Usurper, page 17
Rasha rushed up to her and wrapped her arms around her, Spartacus kissing her cheek and Gafarn smiling kindly at her. I embraced her and glanced at the bed where Alcaeus was finishing tying off a large bandage that encased my friend’s injured leg. Gallia was seated on a couch holding the hand of a distraught Diana. Our Greek friend sighed and examined his handiwork. I was surprised to see Claudia appear from the balcony carrying a silver bowl from which smoke was emanating. She brushed past me to place it on the table beside the unconscious Nergal.
‘Is that necessary?’ asked Alcaeus.
‘Entirely necessary,’ my daughter shot back. ‘It is crushed tamarisk bark mixed with frankincense. A gift for Damu, God of Healing, who sleeps by rivers among tamarisks.’
‘I thought Gula was the deity of healing,’ said Alcaeus.
Claudia smiled. ‘Very good, Alcaeus, it gladdens me to know you have taken an interest in the gods. And you are right, Gula is indeed the Goddess of Healing. But Damu is the intermediary between Gula and mortal physicians.’
Alcaeus did not bother to reply but merely observed Claudia as she stood over Nergal, mumbled a prayer that none of us could fathom and then walked over to Praxima, ignoring the rest of us.
‘Have no fear, he will make a full recovery.’
She then walked from the room. We all looked for confirmation of her prognosis from Alcaeus. He puffed out his cheeks.
‘I have managed to stop the bleeding and fortunately the arrows did not shatter the bone in the leg. So I am hopeful of a full recovery, though he may have a permanent limp.’
There was a collective sigh of relief and Diana burst into tears.
‘But Nergal will have to stay here for a considerable amount of time,’ warned Alcaeus, ‘a few weeks at least.’
‘Well, none of us are going anywhere in the near future,’ said Gafarn, ‘unless the Kushans decide to march away.’
It was late before I managed to grab a few hours’ sleep, beforehand assisting Salar in organising the manning of the walls with his soldiers. We ordered every other horse archer to stand to arms on the walls in case the Kushans tried a night assault. But the enemy was content to ring the city with a myriad of campfires to emphasise that a hostile army now surrounded Sigal. Despite the threat of imminent assault, I slept like the dead that night, but awoke after what seemed liked a few minutes, my limbs aching from the exertions of the previous day. I opened my eyes to see Gallia staring at me.
‘What are you going to do?’
I stretched out my arms and sat up in bed. ‘Have some breakfast. I always think better with a full stomach.’
After I had washed, shaved and donned some fresh clothes I sat on the balcony with Gallia eating a meal of dates, grapes, cheese, bread and yoghurt, washed down by fruit juice. The city below appeared untroubled, though the tents in the distance, beyond the walls, were a stark reminder of the danger we all faced. I smeared yoghurt on a piece of bread and shoved it into my mouth.
‘It won’t take long to starve the city into surrender,’ I said. ‘Feeding the population alone would be taxing, but with an army within the city walls starvation will come sooner rather than later.’
‘Unless relief comes.’
I filled her cup and mine with fruit juice. ‘Who? Phanes? He is the nearest but I doubt he will lift a finger to help the son of his late brother. A brother that he probably had killed.’
She took a sip of juice. ‘You think Phanes is responsible for the attack at the wedding?’
‘Who else?’
She tipped her head towards the distance. ‘What about this Kujula? Killing Peroz would serve his interests.’
I leaned back and looked at her. ‘He seems to have done well enough without resorting to assassination, having seemingly overrun Aria and Drangiana. But I accept he could be responsible.’
‘As lord high general Phanes should be marching to relieve Sigal,’ she said, more in hope than conviction.
‘He should,’ I agreed, ‘but he had reckoned on leading a coalition against Sakastan, not fighting a full-blown invasion of the empire. Perhaps his mother will march to relieve us as she has more backbone than the King of Carmania.’
