Carrhae

Chapter 11

An hour later, after I had washed and changed, I sat in the headquarters building as Domitus told the sorry tale of what had happened after I had left Hatra. Byrd’s spies had alerted Gafarn that Crassus had arrived in Syria and was preparing to strike across the Euphrates, but then news reached Hatra that once more a large Armenian force had left Nisibus and was heading straight for the city. Orodes, in consultation with the kings, decided to march north and engage the Armenians prior to advancing to the border to meet Crassus.

‘We spent two weeks chasing the Armenians in the desert before realising that we had been deceived,’ he reported. ‘Our scouts caught up with one group of Armenian horsemen who had tied branches to the tails of their horses.’

‘Why?’ asked Gallia.

‘So they kicked up a lot of dust to give the impression that there was a multitude of horsemen on the horizon,’ he replied.

Dobbai burst into laughter. ‘They well and truly duped you, didn’t they Roman? And all the while Crassus was sneaking across the border.’

Domitus did not rise to the bait but continued to recall how, upon realising that there was no Armenian army north of Hatra, and receiving messages that Crassus had crossed the Euphrates, Orodes despatched Silaces and his seven thousand horsemen to reinforce Apollonius.

I raised my hand. ‘Silaces? I thought I had ordered that he and his men should be sent back to Assur.’

Domitus looked apologetic. ‘They never left Hatra. Your brother is obsessed by the notion that the Armenians will capture Hatra and refuses to release any troops from under his control.’

‘Then Assur is defenceless,’ I said with alarm.

Domitus shook his head. ‘Fortunately King Aschek was tardy in his advance to Hatra.’

‘No change there,’ sniggered Dobbai, ‘he was ever reluctant to draw his sword.’

‘He is at Assur with just over fifteen thousand men,’ continued Domitus.

‘You still have not explained how you came to be back at Dura,’ I said to him.

‘After we had wasted our time chasing a non-existent enemy in the desert we heard that Crassus had captured the towns of Ichnae, Nicephorium, Carrhae and Zenodotium,’ he stated. ‘At the last place Apollonius lured a Roman delegation into the town and had them killed in the marketplace.’

‘The idiot,’ I said.

‘It cost him his life when the Romans stormed the place,’ Domitus continued, ‘and we learned that they sold the population into slavery as a lesson to other towns that are thinking of resisting them.

‘Silaces arrived too late to save Zenodotium but managed to get himself wounded and lost a sizeable number of men to enemy arrows from the walls.’

‘Was he badly injured?’ I enquired.

Domitus shook his head. ‘Just a flesh wound in his arm, or so I heard.’

‘Talking of which,’ said Gallia, nodding at my bandaged hand, ‘what happened to your hand?’

‘Another battle wound?’ suggested Chrestus.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘After his victory Haytham insisted that we become blood brother so he cut his palm and mine and then we clasped hands to mix our blood.’

‘A great honour,’ said Chrestus.

‘A great honour?’ scoffed Dobbai. ‘You should fetch that Greek doctor of yours and get him to cut off your hand before the Agraci poison infects the other parts of your body.’

‘I agree with Chrestus,’ I said defiantly. ‘It is a great honour to be called “brother” by the king of the Agraci.’

She waved a hand at me. ‘Desert thieves and murderers, that is what the Agraci are, though I admit you have been clever to enlist them as your allies.’

‘They are valued friends,’ I replied.

‘To you, perhaps,’ she said. ‘But Parthians and Agraci will never live in peace with one another; there is too much bad blood between them. You must have a care, son of Hatra, that you are not seen as being more Agraci than Parthian.’

‘You like Malik and Rasha, do you not?’ Gallia asked her.

‘Of course, child,’ she smiled, ‘but you must understand that Parthians do not regard the Agraci as you do, as you all do, here in Dura.’

‘We won’t be seeing Rasha in Dura for a while,’ I said sadly.

Gallia was most concerned. ‘Why? Is she ill, or hurt?’

‘Worse,’ I said, ‘she is in love.’

My wife looked at me quizzically. ‘Haytham has found her a husband?’

‘Not quite,’ I replied. ‘Young Spartacus saved Haytham’s life in the battle and afterwards Haytham asked Spartacus what he would like as a reward. He requested Rasha’s hand in marriage.’

Domitus rolled his eyes and Dobbai laughed again.

‘What did Haytham say?’ asked Gallia.

‘He was not pleased but managed to stop himself from cutting off Spartacus’ head there and then. He told him that if he brought a captured Roman eagle to him at Palmyra then he could marry Rasha, but that until he did so he was banished from Agraci territory on pain of death. He has a year to fulfil this condition, after which Haytham will give Rasha to an Agraci lord.’

‘There are many daughters of nobles in Hatra who can be a wife to the little prince,’ sneered Domitus, ‘because he has more chance of taking an eagle than that stone griffin at the gates has of flying away.’

‘Poor Rasha,’ was all Gallia could say. ‘I will visit her.’

‘You underestimate the son of the slave general,’ said Dobbai. ‘The gods have chosen a path for him, just as they have for you, son of Hatra. He will wear a crown one day.’

‘Of course he will,’ I said irritably. ‘He is the heir to Hatra’s throne.’

Dobbai looked smug. ‘I did not say that he would wear Hatra’s crown for that is reserved for the one who was born in the city and who carries your name.’

‘Pacorus?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Then what crown will Spartacus wear?’ asked Domitus.

Dobbai glowered at him. ‘Do I ask you about your daily duties, Roman, about how many men you have flogged or hanged each month, or give advice to you regarding how to fight your battles? No! Then kindly do not pester me with your infantile questions. But seeing as you are here, why were you banished from the Kingdom of Hatra?’

She smiled at him while he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘Banished?’ I said, shocked.

‘I was not banished,’ he snapped. ‘After we had returned to Hatra your brother wished to march west to retake the towns that had been captured by the Romans, using our siege engines. But Byrd’s spies in Syria continued to send us messages that informed us that Crassus had garrisoned each town and had placed his army near the border, on the western side of the Euphrates. I therefore said that we should wait for your return until anything further was decided. He grew angry at this and demanded that I obey his orders. I declined to do so whereupon he ordered me to depart his city. So here we are.’

