Wraiths Read online

  Wraiths

  Peter Darman

  Copyright © 2019 Pete Darman

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Formatted by Jo Harrison

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  List of characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Historical notes

  List of characters

  Those marked with an asterisk * are Companions – individuals who fought with Spartacus in Italy and who travelled back to Parthia with Pacorus.

  Those marked with a dagger † are known to history.

  The Kingdom of Dura

  Azar: Daughter of Dura

  Bullus: centurion in the army of Dura

  Claudia: daughter of Pacorus and Gallia, princess of Dura, Scythian Sister, now adviser to King of Kings Phraates

  *Gallia: Gaul, Queen of Dura Europos

  Haya: Amazon

  Kewab: Egyptian, former Satrap of Aria, senior officer in the army of Dura

  Klietas: former squire to King Pacorus, now a farmer

  Minu: commander of the Amazons

  Talib: Agraci, chief scout in Dura’s army

  Yasmina: Daughter of Dura

  Other Parthians

  Akmon: son of King Spartacus, King of Media

  Atrax: former prince of Media

  Castus: son of Spartacus, King of Gordyene

  Haytham: son of Spartacus, prince of Gordyene

  †Phraates: King of Kings of the Parthian Empire

  Shamshir: commander of Gordyene’s King’s Guard

  Non-Parthians

  †Amyntas: King of Galatia

  †Artaxias: King of Armenia

  Gaius Arrianus: Roman ambassador to the court of King Polemon

  †Glaphyra: mother of King Archelaus of Cappadocia

  Laodice: chief of the Pontic hill men

  †Polemon: King of Pontus

  Titus Tullus: Roman, commander of King Polemon’s Pontic legionaries

  Chapter 1

  No women shed any tears in the building now. There were no longer any trembling girls forced to stand before their abusers, who were invariably fat, greedy and sadistic. The corridors were no longer filled with the grunts and groans of brutal, angry men inflicting their perversions on those forced to work within the building’s perfumed, gaudily decorated rooms. The façade the establishment had presented to the world was one of a brothel that catered for every male desire, no matter how deviant. For a price. And that price was invariably high. The women who plied their trade within the brothel were ostensibly masters of their craft, females who could satisfy their male clients akin to a skilled musician playing an instrument. But the reality was that a prostitute’s life was brutish and short. Many were lucky to reach their thirtieth birthday; most were dead in their twenties, their bodies worn out and broken by hard, constant use. Some succumbed to the diseases that their clients carried, dying of starvation after being thrown out of the brothel by the woman who ran the establishment with an iron fist. Diseased whores were bad for business; clients only wanted the young, the clean, and the virginal.

  But now the building was free of lascivious men; indeed, all men were prohibited from entering, even the king. The rooms and corridors had been renovated and repainted, and cleansed by the prayers and incense of the high priestess of the city’s Temple of Ishtar. Ishtar, the Goddess of Love, the embodiment of sexuality and fertility, but also the Lady of Battle. Ishtar was beautiful, alluring and seductive, but that was only one part of her powers. She also carried a bow and quiver and rode the night sky in a silver chariot pulled by celestial lions. The former brothel became The Sanctuary, the refuge of the Amazons, the mortal embodiment of Ishtar’s qualities, the bodyguard of Queen Gallia of Dura, the famed female warrior whose exploits were well known throughout Parthia and beyond.