We both laughed, a knock at the door interrupting our mirth. A slave entered after being told to do so and bowed his head to Gallia and me.
‘The king urgently requests your presence in his private apartments, majesties.’
I sighed. ‘Trying to keep Salar calm will be our first task, I think.’
We left our breakfast to follow the slave through the corridors of the palace, ordering him to slow down when he threatened to break into a run. Gallia looked at me and shook her head. Panic was infectious and could spread quicker than a pestilence if allowed to flourish. He bowed his head again when we reached the entrance to the king’s private apartments, two guards flanking the door snapping to attention when we passed them.
When we entered the king’s office Salar jumped up and bowed to us both.
‘You are king here, not me,’ I told him.
‘I wanted to thank you for saving my life yesterday,’ he blurted out.
‘I did nothing of the sort.’
Gallia disarmed him with a smile. ‘We are here to help you, Salar.’
‘How may we be of assistance?’ I asked.
‘Fetch wine,’ he ordered, extending his hand to a pair of plush, ornate chairs opposite his desk.
We seated ourselves and Salar faced his balcony that gave breath-taking views of the mountains in the distance.
‘An emissary arrived from Kujula earlier. He desires a meeting.’
‘He wishes to press his advantage, no doubt,’ I said. ‘It is to be expected.’
Salar turned. ‘He has requested to meet you, not me.’
I was taken aback. ‘Me? Why?’
‘I was hoping you could provide an explanation,’ said the king.
The wine was excellent, produced locally, the vineyard unfortunately now in the possession of the Kushans. As I sipped at it I racked my brains to solve the riddle of why the Kushan leader would want to see me.
‘You must go,’ urged Salar, ‘if only to buy us time. I sent a courier over the walls before dawn with a message for my uncle.’
I looked at Gallia. Salar, clearly agitated, began toying with a bronze seal on his desk.
‘You think I was wrong to do so?’
I finished my wine and stood. ‘No. Hopefully, Phanes will have heard that Sakastan has been invaded and will already be on the march. More importantly, he will have informed Phraates that his empire is under threat.’
My words seemed to soothe Salar, who stopped fidgeting with the seal. But then fresh concern showed on his face.
‘It might be a trap. Kujula might want to assassinate you just as he did my father and mother.’
I leaned over and grabbed his arm. ‘Calm yourself. Attend to your duties and let me worry about Kujula’s motives.’
On the way back to our bedroom Gallia also voiced her concern.
‘We know nothing about this Kujula. He might be nothing more than a murderer with a crown.’
‘I beg to differ, my love, we know a great deal about him. We know he has a well-trained professional army; we know that his strategic awareness has allowed him to overrun three of the empire’s kingdoms; and we know he wishes to talk.’
She frowned. ‘What does your last point have to do with anything?’
I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Because it indicates to me he is a man of learning and manners. If he was a murdering barbarian only he would be already launching his army against Sigal’s walls.’
Before I left I visited Nergal, an exhausted Praxima slumped in a chair beside his bed asleep, an Alcaeus suddenly looking very old stooped over the King of Mesene examining his patient. The room was heavy with the pungent aroma of frankincense and burnt wood but I was cheered to see that Nergal, though asleep, looked relaxed, his face restored of some colour. Alcaeus saw me enter and put a finger to his lips. He walked over to me.
‘How is he?’ I whispered.
‘All things considered, not too bad. Perhaps Claudia’s incense helped.’
I smiled. ‘Spoken like a true non-believer. You should get some sleep, you look exhausted. Try to convince Praxima to get some rest too.’