Poor Gafarn. The plight of his kingdom was obviously affecting his judgement. In his eagerness to achieve any sort of victory he was making rash decisions.

‘What did Orodes say on the matter?’ I asked.

‘Privately he supported me,’ said Domitus, ‘but publicly he could not be seen contradicting the decision of another king lest it fatally undermine Gafarn.’

‘A wise decision,’ I said. ‘Fear and panic can spread like a plague through a kingdom. What is Crassus doing now?’

Domitus shrugged. ‘Nothing as far as we know.’

‘Autumn approaches,’ said Chrestus. ‘It is doubtful he will make any further moves until next spring.’

I nodded. Why should he? He had arrived in Syria and had achieved a series of easy victories while using the Armenians and an Egyptian army to divert our attention.

‘And what of our Armenian friends?’ I asked.

‘Artavasdes does nothing but sit on his arse,’ said Domitus. ‘Surena is still raiding his territories, though.’

‘High King Orodes demanded his presence at Hatra,’ said Chrestus.

‘He ignored the summons,’ added Domitus.

I sighed. ‘I may ride to Gordyene to see Surena, to convince him that he must act in unison with us all for the good of Parthia.’

‘He does not care about Parthia,’ remarked Dobbai. ‘He is lost to you, son of Hatra. You made him a king and now he turns his back on you. And yet he may still have a part to play, for good or ill.’

‘I always knew he would turn out to be no good,’ said Gallia. ‘He was always too sure of himself, too full of his own importance. He will not be missed.’

She had always disliked Surena, notwithstanding that he had married Viper, but now her Amazon was dead she felt no need to hide her animosity towards the King of Gordyene. For myself I had always liked Surena and still felt responsible for him. In my eyes he remained that wild boy of the Ma’adan who had rescued me from a cruel death at the hands of King Chosroes all those years ago.

‘Surena is a valuable ally in our war against the Armenians,’ I insisted. ‘His anger will burn itself out.’

‘You are wrong, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai, ‘it will grow in intensity until it consumes him.’

‘He fights his own private war,’ remarked Domitus disapprovingly. ‘If he had coordinated his efforts with ours then we might have beaten the Armenians, leaving us free to face Crassus.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘nothing more will happen until the spring most likely, which gives us time to prepare at least.’

But in truth we had achieved nothing. Crassus had made easy gains, Artavasdes hovered over Hatra like a thundercloud and Gafarn’s nerve was visibly crumbling. The Romans and Armenians had witnessed his propensity for rashness and were almost inviting him to attack them, knowing that if he did they would easily defeat him.

‘We should invade Syria,’ remarked Domitus casually, ‘take the fight to the enemy.’

‘You would like that, wouldn’t you,’ I said.

Domitus stood and began pacing in front of the map of the empire, then stopped and pointed at Antioch with his cane.

‘With Peroz’s men we have nearly twenty thousand troops. We can march north, cross the border and be in Antioch in a week.’

‘To what aim?’ I asked. ‘Crassus’ army is mustered in the north, near Zeugma.’

‘To burn Antioch,’ replied Domitus.

I shook my head. ‘No, Domitus. Burning Antioch would avail us nothing and would only provoke Crassus into action. If he severed our line of retreat we would have to fight him, outnumbered most likely, in hostile territory. The risk is too great.’

‘Then enlist Nergal and Atrax to your cause,’ he suggested, ‘that will even the odds.’

‘Syria,’ I told him, ‘is not the problem, Crassus is. And I would prefer to fight him on a ground of my own choosing.’

Domitus muttered to himself and sat back down, which brought the meeting to a close. As my right hand was still sore afterwards I borrowed one of Aaron’s treasury clerks and dictated a number of letters, one to Gafarn accepting responsibility for Domitus’ insolence and promising that I would deploy troops on my northern border to give the impression that I was preparing an invasion of Syria. I sent a letter to Phriapatius saying that Peroz had turned into an excellent commander and had distinguished himself in the recent battle with the Egyptians. Finally I sent a despatch to Surena requesting that he travel to Assur where we could discuss recent events.

The next few weeks were remarkable only for their inactivity. The troops of Mesene, Media, Babylon and Susiana returned to their homelands as an uneasy peace descended on the empire. Byrd rode from Palmyra and brought news that Crassus was awaiting the arrival of horsemen from Gaul who were commanded by his son. It was an indication of his lack of trust in Syrian cavalry that he was wished to receive reinforcements from hundreds of miles away rather than recruit mounted troops locally. Gafarn sent a terse note complaining about Domitus’ attitude but thanking me for deploying more troops on the Syrian border. Phriapatius, on the other hand, sent a very long and appreciative letter thanking me for nurturing the talents of his son and informing me that his eastern army was assembling slowly but steadily. Accompanying the letter was a consignment of gold to pay for the wages of Peroz’s soldiers and fodder for their horses. Aaron was most pleased when I informed him.

I stood with him in the courtyard as the bars of gold were unloaded from the camels and itemised on papyrus. Two thousand Carmanian horse archers had escorted them, and in gratitude I sent back with them two-dozen warhorses bred on Dura’s stud farms for their king.

When Godarz had been city governor it had been agreed that Dura should breed its own horses for the army, though it had proved a long, difficult and costly business. Even my father had refused to sanction the purchase of stallions from Hatra’s studs to Dura. My father’s pure whites that provided the mounts for his royal bodyguard were the envy of the empire and were fiercely protected. Horse theft was a capital offence and the sentence was also visited upon the family of the perpetrator. I had dreamed of my own cataphracts riding pure white horses but Strabo, whose knowledge about horses and how to breed them was exemplary, told me that I was wasting my time.

The finest Parthian horses were a breed called Nisean that were found in Hatra, Media, Atropaiene and Hyrcania. Descended from ancient Scythian stock they were very strong, tough and resilient. Noted for their speed and endurance on long marches they were ideal for Parthian warfare. My friendship with Atrax and Aschek resulted in Strabo being able to purchase a number of pure blood mares and stallions from both of them that formed the foundation of Dura’s breeding programme. My father also relented and authorised the sale of a number of horses from his own farms, though no whites.

I had wanted Remus to sire a line but Strabo was at first against it.

‘We don’t know his ancestry,’ he told me. ‘He might pass on a deformity or weakness to a foal.’