  The queen was old now, her eyes still blue but a little world-weary. Her famous long blonde hair was streaked with grey and not as thick as when she had first become the queen of the wild outlaw city on the western bank of the River Euphrates. But she was still a forceful figure, now the veteran of many battles and campaigns fighting beside her husband. And where she went so did the Amazons, the band of sisters first formed in Italy when the queen had been fighting the Romans in the army of the slave general Spartacus. Only a handful of the first Amazons still lived and only two still rode into battle. They were Gallia and Diana, Queen of Hatra, who still rode to war alongside her husband King Gafarn. But the standards and fighting prowess of the original Amazons had been upheld by subsequent recruits to the all-female band, the current members of which stood in silence in the entrance hall of The Sanctuary. There were always one hundred Amazons but today there were only seventy, a result of the recent campaign in Pontus and Cappadocia where Zenobia, their commander, had fallen. Minu, her replacement, stood next to the queen at the top of the grand staircase, her brown eyes scanning the women and teenage girls below. The girls were members of the Daughters of Dura, the fighting unit raised five years before when the usurper Tiridates had seized Parthia’s high crown and had threatened to march on Dura itself. Gallia had raised a small force of orphan girls to supplement the Amazons, and when the emergency had passed had retained their services. Orphan girls could quickly be moulded into keen recruits and their young minds were like sponges speedily absorbing useful skills. By the time they reached adulthood they were ready to become fully fledged Amazons.

  Minu was not an orphan but her lithe figure should have been showing signs of getting plumper by now as the child grew inside her. But the unborn infant had been lost during the recent campaign, a result of blows suffered at the hands of Gaul warriors. It was a loss keenly felt by both Minu and her husband Talib, the chief scout in Dura’s army.

  ‘While our enemies still live, there can be no peace for Dura,’ began Gallia, examining the sea of faces below. ‘While they still breathe and walk the earth they continue to pose a threat to this kingdom and the people who live in it. You may think that because they are hundreds of miles from this city, they are incapable of striking at us. But you would be wrong.

  ‘Five years ago, when the Daughters of Dura were born in response to a grave crisis, Tiridates was the King of Aria, a land hundreds of miles to the east of Dura. And yet in no time at all he was but a stone’s throw from this city. I subsequently learned he passed through Dura on his way to Syria where the Romans gave him sanctuary. And now he resides in Pontus where the Romans continue to indulge him. With him are other enemies of Dura, who at any time can unite and plot to wage war not only on this kingdom but also Parthia. I say this cannot be allowed to continue.’

  She let her words sink in, noticing the nodding heads, especially among the younger members of the group.

  ‘I am sad to say our enemies have grown emboldened by the recent campaign, during which many brave men and women fell, not least King Spartacus of Gordyene and Zenobia, your former commander. The k
ing, my husband, greatly affected by the loss of his nephew, has declared Dura’s army will not embark on another campaign beyond Parthia’s borders. It is therefore left to us to avenge the loss of our sisters and brothers.’

  Every head was now nodding. Every head save one. The tall, graceful Saruke, the Scythian Sister sent to Dura by Claudia, Gallia’s daughter, stood impassively, a slight smile on her face. She had been working hard to impart her knowledge to Dura’s eager female recruits, and was delighted that Queen Gallia was going to put those skills into practice.

  ‘Those responsible will pay with their lives,’ said Gallia, prompting several of the girls to beam with delight. ‘You may ask: who are they? I will tell you. The traitor Atrax, who was spared by Dura’s king, only to repay that act of clemency with base betrayal. The Roman mercenary Titus Tullus, who wanted to crucify your king, my husband, before the walls of Irbil. The barbarian Laodice, the wild hill man of Pontus who butchered innocent civilians in Irbil. The usurper Tiridates, who threatened to burn Dura to the ground. The whore Glaphyra, who conspired with others to keep our army before the walls of Kayseri with false promises of peace before her fellow conspirators basely attacked us. Finally, Amyntas of Galatia, so-called king who murdered my friend and your commander Zenobia.

  ‘All must die.’

