Carrhae (27 page)

We walked through the porch and into the reception hall and then into the throne room, the squeals of my daughters resonating in the empty chamber. Gallia told them to keep their voices down as they led Peroz towards the door at the far end that led to our private wing giving access to the terrace.

‘Dobbai organised their quartering and instructed Rsan to furnish them with whatever they wanted,’ continued Domitus. ‘You can imagine what he thought of that.’

I looked behind and nodded at my stern-faced governor who was walking beside Aaron. He tilted his head curtly in reply.

We reached the terrace to find Dobbai ensconced in her chair next to a figure in a yellow turban. He rose when he saw us arrive, helping Dobbai out of her chair after he had done so. He stood before me as Dobbai clapped her hands and scowled at Eszter and Isabella who were still tormenting Peroz. They let go of the prince and became statues beside him, not daring to look into Dobbai’s eyes.

‘So you have returned, son of Hatra,’ she said, examining Peroz, ‘and you bring help with you. Former enemies have become allies. Good.’

She held out a bony hand to the individual who stood beside her, a man of medium height, thin, with very dark skin and small brown eyes.

‘This is Patanjali Simuka, a lord of the Satavahana Empire, a great power to the east of the River Indus.’

Patanjali bowed deeply, ‘Hail, King Pacorus, Lord High General of the Parthian Empire.’

He certainly looked like a lord, dressed as he was in a red silk shirt, white cotton leggings embroidered with gold and leather boots. Around his waist was a wide leather belt from which hung a curved sword, and in the front of his turban was a large red ruby that must have been worth a small province.

‘I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lord Simuka,’ I replied.

‘He brings a great treasure for you, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai.

He was obviously a man of some wealth and importance but a hundred warriors hardly constituted a great gift. Still, if he was offering his services I would not turn him away.

‘You and your men are welcome to join us in our fight,’ I told Lord Simuka, who looked perplexedly at Dobbai.

‘He and his men are not the treasure,’ said Dobbai irritably. ‘Please show him, Lord Simuka.’

The dark-skinned lord from the east smiled and stepped away from her, then drew his sword.

‘Guards!’ screamed Domitus who drew his
gladius
and stood in front of me. Seconds later the six legionaries who had been in the throne room rushed on to the terrace, swords in their hands. An alarmed Lord Simuka slid his sword back into its scabbard and held up his hands.

‘Idiots!’ hissed Dobbai. ‘Put away your sword, Roman, and tell your men to return to their posts. Lord Simuka has travelled a great distance from his homeland to be here and his reward is to be threatened with death?’

I laid a hand on Domitus’ shoulder. ‘We appear to have a misunderstanding.’

Domitus stood like a rock in front of me. ‘It is death to draw a sword in the presence of the king, that is crystal clear.’

‘I merely wished to show the king my sword,’ protested Lord Simuka.

I ordered the guards to return to their posts and told Domitus to sheath his sword.

‘Please give me your sword, Lord Simuka,’ said Dobbai.

He did as he was asked and she handed me his weapon. It was a fine curved sword and had a most curious blade, having what appeared to be swirling patterns along its entire length.

‘A fine sword,’ I said.

‘It is more than that, majesty,’ he smiled. ‘With your permission I would like to arrange a demonstration to show you its qualities.’

I really did not see where this was leading but to accommodate the wishes of our guest and placate a clearly irate Dobbai, who was glowering at Domitus, I suggested we all retire to the throne room while female servants took away our two youngest daughters. I allowed Claudia to stay as she was ten years old now and understood what was expected of a young princess. Compared to her sisters she had a serious nature and smiled little, a consequence of spending too much time in Dobbai’s company no doubt.

Gallia and I sat down on our thrones as Dobbai stood next to her and Domitus beside me, a hand on the hilt of his
gladius
, while Lord Simuka stood near the dais and slashed the air with his sword. I gave the order to summon one of the officers of the company of cataphracts that was on garrison duty in the Citadel. Rsan and Aaron were clearly bored by it all, which resulted in my governor’s face wearing an even darker expression, while Peroz seemed fascinated.

‘You should let me fight him,’ growled Domitus.

‘He is not here to fight,’ I corrected him.

