The Kin

  Chapter One

  Persepolis; Parthia; outer fringes of the Roman Empire.

  In the first year of the reign of Publius Aelius Hadrianus Augustus.

  The two hooded men rode along the ancient thoroughfare of long-forgotten kings, studiously ignoring the honey-coloured city that rose out of the desert on the distant horizon. The tantalizing mirage danced before them, appearing close one moment, then a continent away the next. To the tired travellers in the scorching sun, it was obviously an illusion from the way it seemed to shimmer and sway in the distance. Neither man spoke, wondering if this was another artifice of the hostile terrain sent to test their resolve and not a living, breathing city.

  The men were Roman soldiers who had been sent to chart every settlement in their new client kingdom and they were tired. As the buildings manifested and solidified before them, they exchanged grateful smiles, took welcome draughts of water and spurred their horses forwards.

  The wooden gates were already wide open when they rode in and no one challenged their entry. Marius, the older Roman officer, reined in his horse and called out a greeting in accented Aramaic. His commanding officer, a younger man, but from a well-connected family, pulled back his hood and stared around taking in the magnificent, but deserted surroundings.

  “There’s no one here, Marius. Not a soul,” Junius announced, swivelling around to look at his adjutant who’d become his friend. “Let’s find some water and take some notes.”

  Marius frowned. “This place feels wrong. I don’t like it. It’s a dead polis.” His horse snorted and pranced as he said it. “See, even these placid cavalry mounts don’t like it.”

  Junius laughed. “Women’s talk: superstitious nonsense. But I agree, the silence is unnerving, although the place is magnificent, truly remarkable. Majestic, even; built for kings.” He paused. “That’s it, this must be the ancient seat of Cyrus the Great and the Achaemenid dynasty. Alexander burned it. You remember, we were told about it?”

  “I do recall being told about a city of the dead in the desert and deciding that it wasn’t a place I wanted to visit, let alone stay the night in. I’ll look for some water whilst you carry out the survey.” He smiled. “If that’s agreeable, sir?”

  Junius frowned at his friend in mock annoyance, then reached into his saddle bags to remove his writing utensils. Wax tablet in hand, he marvelled at the huge wooden columns that lined the concourse; further away the buildings were made out of a grey limestone and rose even higher, dwarfing the structures closer to the entrance.

  His curiosity piqued, he dismounted and led his horse further into the city, moving between sunlight and shadow as he did so. Junius was thorough; his aim was to give his General as detailed and accurate a report of the region as he could. If this was in fact the fabled lost city that he thought it was, then it would make an ideal military base for further conquests. The buildings could easily be modified to house a legion and the walls were already impressive defensive fortifications. As he explored the empty streets he was redesigning the whole city in his mind, imagining what they could do with the place when it came under Roman dominion.

  Yet despite his appreciation of this imposing city, he was aware that there was an animal fear playing at the back of his mind, and though he tried to dismiss it, he couldn’t completely shake off the feeling that he was being watched. When Marius’s shout shattered the silence, he automatically drew his sword in readiness to fight.

  “Junius, I’ve found someone,” Marius called again. “They’ll give us water.”

  Junius sighed and sheathed his weapon, feeling a little foolish for his overreaction.

  “I’m on my way,” he called back and set off in the direction of Marius’s voice. He couldn’t let his friend see that he was nervous, a Roman officer didn’t know fear: certainly not one of his rank – or one of his birth, he added, reminding himself of his father.