Blood of Kings Page 12

  Taking the tray Darius led Parmys into the tent and guided her to a cushion. Sitting cross-legged beside her he dipped some bread in a stew of lamb and saffron and held it out. ‘Try eating something. Just a little.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You’re starving! If you carry on like this you will never reach Egypt.’

  ‘Would that be so bad?’ Her voice was very soft.

  Darius shot her a glance.

  ‘Do not judge me! It is my life, my choice.’

  ‘And what about the people who love you? Do they have no say?’

  Her eyes were moist, but her expression was blank and she spoke with a cold simplicity that frightened Darius. If she had raved about her bad fortune, screamed and cursed, he would have preferred it. ‘What say did you give me when you went off to war, leaving me to fear you might never come back? Risking your life over a piece of land the Empire does not need or an insult to Persia’s honour from some half human savage capering on the steppe? How is that better than me defending my honour the only way I can?’

  ‘When I fight I am serving the King of Kings. That is my duty,’ he replied. Knowing her respect for the priests he added, ‘And the magi are there, blessing the army and giving the battle Ahura Mazda’s approval.’

  ‘My choice is also blessed by priests. In my mother’s land the gurus teach that a woman should choose death before violation.’

  ‘But life is sacred,’ Darius insisted.

  ‘Life at any cost? You do not believe that, Darius. People have told me how courageous you are in battle.’

  Darius had tried before to explain that it wasn’t courage that drove him in battle, but anger. Parmys had shaken her head in confusion and asked, ‘What do you have to be angry about?’ Sometimes he thought she knew him so well. Other times he wondered if she understood him at all. But there was truth in what she said now. He remembered Frada’s plea to be killed rather than left for the Saka to torture. If life was a burden, better to end it. An image came to him of her face, skeleton-thin, white and cold in death. The thought of her dying was like a spear thrust into his guts. He looked at her, seeing her afresh as though it was their first meeting, recognizing with a shock how deeply he loved her. The realization was wonderful, it swept him up like a surging tide, driving out the confusion in his mind and making everything clear. He knew now that nothing mattered but saving her. He leant towards Parmys. ‘Death or humiliation are not your only choices! Try to understand that.’

  ‘Name me a third,’ she said flatly.

  The emptiness in her eyes scared him, and the fear for her was a raw ache that cracked his voice. ‘I won’t let it happen to you.’

  She laughed bitterly. ‘And how will you stop it when my father could not, with an army and half the Empire behind him?’

  Darius wanted to tell her, to explain that he loved her even more than her father had, a love so strong it would drive him to extreme lengths. He had always known that there was a part of him which was capable of being ruthless. And when a ruthless man was determined to succeed, no matter what it took, anything was possible.

  ‘Try to understand me, Darius. I am not mad. I have thought long and hard. There was a trader in the camp this morning offering blue Egyptian glass. He confirmed everything I have heard before. Pharaoh is cruel and beats his wives. He … uses them … in ways no woman should be used. When he is drunk at a feast he forces his lesser wives to dance naked in front of his guests, and if the guests are important he lets them … take their pleasure. If I live that will be my fate. Is that what you want for me?’

  When he thought of what she would suffer, the proud beautiful princess he loved being stripped and offered around the table like a pleasure slave, anger at Cambyses welled inside him. He smoothed her hair and kissed it. ‘Of course it isn’t what I want for you. But it won’t happen. You will see.’

  Suddenly she cried out, a sound halfway between a sob and a shout. Her face crumpled, her forehead knitted in anger and fear. ‘Stop it!’ she pleaded. ‘You and your manly pride! You’re torturing me, prolonging the agony by giving me false hope rather than admit you are defeated. There is only one way to be sure I do not marry Pharaoh and it does not involve empty promises.’ Her breast heaving, she looked at the silver bowl of stew on the floor. Lifting a leg that was long and shapely beneath her gown she kicked it away, as though it disgusted her. Her anger spent, she turned to Darius and implored him. ‘You must accept my decision, be glad for my release, then forget all about me. Find another woman. Marry, live your life, have sons. God knows, Persia needs more men like you.’