I was relieved to see Nergal no longer looking like a man who was at death’s door and felt confident he would recover from his wounds. I took Azad and four cataphracts with me as an escort when I rode from Sigal, the guards opening one of the gates just enough to allow us to exit before hastily slamming it shut when we were outside the city. A party of Kushan heavy horsemen, equipped in helmets and scale armour and carrying large, round wooden shields bearing a cobra insignia, was waiting for us around two hundred paces from the gates. Negotiations between the garrison commander on behalf of Salar and his Kushan equivalent regarding my safe passage to and from the Kushan camp meant the mood was surreally relaxed. The archers on the walls were leaning on the battlements observing us as the commander of the Kushan horsemen nudge his mount forward and bowed his head.
‘King Pacorus, welcome. Emperor Kujula is eager to meet you,’ he said in Greek.
‘As I am him,’ I replied.
It was no lie. I was keen to set eyes on the man who had run rings around us the day before. Azad wore a mask of indifference, though I noted he examined the weapons and equipment of our escort closely. In addition to a long lance, each Kushan was armed with a mace for close-quarters work. Unlike our own heavy horsemen their steeds wore no armour and I was certain in a clash between the two the cataphracts would prevail. Then again, yesterday there had been fifteen hundred cataphracts on the field and these Kushans had still bested us.
The commander of the escort was an agreeable individual who enquired after the health of my wife and daughters, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was part of an army that might put everyone inside the city to the sword should Sigal’s walls be breached. But I reciprocated his polite manner as we rode through a camp filled with soldiers, tents, camels and civilian camp followers. The emperor’s tent was pitched near the river, away from the bustle and dirt of the common soldiery and near a grove of date palms that provided shelter for the dozens of horses of his bodyguard. There was a slight wind that barely ruffled the huge cobra banner flying outside the massive round red tent surrounded by a wall of scarlet cloth. We rode into the compound where we were relieved of our horses and led to a huge awning under which couches and low tables had been arranged. A tall man wearing a huge white turban bowed his head to me under the awning.
‘The emperor will be with you shortly, majesty, but if I could ask you to surrender your sword before he arrives.’
Azad grumbled under his breath but I unbuckled my belt and handed him my spatha . The tall man looked at Azad and his men.
‘Give him your swords,’ I commanded.
‘You are under the protection of the emperor,’ the man assured us, which did little to reassure Azad.
Our weapons were taken from us. The commander of the Kushan escort asked Azad and his men if they would like to take refreshments with him. Azad said no but I told him to accept the offer, if only so he and his men could sit in the shade and drink some fluids.
‘He is here,’ said the tall man.
I saw a man in white approaching, his hair as black as night above his thin face. He flashed a smile at me.
‘King Pacorus, welcome.’
I was lost for words as I beheld Vima the spice trader.
His thin moustache and beard were immaculately trimmed, a broad grin on his thin face.
‘Please be seated, my friend,’ he requested, ‘take the weight off your feet.’
He clapped his hands and a small army of slaves rushed to me, bowing with their hands together in front of their chests. They relieved me of my helmet, cleaned the couch with small brushes and placed cushions behind me when I sat on it. Another slave behind me began gently cooling me with a huge feathered fan.
The spice trader-cum-emperor of the Kushans sat opposite me. He was wearing a long, loose white patterned silk shirt called a kurta , which ended just above the knees. A one-piece white cotton cloth called a dhoti tied around the waist and held in place by a white ornamental belt covered his legs. On his feet he wore a pair of white leather boots.
‘It all makes sense now,’ were the first words I spoke to him.
‘To be fair, I did tell you that my reasons for helping you at Lake Nawar were purely selfish.’
His tone was light, jovial, as though he was discussing a hunting trip with an old friend. But I was far from amused.
‘And my daughter’s wedding, was that your doing?’
In an instant his mood changed. His thin eyebrows flared and he leaned towards me.
‘I am the head of the Kushan Empire, an emperor who commands millions, do you really think I would soil my reputation with such a despicable act. What sort of man would seek to spill blood on a bride’s most special day?’
I wanted to disbelieve him but my instincts told me he was a man of honour and integrity, notwithstanding the disguise he had adopted. And he had saved my life at the wedding.
‘I believe you,’ I said.
