Parthian Dawn

Chapter 12

It took us ten days to get back to Dura, a leisurely march that turned into something of a victory parade as farmers, traders, shepherds and a host of others lined the roadside to cheer the horsemen and legionaries as we passed by. Everyone wanted to see the legion’s golden griffin most of all, though Domitus had to use his cane when some got too enthusiastic and tried to touch it. I saw beggars and cripples implore him to allow them to lay their filthy, misshapen hands upon it, believing that to do so would restore their health and banish their deformities. How strange are the thoughts of men. Domitus was having none of it, telling the colour party guarding the griffin, big men who had served with him in Italy, to use the sharp ends of their javelins if anyone got close, or even to use the unfortunates for sword practice should they so desire, an order I countermanded at once.

‘You can’t kill people just because they are an inconvenience, Domitus, especially if they are old or infirm.’

He was most unhappy. ‘Why not?’

‘Because they only want what we all want — a stroke of luck or good fortune. We have become heroes to them, bringing hope to their unhappy lives, if only for a short while. To betray them so basely would be grotesque.’

‘No one’s going to lay their filthy mitts on my griffin.’

‘Well just place more guards around it, but tell them not to kill anyone, and certainly not to draw their swords. That’s an order.’

He marched off, muttering to himself. But no one was seriously hurt or killed on the journey back to Dura. The whole of the city turned out to welcome us back, plus many of the farmers who worked on the kingdom’s estates who had come to see their lords who had won great victories. It took the legion a full hour to cross over the pontoon bridge and march to its camp west of the Palmyrene Gate. And all order and discipline started to break down as dozens of young women threw their arms around their loved ones and placed garlands over their heads. Domitus had maintained the Roman practice of forbidding legionaries the right to marry, but many had taken women anyway who became their de facto wives, the females living in rented accommodation in the city. And many now held infants in their arms as both mother and child welcomed back their man and gave thanks to whatever gods they worshipped that he had returned to them safely and in one piece. As the legion and its small army of camp followers inched its way back to camp, I rode with my cataphracts and Dura’s lords under the Palmyrene Gate and through the city to the Citadel. I bowed my head to the stone griffin above me as I passed through the gates themselves, and then waved to the crowds that lined the main street as I headed towards my palace. Vagharsh held the banner behind me, and Nergal was on my right side as we moved slowly though the throng. Behind us the cataphracts rode bare headed and without lances, their white cloaks around their shoulders. Women threw rose petals at us from balconies and children banged pots with sticks, making a racket that made Remus prick his ears back. The lords left their horse archers outside the city. They dismounted to mingle with their friends and neighbours who had made the journey to the city.

When we reached the palace, guards lined the street outside and kept the crowds back as I rode through the gates and into the courtyard. I had told myself that I was a great warlord returning home as a conqueror, and as such would display no emotion as I greeted my queen. But as I caught sight of her standing at the top of the palace steps I felt tears of joy and happiness welling up inside me, and by the time I had vaulted from my saddle and ran up those steps to embrace her they were streaming down my face. I held her close, my face buried in her hair, telling her that I loved her, then kissed her on the lips. This brought a hearty cheer from the cataphracts now drawn up in the courtyard, while the Amazons standing behind Gallia in front of the palace entrance, Praxima at their head, also cheered.

I stepped back and looked at Gallia, her eyes of deep blue and her hair the purest blonde.

‘Welcome back to your home.’ She smiled at me and I held her again.

Godarz and Rsan, standing to one side, stepped forward and bowed their heads.

‘It is good to see you, majesty,’ said Rsan.

‘And you,’ I said.

‘We have been hearing how you have been covering yourself in glory,’ Godarz grinned at me.

‘And collecting war wounds, I see,’ Gallia ran a finger over my scarred face.

‘It will heal though not disappear entirely, my love, or so Alcaeus informed me.’

A cart pulled by two testy mules wheeled into the courtyard, escorted by Domitus and a score of his men. I pointed at Rsan.

‘Something to fill your treasury, Rsan. Go and look.’

Both he and Godarz walked over to the cart as Domitus jumped on the back and unlocked the three chests that were sitting behind the driver. I noticed that Godarz and Domitus clasped each other’s forearms in greeting when they met. They had become good friends. Rsan whooped with joy when he was shown the gold, and even Godarz’s usually resigned face displayed excitement. Rsan instantly gave orders to his guards to take the chests into the treasury. I dismissed the cataphracts, whose squires took their horses to the stables. Praxima then dismissed the Amazons and kissed me on the cheek as she and Nergal disappeared into the palace to make up for the time they had been away from each other. I looked at Gallia stroking Remus and talking to him softly, her still lithe figure framed by her leggings and white armless silk tunic. No sign of her pregnancy as yet. A squire took Remus to the stables and I grabbed her hand and pulled her close. I felt my loins stir.