In any case though Domitus handled a
gladius
with aplomb it would be unfair to match him against the longer blade wielded by Lord Simuka. Minutes later an officer from my heavy cavalry appeared in his white shirt, his
spatha
dangling from his sword belt. He was a broad-shouldered man in his thirties who stood at least six inches taller than our visitor from the east.

‘This shouldn’t take long,’ muttered Domitus, grinning evilly.

I told the officer that he was to fight Lord Simuka but that it was a demonstration only and no blood was to be shed. They both bowed their heads and withdrew to the centre of the hall. All my horsemen practised swordsmanship on a daily basis, especially the cataphracts. The hours and hours spent training was evident as the officer directed a number of slashing strokes against Lord Simuka. As it was a demonstration only neither man attempted any thrusts to stab his opponent.

Every horseman in Dura’s army carried a
spatha
based on the one that Spartacus had given me in Italy. Weighing around twelve pounds, their double-sided blade was over two feet in length with a walnut hilt whose grip had an eight-sided cross section with finger grooves to give the holder a firm purchase. The even distribution of the sword’s weight made it easy to wield as was now apparent as the officer made a striking movement towards Lord Simuka’s shoulders. Our guest whipped up his sword to meet the blow, the two blades crashed against each other in a blur, and the
spatha
was cut clean in half.

The steel clattered onto the tiles as I stood and looked at it in disbelief, as did the officer who now held a broken sword. Lord Simuka took two steps back, bowed at his opponent and sheathed his sword. The officer sheepishly stooped and retrieved the top half of his sword from the floor and stood to face me.

‘Fetch another sword,’ I told him.

He bowed and left the chamber hurriedly to equip himself with a fresh sword from the Citadel’s armoury.

‘Do you think your eyes have deceived you, son of Hatra?’ asked a smug Dobbai.

I did not reply. Dura’s armouries were famous throughout the empire for producing high-quality weapons and armour. Vast amounts of gold had been lavished on them over the years to procure the best armourers who worked with the finest materials to produce armaments that were the envy of other kings. One broken sword proved nothing.

The crestfallen officer returned with another
spatha
and again Lord Simuka bowed to his opponent and drew his curved sword, and then the two of them once more engaged in swordplay. The first attacks and parries were half-hearted until Domitus called to them ‘to make a fist of it’, after which my man pressed his attacks with more vigour. He was stronger that his opponent but Lord Simuka was more agile and managed to evade most of his blows. The officer delivered a lightning-fast succession of strikes, slashing left and right as he forced Lord Simuka back towards the wall, before raising his
spatha
above his head and then slashing it down against his opponent. Lord Simuka’s blade slammed into the officer’s sword and again went straight through it, severing the blade a few inches above the hilt. Once again metal clattered on the stone tiles as we all looked on in stunned silence. How can this be?

Lord Simuka bowed to his shocked opponent, sheathed his sword and then calmly bent over and retrieved the broken blade.

Dobbai stepped from the dais and walked over to Lord Simuka and took the blade from him.

‘Many years ago, when King Sinatruces ruled the empire, he received a number of gifts from a ruler named Satakarni from beyond the Indus in gratitude for him stopping raiders crossing the river and laying waste his lands. Among these gifts was a sword such as Lord Simuka now carries, a weapon with a black blade covered with strange swirling patterns. This sword could cut through the blades of other swords with ease and was among the high king’s most treasured possessions.’

‘What happened to it?’ asked Gallia.

‘No one knows,’ replied Dobbai. ‘He lost it or gave it away in his dotage, no doubt, or perhaps swapped it for a young slave girl. But I remembered and sent a message to the court of the Satavahana Empire that Dura wished to purchase this wondrous material to fashion its own weapons. My gift to you, son of Hatra.’

‘It is as your adviser says,’ remarked Lord Simuka. ‘I have brought a thousand ingots of
ukku
with me.’

‘A thousand swords to equip all your cataphracts,’ added Dobbai.

‘
Ukku
?’ I asked.

‘The name of the steel from which the swords are made,’ answered Dobbai.

I pointed to one of the guards standing near the dais. ‘Go to the armouries and bring Arsam here.’