Once again, the smiling Kujula returned. More slaves arrived with refreshments that were laid on the low tables between us. There were triangular pastries called samosas filled with vegetables and flavoured with spices and herbs, chicken and lamb kebabs and wheat bread called roti . We were both served with a curious drink called thandai , which was made from milk and dried fruits. It was most palatable. I finished a delicious samosa and dipped my fingers in a bowl of warm water offered by a slave; another proffered a towel so I could dry my hands.
‘I assume you did not invite me here to sample the delicacies of India,’ I said, ‘delicious though they are.’
‘I wanted to apologise for deceiving you concerning my true identity and to assure you that if I could I would hunt down those responsible for the atrocity committed at your daughter’s wedding.’
‘That is kind of you to say so.’
He held out his silver cup to be refilled. ‘How is Queen Isabella?’
‘Bearing up well, considering there is a hostile army camped outside the walls of her city.’
‘The Kushan Empire needs land to feed a growing population, King Pacorus,’ he told me. ‘For decades, the Indus has marked the boundary between Parthia and India but now Parthia is weak and divided. It has a boy for high king, its rulers squabble among themselves and its kingdoms are at each other’s throats.’
‘The Romans thought that not so long ago.’
He washed his hands and a slave dried them for him. ‘Indeed, but then Parthia amassed a great army commanded by its greatest warlord, with High King Phraates being reduced to a figurehead only. You think that those who live east of the Indus do not take a keen interest in the affairs of King Pacorus of Dura?’
‘You flatter me.’
‘I do not underestimate you, King Pacorus, which the Romans seem to have done on numerous occasions. Aria and Drangiana have fallen, Sakastan is on the verge of falling and I think I can safely assume you do not believe that Parthia’s Lord High General in the East will be able to save Sigal, even if he had the inclination to do so.’
He extended his arms. ‘Who else can save Sakastan? Phraates, the boy king who concerns himself with the intrigues at Ctesiphon? Dura, Hatra, Mesene and Gordyene, whose armies are hundreds of miles away?’
He dipped a piece of bread in a dish of yoghurt.
‘I have an offer for you.’
I knew what he was going to say but wanted to hear it anyway.
‘I am intrigued.’
‘Evacuate the city, King Pacorus, take your daughters and beautiful wife back to Dura. What is Sakastan to you? A far-flung kingdom hundreds of miles from your own lands. Even as we sit here more of my troops are marching to Sigal.
‘The city will fall and I would prefer it to do so peacefully rather than by storm, and all the associated horrors that come with it.’
‘What about King Salar?’ I enquired. ‘It is he that you should be addressing. I am merely a guest in his kingdom.’
He smiled and wagged a finger at me.
‘Let us speak frankly, King Pacorus. We all know that I would already be dining in Sigal’s palace had not you been here. Salar is another boy who has, through tragic circumstances, ascended to the throne before his time.’
He leaned back and stared at the city. ‘The Kushans are a rising people whereas Parthia is weak and fragmented. I will give King Salar two days before I attack the city. During that time, I hope you can prevail upon him to submit to my authority. If he does then he can continue to rule Sakastan as a client king of the Kushan Empire.’
I looked up at the awning. ‘You mean a Kushan slave.’
He laughed, a glint of mischief in his black eyes.
‘A slave? If giving me allegiance and paying an annual tribute to my treasury constitutes slavery, then you yourself have been a slave of the king of kings of the Parthian Empire ever since you returned from Italy.’
I was shocked. ‘You know of that?’
‘Of your Italian adventures? Of course. We are not illiterate barbarians, King Pacorus. You may be interested to know that in my library I have a volume dedicated to the military campaigns of King Pacorus of Dura and the military organisation of the Kingdom of Dura.’
He was toying with me, surely. But I had to admit that I was both flattered and intrigued. This man who called himself emperor was charming, that much was true. In another life we might have been good friends.
