Sons Of the Citadel, page 7
part #6 of Parthian Chronicles Series
‘You have not questioned him on this matter?’
The scholar looked horrified. ‘It is not my role to vet those who enter your army. May I suggest you go and question Kewab yourself? I believe he lives near the Citadel when not in barracks, in a small but by all accounts neat and well-presented two-storey house with his wife and infant son.’
‘His wife?’
Scelias looked far from amused. ‘These things were all in my notes, if you had bothered to read them.’
Something troubled me about Kewab. Not his record, which was excellent, but as I could not explain it I did not mention him any more as Scelias gave me a brief summary of his and the others’ progress. Regardless of which branch of the army they served in all students spent time with the other branches, learning a diverse range of skills to give them a well-rounded education in the military arts. These included marching in full kit with legionaries, taking part in training exercises with the cataphracts and horse archers and being taught how to use Marcus’ siege engines and field ballistae. Other subjects included logistics, engineering, medicine and all matters pertaining to horses, camels and mules. In short, everything they would require to understand how the different branches of the army functioned, both on their own and working together, and the strengths and weaknesses of every part of the army.
After the meeting I rode to the legionary camp to consult with Chrestus. The air was hot and filled with dust and there was little activity inside the camp. Legionaries were resting after their morning exercises, though at the wooden training posts those who had incurred infractions sweated in the merciless heat as they wielded wooden swords and heavy shields as punishment. Some would collapse from heat exhaustion or loss of fluids, occasionally a man would drop down dead, but Chrestus reckoned it was a good deterrent and was more productive than a fine.
Train hard, fight easy.
In his command tent he and Talib were poring over a hide map of the land to the west of the camp, a harsh, arid stretch of desert perfect for large-scale manoeuvres. They both stopped when I entered.
‘We were just planning a mock battle involving both horse and foot.’
‘And Agraci,’ Talib added.
I picked up a towel and wiped my sweat-covered neck.
‘Agraci?’
Chrestus grinned. ‘I suggested to Malik he might like to try his luck breaking one of our squares with his horsemen. He jumped at the chance.’
‘Just make sure it does not get out of hand,’ I warned him. ‘When their blood is up the Agraci might forget it is a training exercise.’
‘Our horsemen will be riding with the Agraci,’ said Chrestus, ‘to simulate a mass mounted attack. It will be good for the legionaries to see and feel what it’s like to be attacked by thousands of horsemen.’
‘Terrifying and dusty,’ I replied. ‘But I came to get your advice on another matter.’
I looked at Talib. ‘Yours too.’
‘Talib first alerted me to the fact the leader of the Egyptian delegation, Menkhaf, was not a diplomat and having met him I concur with the assessment.’
Chrestus shrugged. ‘It makes sense to send a soldier rather than a diplomat into Agraci territory.’
He glanced at Talib. ‘No offence.’
Talib flashed his white teeth. ‘None taken.’
‘The answer is simple enough,’ said Chrestus, ‘either arrest them or demand they leave Dura immediately.’
I tapped my nose. ‘Perhaps there is a third option.’
Kewab’s house was like hundreds of others in the city: a two-storey mud-brick affair with a wooden balcony on the first floor overlooking the street outside. Inside it was comfortable enough with a room for preparing food on the ground floor to the rear, a reception room with dining couches and a low table, and a wooden staircase leading to two bedrooms upstairs.
‘Remind me why we are here?’ whispered Chrestus, toying with his gladius as he sat propped up against the wall.
‘Shush,’ I ordered, ‘you are supposed to be invisible.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ he mumbled.
I suppose it was but I could not get Kewab out of my mind. So I returned from the legionary camp with Chrestus and a dozen of his best men and had them secreted in the house opposite Kewab’s, compensating the family for the inconvenience and paying for their lodgings in a vacant villa nearby. Kewab, his wife and infant son were escorted to the palace where they would remain until. Until what? Perhaps Chrestus was right; it was all ridiculous. I lay on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, a thin blanket over me to disguise my armour and sword. Next to me was a sack stuffed with straw to simulate another figure sleeping alongside. It was absurd and Gallia had told me so but Claudia was convinced there was merit in my plan and so I lay in the dark in the home of one of my most promising officers and waited. And sweated. Chrestus sighed very purposely and I considered admitting defeat. And then I heard the door downstairs being forced.