  It was a mix of half-truths, facts and naked lies. It was true that Atrax, only surviving son of the late, unlamented Queen Aliyeh, King Pacorus’ sister, had been a thorn in the side of both Media and Parthia as a whole. His Roman-supported invasion of Media had resulted not only in Dura’s king and queen narrowly escaping death when they had found themselves trapped in the kingdom’s capital Irbil by Atrax’s rebels, but Queen Rasha, wife of King Spartacus, had subsequently been killed on the Diyana Plain when Gordyene’s army had marched to Irbil’s relief. Those crimes alone would have been enough to earn Atrax a death sentence, but what really galled Gallia was that her husband had saved his life when Spartacus had earlier invaded Media, defeated its army and surrounded Irbil, where a gravely wounded Atrax was trapped. Atrax should have died in Media’s capital, either from his wounds or at the hands of Spartacus’ executioner. As it was, King Pacorus, honourable man that he was, persuaded Spartacus not to sack Irbil and allow the wounded Atrax to leave for Hatra. The mercy shown to him by her husband was repaid with treachery. She would not make the same mistake.

  Tiridates had seized the high crown and forced King of Kings Phraates into exile, or rather to seek sanctuary with her daughter in the remote, desolate Alborz Mountains. It was irrelevant to her whether Phraates lived or died, as the king of kings had proved himself to be an untrustworthy, duplicitous snake. But in the fighting to save his hide from the hordes of Tiridates, her dear friends Nergal and Praxima had been killed. For that reason alone the former King of Aria deserved to die.

  Titus Tullus had once fought alongside the King and Queen of Dura, when Gallia, Rasha and Diana had convinced Byrd to cover the costs of hiring a Roman legion to support the restoration of Phraates to the high throne. But after Tiridates had been defeated, Titus Tullus left Parthia and found work with King Polemon of Pontus. It was Media’s misfortune that he returned to Parthia as part of Prince Atrax’s army of rebels, which had been financed by Octavian, the Roman leader, now called Augustus Caesar for reasons that Gallia neither understood or bothered about. It was Tullus who had organised the crucifixion of innocent civilians in Irbil to cower the defenders into surrender, and had been the chosen commander for the intended crucifixion of King Pacorus himself before the walls of Irbil’s Citadel. Her husband had been rescued but that would not save Titus Tullus from death.

  Laodice was the leader of the rabble of Pontic hill men that had accompanied Prince Atrax into Media, where he and they had wreaked havoc on the kingdom and its civilian population alike. For siding with Atrax he would also die.

  The final two names on her death list were in a different category. Glaphyra was the mother of King Archelaus of Cappadocia, the kingdom she and the rest of the army had found themselves in after retreating south following the abortive siege of Sinope the year before. Ironically, the combined armies of Dura, Hatra and Gordyene had found themselves before the capital of Pontus out of Spartacus’ desire to serve justice on those he held responsible for Rasha’s death: Atrax and Titus Tullus, who were both in Sinope. However, having been warned of the approach of a relief army of Cappadocians and Galatians, the Parthians had withdrawn south into those two kingdoms. Following the death of Spartacus and the proclaiming of his son Castus as the new King of Gordyene, the Parthians had laid siege to Kayseri, the capital of Cappadocia. Glaphyra was in the city and had opened negotiations with King Pacorus, during which she agreed to pay King Castus a huge sum in gold providing the Parthians continued their march back to Parthia. Neither Pacorus nor Gafarn wished to storm a city they would have to relinquish immediately afterwards, and Castus was more than happy to swell Gordyene’s treasury, so all parties were happy. But Glaphyra had merely been playing for time and was the pivotal figure in a bold plan to crush the Parthians in an attack by no less than four separate armies It was only due to the genius of Kewab, former Satrap of Aria, that the Parthians not only survived but triumphed in the Battle of Kayseri. But for her deception, Glaphyra would pay with her life.

  Finally, there was Amyntas, King of Galatia, a strange kingdom inhabited by Gauls. Like many men of his race, Amyntas was loud, boorish, big and violent. He had threatened to kill Pacorus and had killed Zenobia and Minu’s unborn child. He deserved death not only for those crimes, but also for being the embodiment of everything Gallia despised about her own race.

  When the queen had finished speaking her audience as one said, ‘all must die’. Gallia smiled and dismissed the assembly, catching Minu’s eye and nodding as the crowd dispersed. The commander of the Amazons brought Haya to the ground-floor meeting room, the walls of which had previously been decorated with images of naked women performing sexual acts, but were now a pristine white, having been repainted with several coats to erase the offensive images.