‘I’ve missed you.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Are you going to show me how much?’

Afterwards, as she lay naked on our bed, she ran a finger down my scarred cheek. ‘Soon I will be fat and ugly and you will not want me.’

I turned to face her. ‘I will never not want you, you are my reason for living.’

‘I will hold you to that.’

‘I think my father is angry with me.’

She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Have you given any reason for him to be angry with you?’

I sighed. ‘He thinks that I lust for glory, and that we should not have given battle to Narses.’

‘And do you lust for glory?’

I looked at her and knew that I could not deceive her. ‘Yes.’

She smiled. ‘Perhaps he envies you and is angry with himself for feeling thus.’

‘Perhaps. I think he wishes that we were both back in Hatra under his protection.’

‘Or maybe he regrets not putting himself forward to be King of Kings.’

I smiled. ‘His pride would never allow himself to admit that he has made a mistake. But yes, I think he does now see that perhaps he, and not Phraates, would have been a better choice. But what is done is done.’

‘And now you are Lord High General of the whole Parthian Empire, for a courier arrived from Ctesiphon announcing your appointment before you returned. What does it entail?’

I rose from the bed and stood at the balcony doors, looking at the Euphrates below. ‘I do not know exactly, though I have a nasty feeling that I might become Phraates’ errand boy.’

Early the next morning I rode down to the Palmyrene Gate. When I arrived I handed a guard the reins of Remus and then climbed the stone steps inside one of the towers on to the arch to look at the stone griffin statue. The sky’s purple and pink hues were giving way to blue as the sun began its ascent in the east, while spreading our before me to the west was the great desert plain. The legion’s camp was already bustling with activity, the men rising before dawn and then eating their breakfast of porridge, bread and cheese, before assembling for parade. It was at morning assembly that any notices were read out, and I had instructed Domitus to pass on my gratitude to the men for their professional conduct during the campaign that had just finished, and to inform them that each would be receiving a bonus of a week’s pay. The legion’s clerks meticulously recorded each legionary’s pay, the documents being held in the headquarters building in the Citadel. The whole legion was run along Roman lines. ‘War is business,’ Domitus once told me, and he was right. When I was a boy I used to think that conflict was all colourful banners, shining armour, mighty steeds and personal combat, but the reality was that victory depended on discipline, endless drill, the right equipment and cool leadership in the heat of battle. Bozan, my old tutor in Hatra, had drilled it into me that the key was to make sure you were prepared for war, and that required hours and hours of training and drilling. Train hard, fight easy. And he was right, and so was Domitus, and that’s why the Romans were so successful. They didn’t care how many men an enemy brought to the battlefield because they knew that every man in every legion knew his task and could carry it out in his sleep. As I watched a century march at double time out of the camp I smiled to myself. Drill, marching and instruction, day after day, month after month, year after year. It was the same with my cataphracts, who every day rode out to the training fields and spent hours honing their formations, obeying the horns that told them when to turn, when to charge and when to retreat. Dura’s lords were not disciplined, and though wild and recklessly brave, against determined opposition, such as a Roman army, they would fail. No matter, I now had enough gold to raise a force of my own horse archers and Nergal would be their commander.

‘Daydreaming, son of Hatra?’

I was startled by the words, then saw the familiar dishevelled figure of Dobbai ambling towards me.

‘Your wife told me that you might be here.’

‘We missed you at the meal last night,’ I said.

‘Of course you didn’t. Two young newlyweds want to be on their own after being parted, so I made myself scarce.’

She laid her hand on the griffin statue. ‘Afraid he might have been stolen?’

‘No, I like the view, and it is also peaceful. Most of the time.’

‘Don’t be churlish, son of Hatra, it does not suit you. We heard of your elevation to be chief warlord in the empire. Well done, though I had hoped to see the heads of Narses and Mithridates adorning the walls of the Citadel this morning.’

‘Unfortunately, they got away.’

Her haggard visage frowned. ‘That is unfortunate, for you will have to fight them all over again. Cockroaches are difficult to kill, are they not?’

‘I met the wife of Phraates during my stay in Ctesiphon.’

‘Queen Aruna?’ Dobbai spat over the battlements. ‘She possesses the venom of a King Cobra and the malice of a demon from the underworld. She took a dislike to you?’

‘An instant one, as far as I could tell.’

