Free The Parthian by Peter Darman Page B

to, for all kingdoms in the empire paid tribute to the King of Kings, thus there was a constant flow of money to the capital, though it obviously was not spent on its defences.
    We were met outside the city by a detachment of cavalry led by the son of Sinatruces, Phraates. They carried the eagle standard of the King of Kings and were well appointed, with bright steel helmets, whetted lances and burnished shields. They wore mail vests and red cloaks on their backs. Phraates himself, bare headed, rode at the head of the column and greeted my father as an equal, as he was a king in his own right.
    ‘Greetings, King Varaz,’ he bowed his head. My father reciprocated. Phraates then looked at me. ‘And this must be your son, Prince Pacorus, whom we have heard so much of.’
    I bowed my head. ‘Highness.’
    Phraates was a studious-looking individual, his hair cropped just above his shoulders with a neatly trimmed, short beard flecked with grey. He had a broad face and a rather bulbous nose. I guessed he was nearing sixty years of age.
    During the ride to the palace Phraates rode beside my father, myself and Vistaspa immediately behind.
    ‘You are to be congratulated, Prince Pacorus,’ he said. ‘Your valour is the talk of the empire.’
    ‘You honour me, majesty,’ I replied.
    ‘You are a worthy son of Hatra, the home of the empire’s finest warriors.’
    His flattery seemed genuine, and I for one could not help but smile as we rode through the royal gates and came to a halt before the steps of the palace. It was a large, tall building with an ornate white stone façade. Guards stood on the steps, spearmen with large wicker shields and red felt caps on their heads. Our horses were taken from us and Phraates led us up the steps, through the reception area and into the throne room. This was a cavernous area some three storeys high, with a white and black marble floor, thick stone columns on either and a golden throne on a dais surmounted by a griffin at the far end. Courtiers were clustered in groups around the throne while a guard stood in front of each column. As we were led into the room the various hushed conversations died away. All eyes were on us as we approached the dais. We halted a few paces from the figure seated on the throne, an old man with white hair and a wispy beard, which was platted to resemble a serpent’s tongue protruding from his chin. He wore a golden crown encrusted with gemstones on his head, while his black tunic was adorned with golden stars. His face was thin and bony, his cheeks slightly sunken. But his dark brown eyes were alert and piercing, and had fixed on us as soon as we had entered the room.
    Phraates nodded to a tall, thin man with a staff who stood beside the throne, some sort of chancellor I assumed.
    ‘Majesty, may I present King Varaz and his son, Prince Pacorus,’ we went down on one knee and bowed our heads.
    ‘Arise, arise,’ said the king, to polite applause from the courtiers. The king’s voice was deep and powerful, which came as something of a shock to me considering his frail body.
    ‘You are most welcome, King Varaz, and we congratulate you and your son,’ he nodded at me, ‘on your victory over the Roman invaders.’
    ‘Thank you, majesty,’ said my father.
    Sinatruces held out his right hand, into which was placed a rolled scroll by the chancellor. The room was silent as he carefully unrolled it.
    ‘This document is the reason I invited you here, King Varaz, for it is a demand from the Senate of Rome. A demand that I return their legion’s eagle, which they say has been stolen, and furthermore that I pay them reparations for the destruction of said legion.’ There were angry mutterings around the room, which were silenced by Sinatruces holding up his left hand.
    ‘It would appear to me,’ he continued, ‘that the Romans think that the Parthian Empire is a vassal state, which must pay homage to them. This they must be disabused of. I have therefore replied