  ‘Abandon you to starve yourself to death, or be dragged off to shame and degradation …?’ His voice turned savage. ‘Over my dead body!’

  Parmys jumped up, her glossy black hair flying free as she shook herself from his arms. She looked down at him, hands on hips. ‘Are all men this stupid or is it just you?’ she asked scornfully. ‘What good will it do me if you die? How will that set me free?’ She turned and began to walk away.

  Darius leapt to his feet and closed in on her. ‘If it were the other way round you would sacrifice anything rather than abandon me. You would throw your jewels in a lake and become a washerwoman in a mud hut.’

  ‘I would not! I would forget we had ever met. Do not think you are so special, Darius, because you are not.’

  Darius froze mid step. He studied her uncertainly. Her small mouth was tight but there was a pleading look in her eyes. With a rush of relief he realized that neither her bitterness nor derision were real, simply a mask designed to push him away. ‘You’re just saying that, Parmys. We both know it isn’t true.’

  She breathed out loudly and shook her head in frustration. He strode towards her, strong arms on either side of slim shoulders as he trapped her against the wall of the tent. ‘Swear to it, Parmys! Swear on the memory of your father that I don’t matter! Then perhaps I’ll do as you ask.’

  She broke down, turning her back on him and burying her face in her hands. ‘You know I cannot. But you must forget me. Do you not see? You cannot fight the whole Empire, and if you get yourself killed trying to save me I will feel even more wretched than I already do.’

  Darius took her gently by the shoulders, turned her round and kissed her. He touched her cheek with a fingertip. She felt so fragile. He wanted to protect her, to take her pain on his shoulders and bear it for her. Instead, he could only watch her suffer. He searched his mind for something to give her comfort. ‘Remember Ishtar, goddess of love …’

  Parmys spoke quickly in irritation. ‘Who “descended into the underworld”? … Yes, I know. And when she became trapped and thought there was no escape, the other gods sent a messenger to sprinkle her with the waters of life and set her free. But that was just a myth, Darius. And the Wise Lord has obviously forsaken me, in punishment for my loose conduct and lascivious thoughts …’

  ‘Lascivious thoughts?’ Before he could stop himself he smiled.

  Parmys blushed. ‘Oh, Darius, do you not see what we did was wrong? The magi explained it to me at the palace. I was in the seraglio for a reason, but I wilfully evaded it. I let you kiss me, and touch me.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And I wanted you to do … other things. I do not regret a moment of our time together but this is my punishment. I must accept it. Do the ancient scriptures not warn “a life full of darkness and woe will be your reward, followers of the Lie?” What right do I have to be happy when I have strayed from the path?’

  Born with a passionate nature but raised strictly in the pure flame of the tenets of Zoroaster, this wasn’t the first time Darius had noticed the tension between Parmys’s two selves, seen the confusion in her eyes. ‘You haven’t strayed! We love each other. Why shouldn’t we kiss? And surely the meaning of the story of Ishtar is that you mustn’t lose hope?’

  She looked at him fiercely. ‘You are telling me to ignore the Holy Avesta and place my trust in an epic poem? If you think that my head is
so stuffed with feathers how can you love me?’

  ‘No, Parmys, I am asking you to place your trust in me.’ His face hardened, his voice resolute. ‘I swear I will not let Pharaoh harm you. But in turn you must promise that no matter how desperate things seem, you will not harm yourself. Eat, look after yourself, stay alive!’

  She buried her face in his gown. The imperious princess was gone. It was the small, frightened girl lying soaking wet on the banks of the river in Pathragada that answered. ‘I cannot promise that. Not when death is my only escape.’

  Jerusalem’s cool, olive-covered mounts faded behind them. The Negev Desert lay ahead. Even though it was winter the air was warm and dry, and Darius knew that from now on they would be tormented by dust and thirst. As the officers assembled on a bluff, Darius shielded his eyes against the glare. On his left lay a bitter sea whose water was syrupy with salt, and whose shores sparkled white with salt crystals. To his right lay an arid valley. Bare hills rose in the distance. A hot breeze blew from a dusty plain.