He saluted and scurried from the hall. I looked at Lord Simuka.

‘A most impressive demonstration. You have brought a thousand ingots of this metal, you say?’

Lord Simuka flashed a smile. ‘Yes, majesty.’

‘And what price do you ask?’

‘A thousand ingots for a thousand bars of gold, majesty.’

There were loud gasps from both Rsan and Aaron and even Domitus, who usually never quibbled about the price of weaponry, looked surprised.

‘Majesty,’ said Rsan, ‘that is an exorbitant price for a few swords, especially as your horsemen already have them.’

‘I would have to agree with Lord Rsan,’ added Aaron. ‘The army already places a heavy demand upon the treasury.’

‘What use is a full treasury if the Romans are battering down Dura’s walls?’ said Dobbai scornfully.

‘I will leave the decision to my chief armourer,’ I said at length, still finding it hard to believe that a brace of Dura’s swords had been cut in two so easily. He arrived fifteen minutes later dressed in a leather apron and looking flustered. He was also in a foul mood. He didn’t bother to bow as he stomped into the throne room and stood before me.

‘Arsam,’ I said, nodding at our guest, ‘this is Lord Simuka from east of the Indus, whose sword has just cut two of your
spathas
in half.’

Arsam’s eyes narrowed as he mulled over what I had told him. Then he smiled. ‘Impossible.’

I nodded at the officer whose swords had been destroyed. He walked forward and showed him the broken blades. Arsam frowned, snatched one of the fragments and then another, turning them over in his hands.

‘I am assuming that there is no fault in the blades,’ I said.

Arsam looked furious. ‘Impossible,’ he said again, glancing at Dobbai, ‘it must be some sort of devilment.’

‘The metal that made the weapons that cut through your swords,’ she snapped at him, ‘was forged by the gods, that much is certain, but it is a gift not a curse.’

‘Lord Simuka has brought a thousand ingots of the metal he calls
ukku
for you, Arsam,’ I said, ‘so Dura can benefit from this divine gift.’

Lord Simuka smiled at my grizzled, scarred chief armourer. For his part Arsam curled up a lip at him. ‘I will need to see these ingots myself, and forge a blade from one of them to see if it is of the required standard.’

‘I would not expect anything less,’ smiled Lord Simuka.

Partially placated, Arsam agreed that he himself would create the blade and so the next morning we all gathered in his workshop in the city’s armouries. Lord Simuka arrived in the company of an armourer he had brought with him, a wiry man with sinewy arms and thin legs dressed in baggy leggings and a leather apron. Arsam also wore a thick leather apron to protect him from red-hot splinters. In addition, he wore a pair of thick leather gloves on his hands and iron shields over his boots to protect his feet from being smashed if he dropped any metal he was working on.

Arsam’s most experience armourers crowded round the fire to witness the creation of a blade from the magical metal from the east. Though all the workshops had roof shutters that were nearly always open it was still unbearably hot and sweat was already pouring down my face. Most of the armourers and their young assistants worked in loincloths only beneath their leather aprons, though I thought it unbecoming of their king to wear such attire so I stood and sweated.

Lord Simuka’s man handed Arsam the ingot that was round and resembled a baked cake. He explained that once the ore had been extracted from the earth it was packed with charcoal, the bark of an evergreen shrub called cassia and the leaves of milkweed. It was then encased in clay and heated in a fire for up to seven days. The resulting ingot was possessed of the remarkable strength and flexibility that we had all witnessed in the throne room.

Arsam’s workers stood on benches and stools behind us to catch a glimpse of the process as the armourer from across the Indus instructed him in the proper procedure. Domitus and Vagises stood riveted as Arsam place the ingot in the red-hot fire with a pair of tongs and left it there until it was a dull red. Lord Simuka’s man then ordered that it be taken out of the coals and left to cool naturally, during which time Arsam hammered it on an anvil to stretch and flatten it to make a sword blade. After it had cooled it was again placed in the fire until it once more looked a dull red, following which Arsam took it out of the heat and worked it on the anvil once more, his expert hands soon creating a straight blade. This process was repeated a third and final time before the wiry armourer informed Arsam that the blade was now ready to be tempered.