‘Remus is a fine warhorse,’ I said to him.

‘None finer,’ he agreed, ‘but within him he may have an ailment that he is immune to but one that he could still pass on to his offspring.’

‘We will just have to take a chance on that,’ I replied.

And so we did, mating him with a cremello mare brought from the lush green plains of Media. Despite Remus being the king’s horse and the veterans of many battles the mare must have had the dominant blood for the foal that she produced was golden in colour like many Nisean horses, with a coat that shimmered in the sun. We named him Tegha, meaning ‘blade’. Like all Niseans he had long ears, almond-shaped eyes and a sparse mane and tail, with a lightly muscled long back, flat croup, deep chest and long neck. My dream of having a herd of whites may have come to nothing but as the years passed Dura produced a good number of homebred bays, blacks, palominos, chestnuts and greys.

Though the cost may have been high the revenues from the trade caravans, the taxes paid to the treasury from the lords’ estates and duties imposed on the businesses inside the city meant the treasury was always full, and that meant Aaron was mostly happy. Rsan had trained him well, though, and he kept watch over the kingdom’s wealth like a hawk. To the continual annoyance of Domitus every item of expenditure had to be discussed at the weekly council meetings and itemised once it had been agreed upon.

Two weeks after the horses had been sent to Phriapatius I went to see Aaron in his treasury, as usual surrounded by diligent and serious clerks making notes. The treasury was positioned directly opposite the palace and was a two-storey building above ground with a basement beneath that had been hewn out of the rock upon which the Citadel stood. This was where the bars of gold and chests of gold coins and drachmas were stored. The ground floor comprised two rooms that held records and another two where Aaron’s clerks worked. The first floor was where Aaron had his own office, with three other rooms that housed more records and his chief clerk.

Two guards always stood outside the treasury’s main entrance when the door was open during the day, with another two standing at the top of the stone steps that led down to the underground basement where the gold and money was stored. At the top of the steps was a metal grill that barred access to the gold and money, and only Rsan and Aaron carried keys to the lock that secured it. The basement itself had been converted into a number of rooms where the kingdom’s wealth was stored behind iron bars. Only a select few individuals were allowed in the treasury: including myself, the queen, Domitus, Rsan, Aaron and his trusted clerks.

I walked up the steps and into Aaron’s spacious and bright office, the pair of shutters at the windows open to give a view of the Citadel’s courtyard below. He stood up and bowed his head but I gestured for him to sit. I sat down in the chair in front of his large desk as he finished his writing and put down his pen.

‘How can I help you, majesty?’

‘Have you heard from Alexander lately?’

Alexander Maccabeus was a Jewish rebel who had been fighting the Romans for years. With gold he had purchased a great numbers of weapons from Dura with which he hoped to liberate Judea, his homeland, from Roman rule. But Aulus Gabinius had defeated him and though he still carried on his war against the Romans, he was now little more than a bandit hiding out in the hills of eastern Judea.

‘Still battling the Romans, majesty, I believe, though I have not heard from him in several months.’

‘I have had an idea to assist our ally and your friend,’ I told him.

Aaron looked down at his desk. ‘He has no more gold to purchase weapons, majesty.’

‘It will not require any gold, at least not from him. I intend to send him soldiers so he may carry on the fight against Rome.’

He looked concerned. ‘You intend to march your army into Judea, majesty?’

‘No, Aaron. Dura’s army is needed in Parthia. But there are other soldiers who would be more than willing to go to Judea. For the right price. I thought we might use the gold that Phriapatius sent to hire some mercenaries to send to Alexander.’

Aaron’s concern increased. ‘But that gold is for the upkeep of Prince Peroz and his soldiers, majesty.’

I smiled. ‘Dura has enough food and fodder to support Peroz’s men and their animals, and the meticulous records that you present each week at the council meeting have shown me that the kingdom’s finances are in excellent shape, therefore I see no problem with diverting a portion towards assisting Alexander.’

‘To what end, majesty?’

‘To divert the Romans’ attention away from Parthia, Aaron. To give us time to prepare our defences so that when they turn their gaze once more towards us we will be in a stronger position.’

He fell silent, deep in thought. I noticed that he was wearing a necklace of a silver hand with an eye painted in its centre. I nodded at it.

‘What is that strange symbol you wear at your throat?’

‘A gift from Rachel. It is called a Hamsa and symbolises the Hand of God. It is supposed to bring its wearer health, happiness and good fortune. The eye is to ward off evil influences.’

‘Well, perhaps with the help of your god,’ I said, ‘we might be able to cause trouble for the Romans in Judea.’

He shook his head. ‘God will not help us.’

‘Why not?’

‘We are paying for our own sins and the sins of our fathers. God punishes us for not following His laws.’

‘He has abandoned you?’ I asked.

‘We are His chosen people, majesty, He will never abandon us.’

I was confused. ‘But he allows the Romans to conquer your homeland and to enslave your fellow Jews. It seems to me that he has chosen you for nothing more than misery.’

He smiled knowingly. ‘The Jews were chosen to hear His truth and relay God’s message to the world.’

I found the religion of the Jews most strange. They worshipped a god who had no name and did not help them when they most needed assistance. It was a testament to their faith that they did not stop their worship of him.

When I raised the issue at the next council meeting Domitus was most unimpressed.

‘Mercenaries? And where are you going to get them from?’

‘The Zagros Mountains, of course. Surely you have not forgotten our great victory at the Battle of Susa? You remember when we were assaulted by the hill men on the second day of the battle.’

‘I remember,’ he sniffed. ‘Half-naked savages armed with clubs and other makeshift weapons. I would not call them soldiers.’

‘We can furnish them with weapons easily enough,’ I replied, ‘and then Alexander can come to Dura and take them back to Judea.’

‘We slaughtered thousands of them at Susa,’ remarked Domitus. ‘Are you sure there are any left.’

‘Oh believe me, Domitus, if there is one thing I can say with certainty: there is an endless supply of hill men.’

The Zagros Mountains occupied a large area of central Parthia. Made up of numerous parallel ridges of limestone and shale whose highest peaks were permanently covered with snow, the Zagros were also filled with fertile plains, fast-flowing rivers, ravines and villages filled with wild people called hill men. The people of the Zagros lived in tightly knit clans whose leaders spent most of their lives in blood feuds with neighbouring clans, though they were more than willing to temporarily put aside their differences to fight on behalf of others as long as the price was right. Mithridates had used gold to hire tens of thousands of hill men in an attempt to destroy us at Susa and now I was determined to go down the same route.

