built on the highest part of the outcrop.
‘Everyone stay here, out of arrow range,’ I commanded, nudging Remus forward. ‘Nergal, you are with me.’
We walked our horses towards the gates, and were soon followed by Gallia on Epona.
‘You should keep back, lady,’ said Nergal, clearly worried that we might be felled by a volley of arrows at any moment.
‘Nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘What sort of queen stays behind while her husband rides into danger?’
‘A sensible one,’ I suggested. She ignored me.
We reached the gates unharmed, to find them still shut. The gatehouse itself, which I later learned was called the Palmyrene Gate, was impressive. The two towers that flanked the gates were square and at least fifty feet tall, with arrow slits cut high in their walls. There was a great stone arch over the gates themselves. From a distance the walls and gates had looked impressive; up close they appeared even more formidable.
‘Is the city deserted?’ queried Gallia.
Nergal pointed to our right, to a part of the wall from which hung three rotting corpses. Our approach had temporarily scared off a host of ravens that had been picking at the cadavers, the bloated birds now sitting on top of one of the towers, watching us.
‘Someone put them there. I wonder what their crimes were to deserve such a punishment?’
Before I had chance to answer the gates began to creak and then slowly open inwards. Nergal instinctively drew his bow from its case and strung an arrow from his quiver.
I ordered him to put down the bow as the gates opened fully to reveal a man in his fifties, of average height and build, standing in the middle of the road. He had shoulder-length brown hair, a round face and wore a flowing white gown. At first I thought he was a priest. Two soldiers, each armed with wicker shields and spears, stood by the gates. Aside from their spears they wore no armour and carried no swords, and their only head protection were cloth caps. The middle-aged man knelt before us and bowed his head.
‘Greetings, King Pacorus. My name if Rsan and I welcome you to your city.’
‘Get up. Are you the governor?’
‘No, majesty, I am the city’s treasurer.’
My anger towards Prince Mithridates was beginning to rise. To have failed to greet us was bad enough, but to send a mere treasurer was an insult. I leaned forward in the saddle.
‘Does the governor have something better to do than meet his new king?’
Rsan shifted nervously on his feet. ‘The governor was executed several weeks ago, majesty. His body, along with that of the garrison commander and the high priest, is currently hanging from the walls.’
‘On whose orders?’
‘Those of Prince Mithridates, majesty.’
I turned to Nergal. ‘Ride back and get the others. Well, Rsan, let’s go and meet your Prince Mithridates.’
He looked even more uncomfortable and averted my eyes. ‘I’m afraid that the prince and his retinue left the city yesterday.’
‘What!’
‘Apologies, majesty.’ He once again knelt on the ground and bowed his head. ‘He just left without any warning, boarded a boat and headed downstream. That is why the gates were shut.’
‘Get up. So who is in charge?’
He looked round and then at me. ‘I think I am, majesty.’
I was seething inside, but there was no point in taking out my anger on the poor fool standing before me.
‘Well, show me to my new palace so I can wash the dirt from my body.’
He bowed his head again. ‘Of course, majesty. But where is your bride, Queen Gallia? We were told that she would be accompanying you.’
He had not cast the rider sitting beside me a second thought; after all, ‘he’ was just another soldier dressed in a mail shirt with a helmet on his head. Gallia pulled off her helmet.
‘She is here. Take us to our home.’
Rsan, momentarily stunned, bowed once more and led the way from the gates to the Citadel. On the way I noticed that the city appeared to be divided into
‘Everyone stay here, out of arrow range,’ I commanded, nudging Remus forward. ‘Nergal, you are with me.’
We walked our horses towards the gates, and were soon followed by Gallia on Epona.
‘You should keep back, lady,’ said Nergal, clearly worried that we might be felled by a volley of arrows at any moment.
‘Nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘What sort of queen stays behind while her husband rides into danger?’
‘A sensible one,’ I suggested. She ignored me.
We reached the gates unharmed, to find them still shut. The gatehouse itself, which I later learned was called the Palmyrene Gate, was impressive. The two towers that flanked the gates were square and at least fifty feet tall, with arrow slits cut high in their walls. There was a great stone arch over the gates themselves. From a distance the walls and gates had looked impressive; up close they appeared even more formidable.
‘Is the city deserted?’ queried Gallia.
Nergal pointed to our right, to a part of the wall from which hung three rotting corpses. Our approach had temporarily scared off a host of ravens that had been picking at the cadavers, the bloated birds now sitting on top of one of the towers, watching us.
‘Someone put them there. I wonder what their crimes were to deserve such a punishment?’
Before I had chance to answer the gates began to creak and then slowly open inwards. Nergal instinctively drew his bow from its case and strung an arrow from his quiver.
I ordered him to put down the bow as the gates opened fully to reveal a man in his fifties, of average height and build, standing in the middle of the road. He had shoulder-length brown hair, a round face and wore a flowing white gown. At first I thought he was a priest. Two soldiers, each armed with wicker shields and spears, stood by the gates. Aside from their spears they wore no armour and carried no swords, and their only head protection were cloth caps. The middle-aged man knelt before us and bowed his head.
‘Greetings, King Pacorus. My name if Rsan and I welcome you to your city.’
‘Get up. Are you the governor?’
‘No, majesty, I am the city’s treasurer.’
My anger towards Prince Mithridates was beginning to rise. To have failed to greet us was bad enough, but to send a mere treasurer was an insult. I leaned forward in the saddle.
‘Does the governor have something better to do than meet his new king?’
Rsan shifted nervously on his feet. ‘The governor was executed several weeks ago, majesty. His body, along with that of the garrison commander and the high priest, is currently hanging from the walls.’
‘On whose orders?’
‘Those of Prince Mithridates, majesty.’
I turned to Nergal. ‘Ride back and get the others. Well, Rsan, let’s go and meet your Prince Mithridates.’
He looked even more uncomfortable and averted my eyes. ‘I’m afraid that the prince and his retinue left the city yesterday.’
‘What!’
‘Apologies, majesty.’ He once again knelt on the ground and bowed his head. ‘He just left without any warning, boarded a boat and headed downstream. That is why the gates were shut.’
‘Get up. So who is in charge?’
He looked round and then at me. ‘I think I am, majesty.’
I was seething inside, but there was no point in taking out my anger on the poor fool standing before me.
‘Well, show me to my new palace so I can wash the dirt from my body.’
He bowed his head again. ‘Of course, majesty. But where is your bride, Queen Gallia? We were told that she would be accompanying you.’
He had not cast the rider sitting beside me a second thought; after all, ‘he’ was just another soldier dressed in a mail shirt with a helmet on his head. Gallia pulled off her helmet.
‘She is here. Take us to our home.’
Rsan, momentarily stunned, bowed once more and led the way from the gates to the Citadel. On the way I noticed that the city appeared to be divided into
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