  ‘Never seen a more desolate place in me life.’ Vivana turned his head in an arc scanning the terrain.

  ‘It’s called Sodom. The Judaeans say it was blasted by their god for wickedness.’

  ‘I can believe that. Anyone actually live here, sir?’

  ‘To the east is the land of the Moabites.’ Darius pointed to a range of low hills just visible through the hazy air. ‘And to the south is the land of the Edomites.’

  ‘Are they hostile, sir?’ an infantry satapatish asked.

  Darius said nothing about the secret treaty with Malik-Rammu. ‘Both tribes are small. The Edomites are warlike but I think they’ll leave us alone. The Moabites are insolent raiders, but it’s hard to believe they would attack such a strong force.’

  ‘Six hundred men … twenty sheep should do it. Make it twenty-five to be sure. And one for the feast in Parmys’s tent. We have enough?’ Darius asked.

  ‘Should do.’ Ardu checked the slate in front of him. ‘Just. And wine?’

  ‘Make it a triple ration.’

  Ardu raised bushy eyebrows.

  ‘God, man, it’s Nowruz! New Year and the start of spring. Let them get properly drunk.’

  The gloom gathered quickly in the desert dusk. As it descended, the duty guards saluted Darius in to Parmys’s tent with military pomp, six of them in full parade dress with armour burnished and spears glinting. Flaming lamps filled every empty space, setting the dining salon ablaze with gold, specially bright to light the year ahead. A small table in one corner was covered with white cloth. On it lay plaits of honeyed bread, pieces of silver and gold and sprouted wheat to signify the renewal of spring. The Persian officers stood in a half circle, watching in solemn silence as Parmys approached the table and dipped her head. ‘May it be a fruitful year.’ As she recited the ritual words her voice was flat.

  Purple couches were set out with small round tables before them. With the King’s Eye watching, Darius tactfully reclined away from Parmys. To her left, Ardu was a young man trying too hard to be charming. At least he made her laugh. To her right, Vivana gave the nervous smile of a man who had never dined with a princess before.

  Sounds of revelry and drunken laughter in the camp were muffled by the heavy leather fabric of the tent. Inside, polite conversation hummed. Small glass dishes filled with sweetened rice were being passed around as the first course when Darius heard distant shouting. Sitting very still he looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Ardu had, his head suddenly lifting. ‘What was that?’

  The conversation died, replaced by screams outside. Parmys dropped her dish. It shattered, scattering tiny shards of glass over Ardu. Shouts were followed by running feet, more screams and the scrape of blades on armour. Parmys sucked in hollow cheeks, biting her lower lip as she sought out Darius’s eyes. He met her gaze, then looked away.

  The camp fell silent. A sigh of relief swept the gathering. But moments later fresh shouts erupted, this time right next to the tent. Dishes clinked against polished wood tables, silver spoons clanked beside them as the feast was abandoned and weapons drawn. Again Parmys searched for the comfort of Darius’s eyes, staring in fascinated horror as the razor-sharp blade of his akinakes rang from its scabbard. Seeing her distress he went to her. A challenge outside the tent was answered by a guttural oath, then a spear point ringing against something solid and the clash of swords. A man screamed, followed by another, then more shouts and clanging of blades. Running feet pounded into the tent, a bloodied arm hanging limp at the guard’s side and his face smeared with blood. Another guard followed, his forearm gashed, his spear shivered. With a twist in his guts Darius knew the other four had fallen.

  Twenty warriors stormed in close behind the guards, Arabs with veils muffling their lower faces. Their noses were hooked, eyes fierce and dark in the lamplight. They carried spears with curved, broad-bladed daggers or short swords in their waistbands. Parmys looked at Darius with large round eyes, shaking gently as he folded her protectively in his arms. There was a creak of cane and leather as Ardu and Vivana pulled bows from their cases, then shuffling feet as the six officers drew into a circle around Parmys and Darius, clutching swords or spears. Vinda remained at the edge of the group, pearl-hilted sword in hand. With the rip of tearing leather a dagger point came through the wall of the tent then drew hard across the fabric, opening a gash, followed by harsh, urgent voices as more men clambered through. Swallowing hard, Vinda stepped away from them, towards the safety of the other Persians. Darius felt the officers looking at him, waiting for a lead. Ardu and Vivana had strung their bows, but there were so many people crowding them there was barely room to draw.