‘You have won great victories but made powerful enemies. People may forget the victories but your enemies will not forgive you. What are you going to do with the gold that Phraates gave you?’

I bristled. ‘That’s an impertinent question.’

She pointed a talon-like finger at me and cackled. ‘Then have me flogged.’

‘Don’t be a fool. I will strengthen the army, if you must know.’

‘Very wise. You will need many warriors err long.’

‘I can command kings to send me warriors,’ I declared boldly.

‘You can command and they can ignore you. Trust only those who have sworn allegiance to you. Words are worth nothing.’

‘Narses and Mithridates cannot conjure up armies out of nothing. Even if they wanted to rebel again it would take them time to rebuild their forces. In any case, the other kings in the eastern part of the empire have sworn allegiance to Phraates.’

She scratched her beak-like nose. ‘They have done so because they fear you, that is the only reason. But if you are pre-occupied then they can change their minds. You want my advice?’

‘Not really.’

She ignored my words. ‘Send assassins to kill both Mithridates and Narses. Persuade Phraates to give you the throne of Persis and Orodes the crown of Susiana. In that way you will secure peace in the empire.’

‘Flights of fancy,’ I said. ‘Even if I wanted Persis, which I do not, Phraates would not sanction it, and he would have me executed if he discovered that I had had his son murdered.’

She smiled, her teeth black and foul, turned and shuffled away. ‘Very well, have it your own way. But war is coming, son of Hatra, war is coming.’

Despite Dobbai’s dire warning the weeks that followed saw a return to normality. Peace within the empire meant a return of trade along the Silk Road and the flow of caravans through Dura to and from Egypt, with more money pouring into Rsan’s treasury. The lords returned to their estates and Gallia and I undertook a tour of my kingdom while she had the energy to do so and was not too fat to fit in a saddle. She declared that she would never be transported in a cart, so it was on horseback or not at all. So that summer we visited each lord in his stronghold. I took all my cataphracts with me, though neither they nor their horses wore any armour or carried the kontus. Instead, they all wore white tunics and brown leggings and carried bows and swords. They also left their helmets behind, as the facemasks would terrify the locals. It was a happy time, for the ranks of my cataphracts contained the sons of Dura’s lords so each stronghold we visited turned into a homecoming for an eldest son. A great feast invariably followed, at which drunken oaths of allegiance were sworn to me and Gallia, to the amusement of my wife. The other sons of each lord begged their father to allow them to serve in my cavalry. The number of volunteers thus swelled after each visit, especially at the feasts. As the hour grew late Gallia would retire to her quarters. She did not complain but I could tell that her pregnancy was sapping her strength. And so she slept and each lord silenced the music and noise, leaving his eldest son to talk of the campaign that he had just fought in. I always made sure that I was just a face in the crowd at such events, for each man had earned the right to tell his story of the battles that we had fought. Eager faces hungry for news gathered round as he told how we had defeated Porus and his elephants. The logs on the great fires crackled and hissed as a new version of the story was told every time. The elephants, tall as three horses and blood-crazed, charged our lines, only to die on the points of our lances as we abandoned all hope and met the giant beasts head-on. Others told of hundreds of elephants as far as the eye could see, each carrying archers and spearmen who fired thousands of arrows that bounced off our scale armour as we rode among the tusked animals, hacking at their legs with our swords. Occasionally I would catch the eye of our host, invariably surrounded by his lieutenants and giant hunting dogs at his feet, and he would smile at me. He knew the truth, that the elephants had been scattered by a herd of pigs, and so did I, and for that matter so did the storyteller and many of those present. It didn’t matter. I smiled back and we both enjoyed the fiction. Then there were stories of our victory over Narses, of our crazy charge into the massed ranks of the enemy, and for once the orator told the truth for there was no need to embellish the tale. The enemy did indeed fill the horizon and we were but few in number.

The lords of Dura were hard frontiersmen, men given lands on the western bank of the Euphrates because only they had the courage and skills to conquer a wasteland filled with hostile Agraci. Dura had belonged to the King of Kings, and the wily fox Sinatruces had sent those who were uncontrollable and rebellious to do battle with the scorpions, snakes and Agraci. Only the strongest and most cunning survived, but those who did carved out their territory with blood and iron and had no time for court etiquette or politics. They still did not kneel to any king and I did not ask them to kneel to me, but I had earned their respect and they now gave me loyalty. And the peace with the Agraci had held, so now their lands were unmolested and turning a profit, which in turn was making them prosperous.