I rode with Domitus, my two squires and a hundred horse archers to the city of Susa, the capital of Susiana and Orodes’ homeland, to recruit my detachment of hill men. Before we departed Dura I wrote to Orodes requesting that he meet us at Susa to both facilitate the raising of my mercenary band and to discuss the strategy for next year. He and his men had returned to Babylon by this time and Atrax and Aschek had also travelled back to their homelands. As promised I had moved troops — a thousand horse archers — to the frontier with Syria where they rode into the desert each day and arrayed themselves on the border in a provocative manner. On the other side of the border Roman legionaries did the same in what became a daily ritual.

I took Spartacus with me to take his mind off Rasha, or at least place several hundred miles between him and her, as I did not trust him from trying to sneak into Agraci territory to see her. I knew they wrote to each other on a regular basis but also knew that Haytham would kill him without a thought should he set foot into his domain. I took Scarab because I wanted to show him as much of the empire as possible.

It took us eighteen days to reach Susa — a distance of five hundred miles — following a similar route that our army had taken in the civil war against Narses and Mithridates. Seleucia was still being rebuilt and Ctesiphon refurbished and when we reached the latter we were informed that Orodes and Axsen had travelled together to Susa with the soldiers of Susiana who had marched all the way from Hatra.

After crossing the Tigris and riding along the eastern side of the river for four days we left the waterway and travelled across the desert for two days before reaching the verdant foothills of the Zagros Mountains. It was still hot but the humidity rose markedly as we entered the Valley of Susa and then headed south to the city itself.

‘A bit different from the last time we were here,’ said Domitus.

‘Indeed,’ I agreed. ‘Then we had to fight our way to Susa.’

‘I remember being in Hatra when the heralds announced your great victory, uncle,’ said Spartacus. ‘It was a day of great joy and even greater sadness when we learned that King Varaz had been killed. I wish I could have been by your side at that battle.’

‘We lost a lot of good men that day,’ commented Domitus sadly. ‘We could have done with them by our side when we face the Romans and Armenians.’

‘I fear we will lose many more good men next year,’ I said.

‘It is the enemy who will be losing men, uncle,’ boasted Spartacus, ‘if they are anything like the Egyptians.’

I looked at Domitus who shook his head. My nephew had had a taste of battle and had found it agreeable and now he thirsted for more. Whereas I saw death and the promise of ruin he saw nothing but glory, reinforced by the youthful conviction that he was invincible. He was now nearing the end of his time as a squire and would soon be joining the ranks of Hatra’s cataphracts, which he might one day command. If he stayed alive; if we all stayed alive.

‘Actually it was not my victory at Susa,’ I told him, ‘Surena was the architect of triumph.’

‘We could certainly do with him by our side next year,’ remarked Domitus.

‘You have changed your tune,’ I said. ‘I remember the first time I rode into camp with him next to me. You were most disparaging about him then.’

‘That was a few years ago now,’ he replied. ‘You made him into a fine soldier and commander. You tamed him.’

‘I fear I only tamed him for a while, Domitus. I think he has turned wild again.’

‘All over the death of a woman,’ mused Domitus. ‘Pity he cannot find another to warm his bed.’

I looked at him. ‘Viper was his true love and now the flame that burned inside of him for her has been extinguished, to be replaced by the cold of his wrath and suffering. Finding another to soothe his rage against the world will not be easy.’

‘Rasha is my true love,’ Spartacus declared.

‘You might do well to forget her,’ urged Domitus, ‘if you know what’s good for you.’

‘One day she will be my queen,’ Spartacus continued, ignoring Domitus’ words. ‘I will take a Roman eagle to Haytham. I have seen the one that you captured in the Great Temple at Hatra, uncle. You have shown it can be done.’

‘The gods were with Pacorus that day,’ said Domitus. ‘They might not be so accommodating with you, young pup.’

‘Why do the Romans take the eagle to be their symbol?’ asked a curious Scarab.

‘Because, my Nubian friend,’ said Domitus, ‘the eagle is the bird of Jupiter, the king of the gods.’

‘The king of the Roman gods,’ I added.

‘Don’t start all that again,’ said Domitus. ‘The eagle is therefore the symbol of strength, courage and immortality, all virtues that a Roman legion seeks to possess. The eagle is additionally the king of the birds, able to ascend above a storm, and is also the messenger of the gods. Eagles carry souls into the presence of the gods. That is why they are revered so.

‘The legionary eagle is a sacred object and will be defended as such by each legion’s soldiers. That is why it is almost impossible to take one in battle, unless of course you slaughter every single legionary beforehand.’

‘Then that is what I shall have to do,’ boasted Spartacus.

Susa was built on high ground between the Karkheh and Dez rivers in the fertile Valley of Susa, at the foot of the Zagros Mountains. The city had once been at one end of the Persian Royal Road that went all the way to the Aegean Sea in the west, and was now part of the Silk Road that went south to Persepolis and then east to the Indus and beyond. Susa itself was a formidable fortress, being surrounded by a high, thick mud-brick wall and a dry moat that was eighty feet wide. People had inhabited the site of the city for over four thousand years, gradually improving and expanding it over the centuries.

Like Dura Susa had a citadel, located in the north and surrounded by its own wall. We entered the city via the eastern gate where a huge three-story gatehouse sat above two pairs of great oak gates. Above the gatehouse flew the banners of Susiana and Babylon to indicate that both Orodes and Axsen were in residence. The paved road from the gatehouse wound its way through the crowded city and was lined on either side by one- and two-storey mud-brick houses. The commander at the gatehouse had been given orders to facilitate our movement on the congested road and so a company of his spearmen moved aside pedestrians, two- and four-wheeled carts and ill-tempered mules overloaded with goods. As usual the air was thick with the pungent aroma of thousands of unwashed bodies, animals and their dung and refuse.

