his palace to make her his wife, and then give you the crown of Dura Europos in compensation. But instead he ended up making you a king anyway and he failed to entrap Gallia.’