  More and more warriors poured into the tent until fifty surrounded the Persians, spears pointed at chests and backs. They stood in utter, unnerving silence.

  Ten Arabs fanned out to search the tent for loot. There was a splintering of wood as boxes and trunks were smashed open and their contents thrown on the floor. Someone cried in delight as he found Parmys’s jewels. Darius caught a glimpse of emeralds and huge rubies as the raider stuffed them into a leather sack tied to his belt. Parmys stiffened under Darius’s hands and made a small, soft cry of dismay. When the ransacking was finished two raiders stepped forward and signalled her to go with them. Ardu and Vivana had lowered their bows, now they raised their swords. Ardu’s lips were set in a stubborn line, Vivana’s green eyes were grim. One of the raiders pointed at the throng around him and laughed, as if to say they were outnumbered and resisting was pointless. Ignoring him, the two Persians touched their swords to the throats of the Arabs threatening Parmys. The Arabs stood very still.

  Darius placed his hand on Ardu’s arm. ‘Lower it.’

  Eyes wide with shock, Ardu stared at Darius. Darius increased the pressure on his arm.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ardu sounded betrayed.

  ‘There are more of them outside the tent. They’ll take her whatever we do. Dying now won’t help.’ Darius forced the point of Ardu’s sword away from the Arab’s throat, ignoring the disbelieving stares of the officers and the horror on Parmys’s face.

  Ardu hesitated, stubbornness battling against discipline and confusion. The two Arabs stepped forward. Slowly they lay their hands on Parmys’s shoulders. Darius felt a surge of rage and nearly pulled them off. One stroked the fringe of her hair beneath her tiara with a leer and she started shaking violently, wide-eyed with terror. ‘Please, Darius, do not let them take me. Help! Please!’ Her panic rose and her voice with it. She struggled wildly, slender arms powerless against strong muscles as they pulled her hands together, bound her wrists and forced a sack over her head. Darius remembered his promise not to abandon her and he stood with his chest heaving but did not interfere. An Arab put his hand on her knees, then hooked it behind her and swept it forward, lifting her off her feet as two more caught her by the shoulders. Four of them had their hands on her as they lifted her, bound her feet and carried her to the doorway. The Arabs laugh
ed as one ran a long, strangely delicate finger along her thigh and she shrieked in unrestrained terror, her cries wailing through the tent again and again, each spike of sound making Darius flinch and cutting him a little deeper. His heart quickened and his breathing grew ragged as he fought to control his temper as he watched her struggles and heard her screams.

  Vinda gave Darius a look of pure contempt. ‘If that was my woman I would have died before they took her,’ he sneered.

  When Darius thought of what she was suffering, the pain was unbearable.

  11

  ‘I hear the sound of stakes being sharpened,’ Vinda said cheerfully, pouring wine into a cup and putting his feet up on one of Parmys’s pearl inlaid tables. ‘And I do love a good impaling. I shall set off in the morning and give Cambyses your news. Of course I shall tell him of your conspicuous heroism, plus your excellent judgement in letting the men drink themselves senseless, and present it all in the most favourable light.’

  Darius wrinkled his nose. ‘I would expect nothing less from a miserable worm like you.’

  Vinda acknowledged the insult. ‘And I shall take the escort for my protection. A brave man like you does not need an escort.’ He walked out, laughing at his own joke, then paused at the tent flap. ‘I almost forgot. Cambyses told me to give you these. Apparently you have an errand to run? Give Pharaoh my regards!’ He threw a leather pouch at Darius. It clinked as Darius caught it.

  Vinda shouted through the tent wall, ‘You’ll seal a receipt for them before you leave.’

  Darius noticed Ardu and Vivana trying to catch his eye. Avoiding them, he stormed out of the royal tent and shut himself in his quarters. He knew his friends would be offended but his mind was wrestling with a thousand fears at once and he needed to be alone.