I gripped the handle of the gladius and felt my heart pound in my chest. They were coming in the back entrance, into the kitchen so as not to be noticed on the street. Perhaps they had been waiting all day in the property behind Kewab’s.
Then they were on the stairs, slowly ascending the steps, being careful not to make too much noise. An old timber creaked and they stopped. There were no words as they recommenced their mission, like ghosts appearing in the room and surrounding the bed. My eyes were only half-closed as one bent over and ripped the blanket aside, another grabbing me roughly to haul me off the bed.
He was the first to die as I thrust the gladius into his belly, whipped it back to slash the belly of the man who still held the blanket. Chrestus roared a war cry and lunged at the other two standing beside the bed, stabbing one through the back and the other through the throat as he spun to confront his attacker.
I sprung from the bed and raced into the other bedroom where the cot containing another sack, albeit a small one filled with straw, had been placed to represent an infant. It had been hacked to pieces by a man with an axe. He and another were already racing down the stairs. I heard Chrestus’ voice shouting from the window.
‘Rally to the king!’
The door to the house opposite flew open and the legionaries flooded out into the street, one blowing a whistle to alert others who had been secreted nearby. He and I raced after the assailants, Chrestus opening the front door to allow the legionaries entry. An Egyptian flung a kitchen stool at me but I ducked it, lunging at him as he tripped on something in the darkness. I was on him in an instant, stabbing my sword down into his back. He groaned in pain but I didn’t finish him off as I scrambled after the others.
Chrestus ran ahead. He was younger and more fleet of foot then me. The legionaries followed, through back alleys and into streets as the Egyptians tried to make good their escape. But this was my city not theirs and Chrestus had organised his men well, herding the assassins towards a small square near the Citadel, away from the main gates, locked at night anyway. Still, Dura was a sizeable city where it was possible to melt into the background given the opportunity. But the Egyptians were denied such an opportunity. Curious faces appeared in doorways and at windows as the commotion reached their homes. They were bellowed at to remain indoors and lock their doors.
In the square parties of legionaries locked shields to block the avenues of escape. Chrestus, not a bead of sweat on him, organised his men.
‘Stay where you are, only move on my command.’
Some carried torches casting the square in a pale yellow light. The space was small – no more than thirty paces on each side – and in the centre stood at least a dozen Egyptians. They had formed a circle, facing their foes with swords and axes ready.
Twang.
An Egyptian pitched forward and collapsed, an arrow in his back. Then Sporaces was beside me, bow in hand, with more of his men taking up positions behind the legionaries. He clasped forearms with Chrestus.
‘Good to see you,’ grinned the commander of the army.
‘You want my men to kill them, majesty?’ asked the leader of my horse archers.
I was tempted. They had abused Dura’s hospitality and tried to kill one of my officers. But I wanted to know why.
‘No, I want them taken alive.’
Before my generals could answer I heard a challenge.
‘King Pacorus,’ the tone in Menkhaf’s voice was mocking, ‘hiding behind your famed soldiers?’
I pushed my way through the legionaries to stand opposite the grinning Egyptian commander, who appeared unconcerned he and his men had been cornered and were facing certain death. He pointed his sword at me.
‘Why don’t you fight me and the winner can walk free. I’ve heard Dura’s army and its king were formidable once, but perhaps not any more.’
‘Give me the order, sire,’ said Sporaces, ‘and I will have them all dead in less than a minute.’
‘No,’ I commanded, ‘I will silence this rascal myself.’
Chrestus laid a hand on my shoulder.
‘I would advise against doing so, majesty. He’s trying to goad you into agreeing to a one-on-one combat so he can save himself and his men.’