It was only half a mile from the east gate to the royal quarter but it took us nearly thirty minutes to traverse the route, Domitus swatting away a plague of beggars with his vine cane and Scarab frightening them off with his black face and the frequent growls he directed at them. Ahead of us the black-uniformed Susianan spearmen grew angrier and began barging aside all and sundry with their shields in an effort to speed our journey. Looking at them I wondered how many had fought against me at the Battle of Susa, or who had been part of the garrison that had defied Orodes after the battle.

Eventually we reached the calm and majesty of the royal quarter, which if nothing else smelt fresher than the rest of the city. A guard of honour snapped to attention on the paved square as I halted Remus in front of the grandiose palace. A teenage stable hand in white leggings and shirt took his reins as I dismounted and a portly, middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed light brown beard and thinning hair approached and bowed to me.

‘Greetings, majesty,’ he said in a slightly tremulous voice, his eyes cast down. ‘I am Timius, chief steward. King of Kings Orodes and his queen, Axsen of Babylon, await you in the audience hall if you would care to follow me.’

‘My men require food and stabling for their horses,’ I said.

He turned and looked at a younger, slimmer man with small hands who waved forward a host of waiting stable hands.

‘They will stable your men’s horses, majesty,’ squeaked Timius, ‘after which they will be shown to the barracks.’

Domitus came to my side and Spartacus and Scarab fell in behind as Timius led us into the palace, a building that had originally been built by the Persians over five hundred years ago. It had been constructed around three courtyards, titled “courts”, around which were offices, temples, guardrooms, kitchens, quarters for slaves and the private apartments of the king and queen. The audience hall, the Apadana, formed the northern annex of the residence and was like a palace in its own right. It had been erected on a raised stone terrace and was reached by a columned portico.

The audience hall itself contained thirty-six white-painted stone columns that supported wooden ceiling beams. The edges of the roof were covered with gold leaf so that travellers would see its magnificence from afar when the sun’s rays caught them. The walls were decorated with friezes of enamelled bricks that portrayed lions, archers and hunts. It was certainly a palace fit for a high king.

Timius left us when we reached Orodes and Axsen, who rose from their golden thrones and embraced Domitus and me. They were both attired in long purple robes with gold crowns on their heads, and Axsen wore gold jewellery around her neck, wrists and fingers.

‘We are glad to see you,’ she giggled as Spartacus and Scarab went down on their knees before them.

Orodes ordered them to get up. ‘Welcome Spartacus, Prince of Hatra, and Scarab, squire to King Pacorus.’

My nephew, used to grandeur and opulence, nodded and smiled while Scarab stood open-mouthed at the high king of the empire who retook his seat alongside his wife.

‘I have had my officers send word to the hill men that we are looking for recruits to fight in a land far away from here,’ said Orodes.

Domitus nodded at me. ‘I told him that we had killed most of them at Susa but he would not have it.’

Orodes stroked his chin. ‘Unfortunately, Domitus, the gods have sent the people of the Zagros to inflict misery upon the empire and so they are numberless.’

‘They have been giving you trouble?’ I asked.

‘No more than usual, but it grieves me that I have to commit soldiers to defend against their raids who could be better employed fighting the Armenians and Romans.’

‘How many of these barbarians do you wish to recruit?’ asked Axsen.

‘Two thousand should suffice,’ I answered.

‘They will fight in your army?’ she enquired.

‘They will not be fighting anywhere near Dura’s army,’ Domitus answered for me.

Axsen was most perplexed. ‘Then what?’

‘Judea,’ I answered. ‘They will be sent to Judea to fight the Romans.’

We stayed at Susa for two weeks, during which time a message arrived at the palace from one of the chiefs of the Zagros clans that he would meet with me concerning supplying mercenaries. He sent one of his men to the city to act as a guide, a swarthy individual named Gourlay with a thick black beard and wild hair who rode a scrawny horse with only a blanket on its bowed back for a saddle. He stood barefoot before Orodes in the audience hall in his dirty, torn leggings and threadbare shirt with his arms folded. His long knife had been taken from him as a precaution before he entered but still the garrison commander had doubled the number of guards around the king and queen.

‘Why does your leader refuse to come to the city?’ demanded Orodes.

The man shrugged. ‘He does not wish to see his head stuck on your walls,’ he answered insolently. He spoke a bastardised version of our language which, combined with his strong accent, made his words difficult to understand.

‘My chief’s village is two days’ ride from here,’ he continued, ‘you come to him.’

‘Out of the question,’ replied Orodes impatiently.

‘I will go,’ I said.

The messenger looked at me. ‘You bring no soldiers. I will be your guide.’

‘I will bring three others with me,’ I told him, ‘that is all.’

He agreed to meet me at the city’s eastern gate the next morning and after he had been dismissed Orodes urged me not to go, fearing that it would be a trap and that I might be killed.

‘What purpose would killing me serve?’

‘No purpose at all,’ he said, ‘but that does not mean they will not do it. The hill men do not live by our rules. The hill men do not live by any rules.’

I shrugged. ‘Mithridates managed to recruit a good number so they are not averse to offers of gold.’

‘That is the point, Pacorus. My stepbrother reneged on his agreement with the hill men and paid them nothing for their services. He duped them and they lost thousands in the battle against us for nothing. That is one of the reasons they have been so troublesome of late: they seek revenge for his treachery.’

I laughed. Even though he was dead, Mithridates was still causing us problems.

‘If I don’t meet with this man, Orodes, then I will have come all this way for nothing. I would ask a favour of you, though.’

‘Name it.’

‘Get your treasury to release some gold coins for me so I may take them to this chief, as a sign of good faith.’

He looked horrified. ‘That will be the quickest way to get your throat cut.’

‘I will have to take that risk. There is little point in turning up with only words. If I can convince this man that there is more gold to be had he may agree to supply me with men.’

‘Is it worth it, Pacorus?’

I thought for a moment. ‘I do not wish to send any Parthians into Judea to certain death. If I try to recruit mercenaries from lands near to Armenia the Romans will get to know of it. Enlisting a few hill men seems the cheapest and easiest thing to do.’

He placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘This world will be an emptier place without your friendship to fill it.’

‘I will return, I always do.’

We left the next day, Gourlay leading the way on his mangy horse. Domitus was most unimpressed by this venture and spent the whole of the first morning complaining, much to the amusement of Scarab who was amazed that someone could address a king so.

‘King? I knew him when he was a slave, boy, just like you.’