For his part Haytham kept an iron grip on his people and prohibited any incursions into Dura’s territory. But old habits die hard and there was the occasional transgression, usually a raid to steal livestock. Haytham always found out and had the livestock returned, along with the severed heads of the thieves as proof that justice had been meted out. Such gestures were appreciated by Dura’s lords. For his part, after bidding Gallia and me a fond farewell, Malik returned to his people and took Byrd with him, though after a few days Gallia was harassing me to take her to see Haytham.

‘We could invite him here, Rasha too.’

She was insistent. ‘No, I think we should visit him. It is only polite.’

I suddenly realised why she was so keen to journey to Palmyra. ‘You want to see Byrd’s woman.’

She avoided my eyes. ‘Nonsense, I had completely forgotten that he had one. In any case…’

‘Very well, my sweet, we will visit Haytham and satisfy your curiosity.’

And so we did. I took Haytham a present of a pair of elephant tusks that had been hacked off a dead beast after we had beaten Porus. On the road I was struck how much traffic there was — camels carrying great loads, mules weighed down with wares and even travellers on foot. How different from the first time that we had made the same journey, when we took Haytham’s daughter back to her father.

Palmyra was a great sprawling collection of tents around a huge oasis that had turned the arid desert green. There were hundreds of trees fed by the waters — palms, olives and pomegranates — and there must have been thousands of people living among the lush landscape.

‘We have set aside a large area to the south for the merchants and their animals, and we dug irrigation channels to provide men and their beasts with water, which we charge them for.’ Haytham grinned broadly. He was still an old thief at heart.

We sat cross-legged on the carpets in his tent, eating roasted goat wrapped in pancakes, dipping them in delicious yoghurt and washed down by fruit juice. Rasha was cuddling up to Gallia as we ate and talked.

‘Is there any trouble?’ I asked.

‘Never,’ replied Haytham. ‘I make sure of that. I provide escorts from the edge of your territory all the way down to Petra if they so desire, but most of the caravans have their own guards and keep themselves to themselves.’

‘And you are happy with our agreement?’

He nodded. ‘I have no complaints, and Malik does nothing but talk about you and your army. I think you are turning him into a Parthian.’

‘What do you know of Byrd?’ asked Gallia.

Haytham rose and picked up some cushions and placed them around Gallia. He had obviously heard of her pregnancy. ‘Your scout? He’s a strange one. Doesn’t talk much but he and Malik have become good friends so he comes and goes as he wishes. He’s found himself a woman here.’

‘Gallia is dying to meet her.’

‘I am merely curious, that is all,’ she said.

‘I’ll ask Malik to bring them over tomorrow, if you wish.’

Malik and Byrd had just returned from a journey to Syria, so I could pretend that my meeting with them was for reasons of strategy, though I doubt that anyone was fooled, especially as there was no reason for Byrd’s woman to be there. She was a dusky skinned individual of average height and slim build, wrapped in her dark brown Agraci robes, her hair braided under her shawl. She had dark brown eyes, almost black, with a slender nose and full lips. Her name was Noora and Gallia was delighted to meet her.

‘I am a friend of Byrd’s,’ Gallia said.

‘I have heard of you, lady,’ she looked at me. ‘And you too, sir.’

‘Please, call me Pacorus.’

Byrd looked totally disinterested as Gallia took Noora by the arm and bombarded her with questions.

‘Sorry about all this, Byrd,’ I said, ‘you know what women are like.’

‘No matter, lord. It is good to see Gallia looking so well. One thing you should know, though. We heard stories of many Romani soldiers marching across the land from Greece into Asia.’

‘Going where?’

‘Armenia and Pontus.’

That was indeed worth knowing. With reinforcements, Lucullus would be emboldened to make further incursions into Parthian territory, though first he had to destroy the remnants of his enemies in Pontus and Armenia. Perhaps that would keep him occupied and avert his gaze from Parthia. Perhaps, but I was still uneasy. Our stay in Palmyra was an extremely pleasant diversion, though, and I was pleased that Byrd had found a companion after his years of loneliness. Gallia wanted them both to come back with us to Dura to live in the palace, though the look of horror on Byrd’s face at such a prospect told me that he would be staying with Haytham and his people.

‘I hope I can still call on your services, Byrd,’ I said on the morning of our departure. ‘You are my best scout.’

‘Just send word, lord. I come.’

We did take one person back with us, though — Rasha. She wanted to hear more tales of elephants and in any case Gallia loved having her in the palace, so that was that.