‘I am aware of that.’
‘He’s younger than you, majesty, by perhaps ten years or more and he looks as though he knows how to use his sword.’
I was taken aback. ‘Meaning I’m too old, I suppose. I can also use a sword, Chrestus.’
He was shaking his head. ‘Don’t forget your leg, majesty. It might give way.’
I removed his hand. ‘I am not decrepit yet, Chrestus. Besides I take exception to this Egyptian’s tone.’
‘But…’
I held up a hand. ‘The matter is decided.’
‘I accept your challenge, Egyptian.’
He grinned. ‘Let us dance, King Pacorus.’
He cut the air with his sword, his men visibly relaxing as he took a few steps forward. Perhaps they knew something I did not. I soon found out. His blade was a blur in the night air, Menkhaf delivering a series of lightning-fast strikes aimed at my head. I parried them with difficulty. He cut down to slice my left arm, slashed diagonally to cut my breastplate and swung low to rip my leggings. I could not touch him as he danced around me, his men cheering him on and my soldiers silent as they watched their king being toyed with.
But a wily old fox may still win the day and so I let him assault me, fending off his strikes with difficulty but defeating them nevertheless. It was an unedifying spectacle but the longer it went on the more energy Menkhaf used. He was younger, stronger and had wounded me but he should have finished me off because the longer the fight went on the slower he became. He was still dangerous but his attacks were now easier to anticipate and fend off.
I was sweating profusely but he no longer exhibited the swagger on show earlier. He too was tiring, his breathing heavy and now I took the fight to him. I ducked low to thrust at his torso, pulling back the blade before he could block and launching another thrust, driving the steel point into the top of his right arm. He yelped, I smiled and my men cheered. He came at me in a rage, using his last reserves of energy in an attempt to carve me into strips; his fatal mistake. I avoided his strikes, sidestepping and feinting left and right to confuse him. He brought up his sword to bring it down against my skull and I saw my chance, jabbing my gladius forward as fast as I could and then snapping it back. The point pierced his neck, blood spurting like a small fountain. Not enough to kill him but enough to weaken him further.
‘It’s over, Menkhaf,’ I shouted.
He spat blood from his mouth and smiled, yelling at the top of his voice as he charged. I jumped to the left, thrust with my sword and pierced his linen armour to cut his side. Before he could turn I rammed the sword hard into his back, the blade cutting his armour to penetrate his flesh. He spun and fell over, unsteadily rising to his knees but not quick enough to stop me slashing sideways to sever his windpipe. He gurgled, spat out more blood and toppled face first on to the ground. My men cheered and I collapsed as a spasm of pain shot through my left leg.
Chrestus dashed forward to pull me away from danger as the Egyptians emitted a collective groan and looked at each other.
‘Ready,’ shouted Sporaces. A score of archers pulled back their bowstrings.
‘No!’ I commanded. I still wanted to know why Menkhaf and his band had come to Dura.
So in the flickering torchlight, surrounded by their captors, they remained standing while a man who could speak Egyptian could be found. It took some time and during the interim a crowd of curious onlookers gathered behind the legionaries, Chrestus barking at them to disperse.
‘We should kill them and have done with it,’ he grumbled.
I could now stand on my own two feet.
‘What, the civilians?’
He was not amused. ‘No, the Egyptians.’
It was Alcaeus who arrived in the company of a sweating soldier, medical bag over his shoulder and a resigned look on his face.
‘Been engaged in night manoeuvres, Pacorus?’
Without asking permission he began examining my left arm, reaching into his bag to take out a phial of honey and a bandage.
‘I was told you want someone who can speak Egyptian.’
I explained what had happened and pointed at the glum group of surrounded men who were still holding their weapons.
‘Tell them to throw down their swords,’ demanded Chrestus.
‘I would like you to ask them why they came to Dura,’ I added.
