Free The Parthian by Peter Darman

duties rarely allowed us to wander through its bustling streets. Seeing a myriad of nationalities and different races was always a curiosity, though, along with the temples that were clustered around the east and west gates, through which human traffic and trade flowed all year round. Inside the city were parks where animals could be fed and housed for the night, which were supplied with watercourses for man and beast, and which were guarded by troops of the garrison, though many caravans also had their own guards. The air around the markets was filled with the strange aromas of exotic spices brought from the Orient, while other traders hawked silk and other expensive materials. By chance, Vata and I came across a Roman merchant house whose agents traded in the Parthian Empire, mainly in silk of which Rome had an insatiable appetite for. We entered the whitewashed two-storey building through its large porch. Inside the large reception area men sat at desks conducting business with travellers and natives of the city. The interior was functional if a little spartan.
    ‘I wonder if they make it look like the insides of the buildings in Rome?’ said Vata.
    Before I could answer a short man, about thirtyish and dressed in a simple beige linen tunic, approached us, his hair cropped short as was the Roman fashion.
    ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘We are just looking,’ I said.
    ‘At what?’ he snapped. ‘Are you businessmen?’
    Our appearance — gold-edged white tunics and leggings, leather boots, ornate leather belts from which hung silver-decorated scabbards — suggested we weren’t. I saw no reason to hide our identities.
    ‘I am Prince Pacorus and this is my friend, Vata.’
    The Roman looked directly at me. ‘So, you are the one who took the eagle.’
    I detected a mocking tone in his voice.
    ‘It was easy enough,’ I replied, ‘I found it lying in the dirt.
    He bristled at this. ‘Rome never forgets its enemies.’
    ‘Parthia always looks for new victories.’ I was enjoying our verbal duel.
    He moved closer to me, our faces inches apart. His audacity, considering he was in my city, was astounding, but I was to become all too familiar with Roman arrogance. ‘We have many more legions, Parthian,’ he spat, his bad breath reeking in my nostrils.
    I clutched the hilt of my sword with my right hand. ‘Then go and get them.’
    ‘Enough, Pacorus,’ said Vata, laying a hand on my arm. ‘Pick on someone your own size. It’s unfair to start a quarrel with the a dwarf.’
    We both laughed, causing the Roman’s cheeks to turn red with rage, his fists clenched. We left the building and went back into the street.
    ‘Cocky little bastard, wasn’t he,’ remarked Vata.
    ‘I think we’ll be fighting Romans again very soon.’
    ‘How many legions do you think they have?’
    ‘No idea,’ I replied. ‘Who cares?’
    Vata shrugged. ‘Still, at least they’re shorter than we are. It’s always easier to kill someone who’s smaller. I wouldn’t like to fight a race of giants.’
    My father and I left for Ctesiphon three days later. Vistaspa came with us, of course, along with a hundred of my father’s bodyguard, a hundred horse archers and our tents, food and spare weapons loaded onto forty camels. Ctesiphon was two hundred miles from Hatra, a journey that we made at a leisurely pace.
    The journey through the kingdom allowed my father to inspect part of his domain. He always told me that it was important for the people to see their rulers, which also offered an opportunity for them to speak to him. Many kings viewed their subjects with distaste and suspicion, believing themselves to be appointed by gods to rule on earth.
    ‘That is a very dangerous way of thinking, to my mind,’ he said as we rode past a group of workers repairing an irrigation ditch in a field. ‘Some of them, and I have met them, believe that they are semi-divine themselves. That’s all very well until some common soldier in an opponent’s