I wrote to Phraates, Aschek of Atropaiene and Farhad of Media telling them about the reinforcements being sent to Lucullus, though I was rather surprised when I received a message back from Phraates telling me that Lucullus had sent a courier to Ctesiphon stating that Rome wished for peace with Parthia and looked forward to amicable relations between our two empires. There was no mention of Rome withdrawing from Gordyene, though. Phraates also informed me that Mithridates had appeared at his court and had begged his forgiveness for being ‘intoxicated’ by Narses and raising his sword against his father. Phraates had forgiven his son, of course, but had given the city of Susa to Orodes for safekeeping, retaining Mithridates at Ctesiphon to be the commander of the garrison and his ‘special advisor’, whatever that meant. At least Orodes now controlled the kingdom of Susiana and its army.

‘And Mithridates and his mother control Phraates, who controls his son, Orodes. So you see, Mithridates exerts a great influence over the empire still,’ said Dobbai as she sat with us on the palace terrace late one afternoon. The day had been stifling, but as the evening approached the heat had diminished and a light easterly breeze made the temperature pleasant. I watched travellers on the road from the east approaching Dura — people on foot, camels loaded with wares and mules pulling carts full of goods. I was always amazed at the volume of people on the road, but Egypt had an insatiable desire for silk and China had a seemingly never-ending supply of the material. And Parthia lay between seller and buyer and grew rich by dint of geography.

‘So, Mithridates has crawled back to his mother,’ said Dobbai, chewing the last morsels of meat from a rib.

‘It appears so,’ I replied.

‘A viper returns to its nest.’

Rasha stopped eating and looked up at Dobbai. ‘When we find a viper we kill it. They are poisonous, you know.’

‘You see, son of Hatra, how even a small child grasps the importance of ridding the world of Mithridates.’

I waved my hand at her. ‘I am not going to kill Mithridates.’

She grinned at Rasha. ‘Not yet.’

‘We should visit your parents, Pacorus,’ mused Gallia, bored of talk of Mithridates, ‘before I am too fat to fit in a saddle.’

‘You are right. I will organise it.’ And it was also an opportunity to get away from Dobbai’s incessant nagging.

‘Can I come?’ asked Rasha, smiling innocently at Gallia.

‘Of course, as long as your father agrees.’

He did, and so we set off seven days later. I left Godarz as my deputy and told Domitus to begin the process of recruiting new legionaries, both to replace the few who had been killed at Surkh and to establish a replacement cohort. I had been toying with the idea for a while of a formation that would act as a sort of permanent garrison at Dura but at the same time would also train new recruits and act as a pool of battle replacements. In this way the legion would always be at full strength because new legionaries could be ferried from the replacement cohort to the legion in the field. I had read that the Persians who had once ruled these lands had a royal guard called the Immortals, whose strength had always been maintained at ten thousand men. I wished the legion to be similar. Domitus thought the garrison cohort a good idea, but raised an eyebrow when I informed him about the Immortals.

‘Where are these Immortals now?’ were his only words on the matter.

I took Nergal and Praxima with me to Hatra, plus the Amazons, who had been disappointed that they had missed the battle against Narses. I left Domitus and the legion behind, taking only a score of my cataphracts along for the journey, who left their armour behind. Like me they carried only swords and bows, always our bows.

It was good to see Hatra again, its dozens of stone towers glistening in the sun, each one topped by a flag bearing my father’s banner. Vistaspa met us with an escort about a mile from the city, two hundred cataphracts in full armour and pennants flying from every kontus, and as we entered the city’s south gates Kogan’s soldiers lined the streets to the palace.

‘A most impressive reception, Vistaspa,’ I remarked, ‘though my father need not have troubled himself.’

‘The visit of another king is a serious occasion, majesty,’ he replied sternly. ‘Protocol must be observed.’ Same old Vistaspa, hard as granite.

My parents waited for us at the top of the palace steps, and I noticed for the first time that my mother had flecks of grey in her hair. She still looked regal and glamorous, her arms adorned with gold armlets and bracelets and a gold braid belt around her waist. My father was dressed in a white robe and looked stern. And standing next to them were Gafarn and Diana. My brother smiled at me, still the irrepressible Gafarn, though Diana looked very different from the plain-looking kitchen slave who I had known in Italy. Now she was dressed in a fine white dress, with gold rings upon her fingers and gold barrettes in her hair, which was now shoulder length. She wore make-up around her eyes and on her lips and exquisite gold earrings dangled from her ears. Her appearance befitted her status as a princess of the empire. And standing beside her, clutching her hand, was a small boy, the son of Spartacus. He was nearly three years old now, and I saw in him the strong jaw and intelligent face of his father, his hair as black as his mother’s had been.

After we had all embraced each other, Gallia and Diana sharing a long and tearful reunion, I knelt beside the boy.

‘This is your Uncle Pacorus, Spartacus,’ said Diana.