Alcaeus ignored us both as he cleaned my wound, applied honey and then dressed it with a bandage. As Chrestus fumed he slowly and methodically put the cork back on the phial and placed the items back in his bag before walking towards the Egyptians.
‘Not so fast,’ said Chrestus, dashing forward to restrain him.
‘I thought you wanted me to ask them why they are here,’ said Alcaeus.
‘They are armed and very dangerous,’ explained Chrestus, ‘tell them to throw down their weapons first.’
‘Or we will turn them into pin cushions,’ threatened Sporaces.
They did as they were told, Chrestus organising individual searches before he allowed me and Alcaeus to get close to them. The Egyptians were on their knees with their hands behind their heads when I questioned them closely using Alcaeus as an interpreter.
‘Why did you come to Dura?’
‘To take Kewab back to Alexandria.’
‘On whose orders?’
‘High Queen Cleopatra’s.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he is the son of Achillas.’
‘You were under orders to kill Kewab’s infant son?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘To erase his family from the earth.’
I had heard enough. Chrestus wanted to execute them on the spot and I was tempted. But I ordered they should be tried by a city magistrate in a public court and sentenced accordingly. The judgement would be death but it was the correct procedure.
‘They may be assassins but I am not,’ I told Chrestus.
‘Been upsetting Queen Cleopatra?’ asked Alcaeus as we walked back to the Citadel.
‘No, but I intend to upset her.’
But first I had questions for Kewab.
I snatched a couple of hours’ sleep before washing, changing and requesting his presence on the palace terrace. Gallia was fuming with me for risking my life and Claudia thought it highly amusing.
‘You are not as young as you were, father,’ she giggled.
‘You’ll get no sympathy from me,’ said Gallia, ‘and when I see Chrestus I will rebuke him for allowing you to risk your life so foolishly.’
‘First of all,’ I replied, ‘I don’t take orders from Chrestus and secondly, I can still handle myself in a sword fight.’
Gallia looked at my bandaged arm. ‘Really?’
Kewab’s appearance interrupted our little spat. Claudia’s eyes lit up when she beheld his manly frame and handsome face. She began twirling the ends of her hair in her fingers and gave him a beautiful smile as he bowed to us.
‘Ah, the very man,’ I said, ‘sit yourself down and share breakfast with us.’
‘He has probably eaten already with his wife, father,’ purred Claudia, indicating he should sit next to her at the table beneath the sunshade.
‘Take a seat anyway,’ I told him, ‘help yourself to food and drink.’
Claudia gazed into his hazel eyes as I told him what had happened in his home in the early hours, though not about my wounded arm. He closed his eyes after I had finished.
‘I will leave Dura with my family immediately, majesty,’ he told me after opening them. ‘I apologise for the ill luck I have brought to your kingdom.’
I waved a hand at him. ‘You will do no such thing, Kewab. I do not wish to lose my most promising Son of the Citadel, but even if you were the newest recruit in my army I would still mobilise every resource this city possesses to protect you. Dura’s king does not take kindly to being threatened.’
‘And neither does its queen,’ said Gallia.
‘My question to you, Kewab,’ I said, ‘is why are you of such interest to Queen Cleopatra?’
‘May serpents devour her,’ hissed Claudia, sending a chill down my spine.
A mask of malice descended over her face and for a moment I thought I saw Dobbai. Then she smiled at Kewab and the image was gone, replaced by a flirting woman again.
A servant poured me a cup of fruit juice and I indicated Kewab’s cup should also be filled. He thanked me and took a sip. He stroked his clean-shaven chin and sighed.
‘Ten years ago there was conflict in Egypt, majesty, between the Roman occupiers and the army of Pharaoh Ptolemy. My father, Achillas, commanded the royal army laying siege to the Romans occupying Alexandria. I fought in the siege lines against the Romans, who were on the verge of defeat until…’
His head dropped.
‘Until?’ I probed.
‘Until the sister of Cleopatra, a witch named Arsinoe, left the city and took command of the army.’
‘Why would she take command of the army?’ asked Gallia.