Scarab looked embarrassed by his words.

‘It is true,’ I told him. ‘It is no secret that I was captured by the Romans and forced into bondage. I have never sought to hide my past. But what my general did not tell you was that I was the one who rescued him.’

Domitus smiled sarcastically. ‘I thought it was Spartacus who led the raid on the silver mine.’

‘It was my archers that tipped the scales in that battle,’ I said. ‘Without them you would still be hacking at rock deep under the earth.’

‘Majesty,’ interrupted Scarab, ‘I have heard about this man called Spartacus. Men talk of him in hushed tones and with reverence as if he was a god.’

I was riding next to Domitus with my two squires behind me and now I turned and looked at Scarab and at Spartacus, who was staring ahead in silence though no doubt listening to every word.

‘He was not a god,’ I replied, ‘though the Romans liked to think of him as a devil sent from the underworld, but he was a great general and a fine man I was proud to call friend.’

Scarab turned to my nephew. ‘You must be proud to bear his name.’

Spartacus did not respond for a few seconds but finally he spoke. ‘For many years I did not think so. But since my time at Dura I have begun to change my mind. My parents were wise to send me to you, uncle.’

‘You are the one who has learned wisdom,’ I said.

‘Not when it comes to women,’ said Domitus.

Spartacus bristled with anger. ‘Rasha is beautiful.’

Domitus laughed. ‘I have known her since she was a young girl and she has turned into a fine young woman, but I know enough about Parthians to understand that she could never be a queen of Hatra, even if you do manage to capture an eagle, which you won’t.’

‘I do not wish to be King of Hatra. My brother, Pacorus, who was born in the city, will be king, not I,’ he insisted. ‘They do not like me in Hatra and I do not like them.’

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘The nobles,’ he spat. ‘They sneer at me and plot behind my parents’ back.’

Domitus looked at me but said nothing and we rode on in silence for a while. In front Gourlay led us through ravines and across steppe filled with long grass and wildflowers, before coming into a valley whose steep sides were covered in oak. The air was pure and cool as the valley narrowed and we threaded our way through the trees, not only oak but also pistachio, hawthorn, almond, nettle and pear. This was a rich country for the Zagros was a haven for bears, eagles, wolves, wild goats, foxes, jackals, deer, mongoose and marten.

‘We make camp here,’ Gourlay announced suddenly while we were riding through thick woods following the course of a fast-flowing stream. It was late afternoon and these were the first words he had spoken for several hours.

Spartacus caught sight of a group of Persian fallow deer around four hundred paces away, their tawny coats and white spots blending into the sun-dappled surroundings and making them difficult to spot. We halted and slid off our horses and stretched our limbs as he pulled his bow from its case and strung an arrow.

‘You think you can hit one from here?’ I asked. The deer stood around three foot at the shoulder with flattened antlers like those of a miniature moose and presented a small target.

He drew back his bowstring and then released it, the arrow lancing through the air before striking the neck of one of the deer, which collapsed to the ground as the others bolted.

‘No problem,’ he beamed triumphantly.

‘Then you can go and collect it.’

As we unsaddled the horses Gourlay threw his mount’s saddlecloth on the ground and tethered the beast to a nearby tree. Scarab prepared a fire and Domitus skinned and gutted the deer that Spartacus had killed and roasted its flesh over the fire. We sat in a circle around the flames and feasted on the warm meat, our guide saying little before he wrapped himself in his saddlecloth and fell asleep.

Later I took the first watch as Scarab and Spartacus slept and Domitus sat sharpening his sword. I crouched by him.

‘What did you make of my nephew’s remarks about Hatra’s lords plotting behind Gafarn’s back?’ I whispered.

He continued to run the stone along his sword’s edge. ‘A boy who feels he is an outsider will imagine people are against him when they are not.’

‘Perhaps,’ I replied.

The next day, after we had washed in the stream, attended to the horses and eaten a sparse meal of cured meat, we continued on with our journey, travelling east into the Zagros. I made several attempts to engage our guide in conversation but his surly one-word answers to my questions indicated that he had no interest in what any of us had to say and so we rode on in silence. The light was fading when Gourlay held up an arm to signal us to halt and then called out into the gloom of the forest. We looked at each other in confusion but then several figures emerged from the undergrowth — men dressed in poor quality tunics and leggings carrying axes and spears.

‘I had forgotten how ragged these hill men are,’ Domitus said to me softly. ‘If they manage to survive the journey to Dura the Romans will make offal of them in no time.’

‘You must try to look beyond the raw material, Domitus, to what may be.’

He grinned. ‘What may be? A lot of dead hill men littering the earth in Judea.’

Our guide rode over to me while his newly arrived companions stood and eyed us warily.

‘These men are watchers from my lord’s village. It is in the next valley, an hour’s ride away.’

We continued our journey among the trees, the foliage growing denser as we followed a single track through the forest. After a while we began to climb and the sun lanced through openings in the forest canopy as we ascended to reach a wide expanse of lush mountain steppe and felt the wind on our faces once more. We crossed the steppe and then rode down a slope into thick forest once more. After half an hour we encountered a wide stream at the bottom of the valley and followed its course until we reached a clearing where a village stood.

From what I knew of the tribes that inhabited the Zagros they grew no crops but lived on what they caught in the rivers and forests and the animals they kept, as well as raiding the settlements of other tribes and Parthian farms and villages. The long Zagros winters combined with the rugged terrain meant that growing crops was impossible, so the herdsmen spent half their time living in goat-hair tents on the high pasture lands grazing their sheep and goats, and the rest of the time in these lowland villages. The chieftains and their subordinates had a marginally better time in that they stayed all-year round in the villages.

Gourlay dismounted as a group of burly men approached him led by one I assumed was the village chief. They were all dressed in loose-fitting green woollen tunics that extended down to their knees, with baggy brown leggings and crude boots. They carried a mixture of spears and axes, though only the chief had a sword that hung in a scabbard from his brown leather belt. He had long light brown hair, a thick beard and, most unusually, blue eyes that now fixed on me as he looked up at me.

‘It is considered polite for a guest to dismount when meeting his host.’ His voice was calm and polite.

I smiled and slid off Remus’ back to stand before him. He was taller and broader than me, though I noticed that his hands were not like the paws of a bear but were slender with long fingers.