  Haya, lithe, tall, her dark brown hair tumbling to her shoulders, stood at attention before the queen, Minu by her side. Gallia poured wine into a silver chalice engraved with the motto of the Amazons and handed it to her.

  ‘Take the weight off your feet,’ she told the young woman.

  Gallia poured Minu and herself some wine before all three sat on the plush couches, the wooden feet of which had been carved to resemble a griffin’s paws. Gallia held up her chalice to Haya.

  ‘You have been selected to be one of those who will serve justice on Dura’s enemies, Haya.’

  The young woman’s brown eyes lit up. ‘It will be an honour, majesty.’

  ‘Before you leave, however,’ continued the queen, ‘I have another important mission for you.’

  The winter months were pleasant enough in the Kingdom of Dura. They were still warm and mostly dry, but not as extreme as the hot days of summer when the wind could resemble a gust from a furnace. This was a blessing for the kingdom’s farmers, who laboured long and hard to prepare their fields for the harvest that would take place in mid-spring to early summer. The land had to be ploughed, watered, weeded and protected against locusts and other pests, such as flocks of hungry birds. It was back-breaking work and continued from dawn till dusk, though at least the king in his palace in the city had taken measures to ease their burden. He, or rather his soldiers and engineers, had built canals, dams and irrigation ditches to bring water from the mighty Euphrates to nourish the bone-dry earth adjacent to it. The river rose in early spring, swollen by melt waters from the north. But instead of flooding the land, the kingdom’s irrigation system both prevented the river from breaking its banks, and also drew water from the Euphrates to fill the many inland dams. It was a marvel to behold and resulted in the desert south of the city turning green as crops grew in the fields.

  ‘Kill it, lord.’

  Cambiz, the grizzled old farm hand
with calloused hands, a leering visage and sinewy arms and legs turned black by years of being exposed to a harsh Mesopotamian sun, was pointing at an Egyptian vulture picking at something on the dirt track. Either side were fields containing neat lines of ploughed earth.

  Klietas shook his head. ‘No, it is not eating any seeds, it is picking at dung.’

  Cambiz glanced at the sling tucked into his young master’s belt and rubbed his hands.

  ‘Mind if I take a shot, lord?’

  Klietas flashed a smile. ‘We are not killing something just for the sake of it.’

  The large white bird waddled around the pile of dung on the track and began picking at it, searching for insects to eat. Cambiz shook his head.

  ‘It would make a tasty meal, lord.’

  Klietas smiled to himself. ‘I have plenty to eat. I assume you do, too.’

  Cambiz nodded. Deputy-governor Almas, the one-handed former horse archer in Dura’s army, had gifted the farmhand cum adviser, supervisor and general know-it-all to Klietas. Klietas had at first found the old man’s presence irksome, but had slowly, grudgingly come to accept his experience and advice were welcome additions to the great gift he had received from the king. A large plot of land, a house, a pair of oxen, seeds, tools, an iron plough and access to substantial funds meant Klietas had the potential to become rich. Very rich. But he was young, inexperienced and needed to be steered in the right direction, which is where Cambiz came in.

  Cambiz was a drifter, a man who had turned his hands to farming, goat herding, camel driving, travelling salesman and fishing. He had begun life as a farmer in Persis before travelling to Babylon, Seleucia, Hatra and finally Dura, seeking refuge in King Pacorus’ kingdom after fleeing across the Euphrates with a price on his head. He first found service in the household of Spandarat, the one-eyed noble who became chief of Dura’s lords, before purchasing his own camel train to take advantage of the lucrative transport opportunities that came when peace broke out between King Pacorus and King Haytham of the Agraci. He should have been rich but he had frittered away his money on women and gambling. Now an old man with grey hair and a wicked tongue, he was content to hire out his services to those in need of knowledge. He lived an austere life but the gods had blessed him with good health and a mind that resembled a bottomless well of knowledge.