He bowed his head to me. ‘Hello, your majesty.’

I smiled at him. ‘Hello, Spartacus, I was a friend of your father.’

He smiled at me but I think the words meant little to him. All he had known was Hatra’s palace, a world far removed from the one lived in by his parents.

‘It is good that you tell him of his parents,’ I said as I walked beside Diana through the sprawling palace that was Hatra’s seat of power.

‘I have told him about Spartacus and Claudia but he does not really understand. Why would he? He is being raised as a prince in a far-off land.’

‘One day he will understand, I hope. I promised Cannicus that I would tell him.’

Diana stopped and looked at me. ‘That’s a name I have not heard in an age.’

‘Do you remember Castus and his Germans, Diana? All hair, beards and boasting. But they made good soldiers.’

‘I remember,’ she said. ‘I remember it all.’

‘I miss those days, Diana. When we were fugitives in a foreign land with a host of Romans after us. But how we gave them a good run for their money.’

She shook her head. ‘I think you remember some of those times, not all of them. Besides you should be looking forward, what with a baby on the way. Gallia looks very happy.’

‘She is, and so am I.’

My father’s frostiness towards me had disappeared and the next day we went to the training fields outside the city to shoot our bows. We all took part in a competition called the ‘five targets’ — five small packed straw circles mounted on poles that were spaced at one hundred-yard intervals. The rules were simple. Each participant rode up the course as fast as possible, shooting at each target as he passed it. The first target was angled towards the rider, the next two were positioned parallel to the rider as he passed them, but the final two were facing away from the rider, at right angles to the course. This meant that he had to turn in the saddle and fire over the hindquarters of his horse, firing backwards in effect, to hit the targets. Gallia insisted on taking part, as did Praxima, while the men folk numbered myself, my father, Vistaspa, Nergal and Gafarn. All Parthian males learn to shoot the bow before they ride, even before they can walk. They start out on ‘baby bows’, small affairs that have almost no strength in their strings. They then progress on to more powerful bows, and by the time they reach their teenage years they are shooting full-sized recurve bows made of wood and bone, the same weapons that Parthian warriors use in battle.

As we all took turns to run the course and shoot at the targets, my father sat on his horse beside Remus and told me the news of what was happening to the north of Hatra’s borders.

‘My scouts report that many Roman troops are marching into Armenia and Pontus. They mean to finish Mithridates once and for all.’

Mithridates, King of Pontus, had been fighting the Romans for twenty years now, and although he was a great general, his kingdom was on its knees. If only his namesake, the son of Phraates, had a tenth of his courage and nobility.

‘And once they have finished with Pontus and Armenia, we will be next,’ continued my father.

I was shocked. ‘You mean Hatra?’

‘Hatra, Media, Atropaiene, it’s all the same to Rome.’

‘They have an insatiable appetite for land,’ I said.

‘Your Roman.’

‘Domitus?’

My father nodded. ‘He was right. Phraates appears weak in Roman eyes and that is bad news for all of us.’

His words must have unnerved me, for when it was my turn to shoot I missed two of the targets altogether and finished last behind Nergal and Vistaspa. Gallia and Gafarn agreed to share first place, with my father close behind them in second.

Back at the city I walked with my father and Vistaspa as they made an inspection of the royal armouries. The level of activity was feverish, with men at every forge and anvil. Quivers of freshly made arrows were being ferried to the stores and sword blades were being hammered on anvils and quenched in water. Vistaspa saw the look of surprise on my face.

‘We are preparing for the worst. The Romans will find that Hatra is not Gordyene.’

I picked up a mace from a row of racks that lay along one wall, each one filled with newly made weapons. It was a thing of beauty — a wooden shaft with leather strips around the base for grip, and steel flanges at the other end arranged around the shaft in a circular pattern. Primarily a bludgeoning instrument, the flanges could batter their way through mail, scale armour and helmets, especially if wielded from a horse by a cataphract.

‘We could always strike first,’ I suggested. ‘Pre-empt Roman aggression.’

My father took the mace from me and replaced it on the rack. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you? Another war to add glory to your name. But I think not. Hatra lies close to the Romans whereas Dura is far away.’

‘They will come anyway, father.’

‘If they do, then I know that Media will come to Hatra’s assistance, and then the Romans will be facing three armies — ours plus Atropaiene’s and Media’s.’

‘And Dura’s,’ I added.

‘You may have to look to your own devices if the Romans attack you from Syria,’ Vistaspa’s eyes lit up as he considered my discomfort. He had always been a callous individual, a man who took delight in people’s misfortunes.