I bowed my head to him. ‘I thank you for agreeing to see me and hope that my visit will be of benefit to us both.’

‘That remains to be seen,’ he replied. ‘I am Zand, leader of the Sagartian people and I welcome you to my village, King Pacorus.’

I could tell from the expression on Spartacus’ face that we were a long way from the well-appointed palace at Susa and its luxurious royal stables. He dismounted and stood with a look of disgust on his face as half-naked infants ran around him as we were shown to our quarters.

‘Look happy,’ I said to him, ‘your face is showing contempt.’

‘These people stink,’ he remarked with disdain.

He was right: the place reeked of animal and human dung and sweat. ‘Think of Rasha to take your mind off it.’

The village was made up of round and rectangular wooden-framed huts with thatched roofs of varying size, and animal pens for sheep and goats alongside them. Our ‘quarters’ consisted of a round hut that had a crude stable beside it, in truth nothing more than a pen with a thatched roof. A fire had been lit inside the hut to warm it that also had the unfortunate effect of filling it with smoke, which was supposed to exit via the hole in the centre of the roof. The floor was covered in animal skins and the entrance was also covered with skins.

‘This is cosy,’ remarked Domitus after we had unsaddled our horses and carried the saddles inside the hut.

Like the other dwellings in the village the walls were made up of wattles — interwoven branches made weather resistant with daub, a mixture of mud, straw and animal dung.

‘It is like a stable,’ said Spartacus, dumping his saddle on the ground.

‘I would readily exchange it for a stall in Dura’s stables.’ I said, ‘but needs must. At least we don’t have to sleep with meat hanging from the ceiling rafters.’

Spartacus looked at me with surprise. ‘Meat?’

‘Just as we cure meat, so these people hang meat from the rafters so the smoke from the fire cures it. All very practical.’

‘All very uncivilised,’ he replied.

‘What about you, Scarab?’ I asked, ‘what do you think of our lodgings?’

‘They will suffice, majesty.’

Spartacus rolled his eyes as he bent down and lifted one of the animal skins to discover how many insects he would be sharing his bed with.

We may have been guests but Zand posted two guards outside the hut’s entrance and another two to watch our horses, though this may have been to deter any thieves, or at least that is what I liked to think. After we had placed the food and fodder in the hut we went back outside to groom the horses and check their shoes and hooves. Looking around I could see a large rectangular hut that I took to be the chief’s home, in addition to food stores and warehouses. There was also an open-fronted smithy where two squat bearded men were hammering iron on an anvil. I wondered how many such villages Zand controlled and how many people his tribe numbered, many thousands if the numbers that were arrayed against us at the Battle of Susa was anything to go by. I clutched the leather bag that contained the gold that was slung over my shoulder. Hopefully its contents would be proof of my good faith. Then again, it might get all our throats slit. I was about to find out just how civilised or not the hill men of the Zagros Mountains were.

In honour of our arrival at the village a feast was held in Zand’s long hut where we were seated on benches arranged around the walls. Women served us roasted mutton and chicken. They filled cups with milk, wine that tasted of vinegar and an equally foul-tasting alcoholic beverage made from fermented mare’s milk. I sat next to Zand on one bench, flanked by his warriors, while Domitus and my two squires were accommodated at another bench. The hut was filled with smoke that made my eyes smart. It came from the great fire that burned in the centre on the earth floor, over which fresh meat was roasting on spits. I noticed Zand drank very little while his warriors got roaring drunk and tried to grope the female servants, who seemed to like being mauled by the stinking oafs.

The Sagartians largely ignored Domitus and my squires but the women brought them wooden platters heaped with meat and ensured their cups were always full. Domitus kept looking at the entrance where his sword and dagger lay on the floor, along with everyone else’s weapons. Only Zand, the chief, was permitted to carry weapons in his hut, which was probably a sensible precaution as a group of ill-disciplined, drunken warriors armed to the teeth was a certain recipe for bloodshed.

Zand tore at a piece of meat with his teeth, the juices dripping onto his hand.

‘You wish to buy some of my warriors, King Pacorus of Dura?’

I nodded. ‘I will pay you gold for them.’

He glanced at me with narrowed eyes. ‘The last Parthian king who wanted the Sagartians to fight for him promised the same but paid me nothing,’ he said bitterly. ‘Why should I believe or trust you?’

‘For one thing, I have come to your village in person to signal that I trust you and wish to deal with you face to face.’

I reached into the bag that was slung over my shoulder and pulled out a small ingot of gold. I placed it on the bench before him.

‘Secondly, I bring gold as an act of good faith.’

He put down the meat on his platter, wiped his hand on his tunic and picked up the ingot, belched and examined it. He passed it to Gourlay who sat on his left and who turned it over in his hand.

‘How many of my warriors do you wish to take back with you to your kingdom?’ he asked.

‘Two thousand.’

He sat back in his chair and stared at the raging fire before him. ‘Why does a great Parthian warlord wish to hire Sagartian warriors, and so few? We have heard of your name in these parts, of the Parthian king who rides a white horse and leads a terrible army that has never been beaten. Tell me, King Pacorus of Dura, how many of my people did you slaughter in the Valley of Susa?’

Gourlay passed the ingot back to his lord as the din in the hut subsided and Zand’s warriors nudged each other and turned to look at me. I suddenly felt decidedly uneasy. I glanced at Domitus who was frowning severely and also looking at his sword and dagger, no doubt wondering if he could reach them before any of Zand’s warriors stopped him.

I sipped at my cup of warm milk. ‘As many who wished to kill me.’

Zand stood and walked round the bench to stand in front of me with his back to the fire.

‘I cannot decide if you are very brave or very stupid for coming here, King Pacorus of Dura. You are a man who has many enemies in this place,’ he declared in a loud voice.

There were murmurs of assent and several hateful stares were directed at me.

I remained calm, sensing that he was testing as opposed to threatening me. ‘All warlords have enemies, King Zand. How many fathers and sons have you killed during your reign with the sword that hangs from your belt? You decided to send warriors to aid Mithridates, my enemy, at Susa. Most of them died. On another day perhaps they would have lived and I would have died. Men die in battle. It is the way of things.’

