A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,140
I was bedazzled by each new sight, including Abgarus. I do not know who was more finely caparisoned: the prince or his horse. The man, who looked to be in his mid-fifties, wore a formal headdress of multi-colored fabric, twisted and intertwined in such a way that I could not help but be reminded of a very expensive pile of laundry. As I said, he was dark-skinned, but not as black as some of the merchants I had seen on our approach to the city. His most striking feature was the hair above his lip: it was greased and twisted to points extending far beyond his face. He wore a black tunic and baggy leggings gathered at the ankles. His waist was covered with a very wide sash of woven fabric—dark greens and deep reds on a field the color of sand. A single curved and bejeweled dagger was thrust through a leather belt adorned with heavy, silver buckles. Its sheath and hilt looked to be fashioned entirely of gold. His long, many-hued coat partially obscured an open vest of some fine, green fabric shot with silver thread. Several tasseled pouches and bags were slung around his neck.
The king’s attendant was another matter entirely. He was curiously unkempt for such a position of honor. Distastefully so. Perhaps it was the custom for an Aramean prince to be accompanied by one so plain of attire as to catapult his own resplendency to even greater heights by comparison. The young man wore light, flowing robes of no distinguishable color; his blouse and leggings were homespun. His head was uncovered and unkempt; every now and again he would sweep a hand through dark, unruly curls. His face had not seen a razor in several days. About his neck, a white head scarf was loosely wrapped, its tasseled ends falling unevenly. As far as I could tell, he was unarmed. His eyebrows, set close to dark brown eyes, implied a serious disposition I suspected was unwarranted. When at rest, his mouth lay straight across his face until at one end it curled in the suggestion of a smile. His only adornment was a length of exquisitely woven multi-colored fabric that tied a knot of his hair at the back of his neck. At the time I remember thinking he did not look like any Eastern native I had ever seen, but then my limited experience did not qualify me as a reliable judge. Whatever his heritage, there were ladies in Rome who would forfeit fortunes to make his secret acquaintance. The lad looked to be no more than twenty or twenty-one.
“Forgive my rudeness, King Abgarus,” Crassus replied. “We are tired and ill-humored, but my perturbation with my hosts should not have descended upon your shoulders.”
The king leaned in his saddle toward Crassus, careful with so many watchful eyes to keep both hands on his reins. He lowered his voice and said, “An inexcusable affront. In Ourha the entire palace would be turned out to bid you welcome.”
Crassus removed his plumed helm and wiped his brow. “To be honest, Abgarus, all that matters is that we have arrived, and to these stiff old muscles, it makes no difference whether one or ten thousand line the way. Do not misunderstand me, I do appreciate and thank you for the precision display of your guard.”
“My swords are your swords. General, Abgarus is the name taken by all who sit on the throne of Osrhoene. You would honor me by dispensing with the formality of title and use my given name, Ariamnes.”
Crassus said, “Highness, I do not wish to create insult where none is meant, but let us rely on and take comfort in formality until time and experience build friendship and trust. In Rome, the praenomen is reserved for family or intimate friends, not to be given lightly. In time, let us hope that we both earn that privilege.”
“As you wish, my general,” the king said coolly. “My people are more quick to recognize a friend. But it is no matter. I shall, of course, respect your wishes.”
We rode in silence for a while more, then Crassus said, “Would it be against custom to ask who this handsome young man is by your side?”
“Not at all. May I present my cousin, Melyaket puhr Karach. He is visiting from afar and traveling under my protection, having recently endured a family tragedy.”
“My condolences for your loss, Melyaket son of Karach,” Crassus said sympathetically.