‘Have no fear, Vistaspa,’ I replied, ‘Dura’s defences are strong. In any case, Haytham’s men would harry the Romans’ supply lines while they sat in front of Dura.’

‘The Agraci?’ Vistaspa’s face showed disgust.

‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘the Agraci. Haytham’s son, Prince Malik, has fought by my side and the king’s daughter is in Hatra’s palace as we speak.’

‘There’s a difference between enemies who have agreed to stop fighting and allies, Pacorus,’ growled my father.

‘Is there, father? I count Haytham as a friend and have no reason to believe that he does not think of me in the same way.’

‘You should have more care in the choice of your friends,’ sneered Vistaspa.

I smiled at him. ‘Have a care, Vistaspa, one day all this,’ I gestured at the armoury with my arm, ‘will be mine and those who question my authority will have no place here.’

‘Enough!’ barked my father. ‘Prince Vistaspa is my friend and trusted lieutenant, and I will not have him spoken to thus.’

‘My apologies, father, I did not mean to cause offence.’

The rest of the tour was uncomfortable to say the least. In truth Vistaspa had done nothing wrong. Most Parthians were prejudiced against the Agraci, many hated them outright. But still, old ways and attitudes were only useful if they served a purpose, and antagonising the Agraci served none at all. The company of my mother was much more agreeable, especially as she had collected Gallia, Rasha, Diana and Gafarn as well. We all arranged ourselves in her quaint pagoda as Rasha and young Spartacus played with a set of carved wooden farm animals. Servants brought us fruit juice and pastries.

‘Been annoying your father again, Pacorus?’ asked Gallia.

I shrugged and toyed with my cup.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘Really, Pacorus,’ said my mother. ‘We see you little enough, you should not argue when you do come to Hatra.’

‘Father refuses to see the bigger picture,’ I replied.

‘Have you been painting?’ Gafarn was in an impious mood.

‘I was talking of strategy.’

‘Which involves you ordering everyone about, does it, in your new role as lord high general? By the way, is there a lord low general?’

I frowned at him. ‘It means trying to keep Parthia’s enemies at bay.’

‘You mean the Romans.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘what others are there?’

‘Don’t you think that you are becoming obsessed by the Romans, Pacorus?’ said my mother.

‘You should let it go, Pacorus,’ said Gafarn. He gestured at Gallia and Diana. ‘We all have.’

‘Let what go?’

‘Your hatred for the Romans, what else? We all escaped, we were the lucky ones. Thousands died in Italy, including our friends, but we escaped.’

‘And I should be grateful for that?’

Gafarn looked at me. ‘Why not? We all live a life beyond even the dreams of most men. What have we to be angry about?’

‘He’s right, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.

I knew he was, which made it worse, but I could never forgive the Romans for enslaving me.

‘My back carries a permanent reminder of the hospitality that the Romans extended to me. As long as they are on Parthia’s borders I shall neither forgive nor forget.’

Diana smiled at me, that sweet, disarming smile that could melt the iciest heart. Gallia was more beautiful than Diana, but Diana had a warmth and grace that endeared her to all, from the lowliest slave to the highest king whose aloofness was soon conquered by her charm. Everyone grew to love Diana, myself included, and we all reckoned Gafarn to be among the luckiest men in all the empire. I was the luckiest, of course, but he came a close second.

‘Oh, Pacorus,’ she said. ‘You are still the same proud, defiant young man whom we first clapped eyes upon on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius all those years ago. Unbending, strong and brave. Everything is black and white to you, right or wrong, no middle course. But the world is not like that, my brother, and we must weave a path through life, taking our happiness where we find it. Do not dwell on the past. Spartacus and Claudia knew this, and so do Gallia and Gafarn.’

She walked over and kissed me gently on the cheek. ‘Be content with the love of your friends and family, my brave warrior, for they are your source of strength.’

And that was that. There was no more talk of Romans or war and so we sat and laughed and watched Rasha play with young Spartacus, and for a while I forgot about those things that troubled me.

The rest of our stay in Hatra was pleasant enough. I went to Vistaspa’s quarters and apologised to him for my rudeness, a gesture that took him somewhat by surprise. He was pleased, I think, for he invited me to stay awhile and we talked of Dura, the Romans and his friend Godarz. I think he missed his old companion, and so I promised that when I got back to Dura I would send Godarz to Hatra for an extended stay.

‘So, majesty, we are all agreed that war with the Romans is inevitable?’

‘I think we have known each long enough for you not to call me majesty, Vistaspa. And yes, I think war is inevitable.’