I stood and spread my arms. ‘You can slay me now if you wish to avenge the deaths of your men. It makes no difference to me.’

I took off the bag that hung from my shoulder and emptied its contents onto the bench.

‘You can kill all of us with ease and take this gold, our horses and our weapons. Your people and mine have always waged war against each other and no doubt always will while there are men in the world.’

He folded his arms. ‘Why should I, Zand, king of the Sagartians, extend mercy to you, King Pacorus of Dura?’

‘Perhaps because I will give you gold for your men and with it you may purchase weapons to arm your people against their enemies,’ I answered.

He said nothing for what seemed like minutes but then nodded his head and roared at his warriors to stop staring at me and to continue feasting. They were soon emptying their cups and demanding the female slaves bring more wine as Zand returned to his seat.

‘And horses,’ he said before belching loudly once more.

‘Horses?’

‘You want two thousand warriors. Then you will have to pay gold and supply me with two thousand horses as well. The coming winter may be harsh and our enemies, the Lors and Kashkai, press on my borders.’

‘You wish to raid their lands?’ I asked.

He grinned savagely. ‘I wish to empty their warehouses. They will starve if they have no food for the winter.’

There were a number of tribes who inhabited the Zagros Mountains but in the western region the Sagartians held sway against the incursions of the Lors and Kashkai. It would appear that after their losses at the Battle of Susa Zand’s people had lost territory at the hands of the other two tribes.

‘Very well,’ I agreed. ‘Two thousand horses. When can you supply the warriors?’

He smiled. ‘You can have them as soon as you bring me the gold and horses. What will you do with them?’

‘They will be sent to a place called Judea, to fight the Romans.’

The blank look on his face told me that he had never heard of Judea or the Romans. How lucky he was.

He looked surprised. ‘You do not have enough warriors to fight these Romans?’

‘My warriors will be needed elsewhere.’

What I did not tell him was that his warriors were ideally suited to the type of warfare that Alexander waged in Judea. Having been defeated in battle he had been forced to live the life of a bandit leader, launching hit-and-run raids from the hills of eastern Judea. The hill men of the Zagros Mountains had been carrying out such raids since time immemorial. It was in their blood.

At the end of the evening the benches were cleared from the hut and Zand his warriors slept on the floor while we were escorted back to our lodgings. Spartacus and Scarab were both drunk and Domitus and I had to help them stagger back to our quarters, after which they both collapsed on the floor in a deep sleep. The men who had escorted us from Zand’s hut stood guard outside our own as I sat on the floor propped up against my saddle while Domitus secured the animals skins over the entrance. He came and sat by my side, talking in hushed tones.

‘I thought that chief was going to kill you.’

‘He needs gold and horses more than my head,’ I said. ‘The losses he suffered at Susa have dented his power. The other tribes are increasing their strength as his diminishes.’

‘Why does he need horses?’

‘To raid his enemies’ villages before winter to destroy their stores so the inhabitants will starve. In this way he will re-establish the Sagartians as the region’s strongest tribe.’

‘Have you thought that he might also use them to mount raids against Orodes’ lands?’

‘It is easier for Zand to raid the lands of the other Zagros tribes,’ I replied.

‘Let us hope you are right,’ Domitus commented dryly.

The next morning a subdued Spartacus and Scarab doused their bodies in the cool waters of the stream as I stood bare-chested nearby and used my dagger to shave the stubble from my chin. Another two guards stood nearby as villagers went about their daily affairs. I saw no one coming from Zand’s hut and assumed that he and his warriors were still deep in slumber. Looking round at the different-sized huts and animal pens I realised how poor these people were, especially as this was the home of the tribe’s chieftain. I also realised that two thousand horses to mount raiding parties would greatly increase their power.

‘What is that, uncle?’

I turned to see a wet Spartacus wading to the bank who was looking at the lock of hair around my neck.

I clutched the chain. ‘A lock of Gallia’s hair. I wear it always.’

He came out of the water and sat on the earth. ‘I will ask Rasha to send me a lock of her hair and then I too can wear it close to my heart.’

I slid my dagger back in its sheath. ‘Just make sure you do not wander into Agraci territory.’

He smiled and pointed at Scarab ducking his head in the water. ‘Perhaps Scarab can ride to Palmyra and bring it back.’

I shook my head. ‘Are you determined to get him killed as well as yourself?’

He peered up at me. ‘My parents told me that you killed Gallia’s father.’

I put on my shirt and sat next to him. ‘Not quite right. It was in fact your father, the king, who killed him, with a shot that I have never seen bettered in all the years since. That was a good day.’

Scarab walked from the stream and stood with the early morning sun warming his muscular torso.

‘What did Gallia, I mean Queen Gallia, say about it?’ asked Spartacus.

‘She has never said a word about it to me then or since, but I like to think that she approved.’

Spartacus looked surprised. ‘Of killing her father?’

‘King Ambiorix, Gallia’s father, was a cunning, ruthless bastard who sold his own daughter into slavery, something that Haytham would never do whatever you think of him. Besides, Ambiorix sided with the Romans against us and deserved his fate.’

I looked at Spartacus. ‘You should concentrate on staying alive rather than filling your head with dreams.’

‘If I take an eagle my dreams will become reality,’ he said with conviction.

‘I think,’ I said, ‘that the key word in all of this is “if”.’

‘The gods must have placed Spartacus in a position where he could save King Haytham for a reason,’ remarked Scarab, to the delight of my nephew who grinned at him.

‘Really, Scarab?’ I said. ‘And what reason would that be?’

‘I am not in the confidence of the gods, majesty,’ he replied, ‘but all things on earth happen for a reason.’

I looked at him. ‘Do you believe that you were sent to me for a purpose?’

He flashed his white teeth. ‘Yes, majesty.’

‘And what is it.’

‘I do not know, majesty.’

I stood up and buckled my sword belt. ‘Listen to me, both of you. The gods meddle in the affairs of men but do not believe that they do so for the benefit of mortals. They do so for their own amusement, of that I am certain.’

‘It is said that you are beloved of the gods, majesty,’ said Scarab, ‘that you are immune from enemy weapons and that your army is invincible.’

I thought of the many scars that covered my body as a result of wounds received at the hands of enemies. I slapped Scarab on the arm.

‘Don’t believe everything you are told, Scarab.’