Vistaspa never really smiled as such, but a satisfied leer now crossed his face. ‘I think you are right and so does your father. Hatra will be ready for it when it comes, though. But what of the rest of the empire?’

‘Rome thinks that it can pluck each kingdom in the empire like ripe fruit’ I said. ‘Phraates made a mistake when he did not retaliate against Lucullus for occupying Gordyene. The Romans will have noted his pusillanimity and will act accordingly. But I think that their underestimation of us may be their undoing.’

He regarded me for a moment with his cold, black eyes, the eyes of a man without pity. ‘And yet, they will know, or at the very least will have heard, that you defeated the rebels and placed Phraates back on his throne. I’m sure that the new King of Dura is part of their calculations also.’

‘The one thing that I learned about the Romans when I was in Italy,’ I said, ‘was that they view all other peoples as inferior. We are all barbarians to them, Vistaspa, to be conquered and ruled over. That view above all will be dictating their calculations.’

‘Perhaps now you are underestimating them.’

I smiled at him. ‘If we can convince the Romans that conquering Parthia is too high a price, then they will think twice before launching a full-scale invasion of the empire. They only respect strength. It would be much easier, of course, if my father sat in Ctesiphon and not Phraates.’

‘You want to remove Phraates.’

I shook my head. ‘No, we elected him and the decision must stand, for better or worse.’

‘Then, Pacorus, let us hope it is for the better.’

When a month had passed Gallia decided it was time to make our way back to Dura. Her belly was starting to swell now, not by much, but enough to make her irritable and unhappy with her appearance. I told her every day that she was beautiful and that I would always love her, but though she was thrilled to be pregnant she disliked the inconvenient side effects of her condition. So we said goodbye to my parents at the foot of Hatra’s palace steps early one morning, the sky as clear and blue as Gallia’s eyes, and made our way south at a leisurely pace. Diana and Gafarn watched us go as well, and standing beside them was young Spartacus, who smiled and waved at us as we rode out of the palace compound.

Life at Dura went on much the same. Domitus drilled his legionaries and I began to increase the number of my cataphracts to five hundred, half a dragon. In addition, Nergal set about raising his horse archers. It was not difficult. Our recent victories had increased the prestige of Dura and men wanted to serve in its army. Recruits came mostly from the estates of Dura’s lords, who were happy to send Nergal their men, though others came from as far afield as Gordyene and Armenia. Curiously, a sizeable number of men began to arrive from Pontus. Rome’s war against that brave kingdom was coming to an end, and rather than be enslaved many of its soldiers decided to chance their luck in other lands. So they headed south, through Armenia and Gordyene and into Hatra or Media. If they entered Hatra the first city they reached was Nisibus, whose governor was Vata. He fed them, listened to their stories and let them rest their weary bodies in his city, for they would have spent weeks on tracks and roads avoiding Roman patrols, as Hatra was nearly three hundred miles from Pontus. Vata then sent them south on another long trip, to me at Dura. In a letter he told me that Hatra had little use for foot soldiers, being able to raise thousands if necessary from the estates of the kingdom’s lords, but that perhaps ‘your Roman’ might have use of them.

‘He’s right,’ said Domitus, his face and arms now turned dark brown by the Mesopotamian sun. ‘I’ve talked with some of them. All good soldiers who have spent years fighting.’

‘How do you know they are good soldiers?’ I asked.

‘Any man who leaves his homeland, tramps hundreds of miles with his shield and spear to get here instead of giving up and opting for an easy life as a bandit, gets my vote.’

We usually held our council meetings inside the palace, but today I decided that we would all sit on the spacious terrace overlooking the river. It was late afternoon and the sun was casting long shadows, a slight westerly breeze taking the edge off the day’s heat. We sat in large wicker chairs, while Gallia, who had taken to attending the meetings now that she rode little, reclined on a couch. She liked to be included in the affairs of the kingdom and no one had any objection to her doing so. Dobbai was also present on this occasion, though only because she found the view agreeable and the temperature bearable at this time of day.

Domitus rubbed his hands over his shaved head and fixed me with his eyes. I knew what he was thinking — two legions were better than one.

‘How many exiles from Pontus have presented themselves thus far?’ I asked.

‘Near two and a half thousand.’

I stared across the river at Hatran territory. ‘And more are coming in?’

Domitus nodded. ‘Every day. We can increase the size of the camp. We need more tents, that’s all.’

I looked at him. ‘Very well. I agree, see to it. Godarz, you will organise extra rations, clothes and weapons to be sent to the legion’s camp.’

Godarz saw the confused look on Rsan’s face. ‘The king means to have two legions instead of one. Is that not so, Pacorus?’

Rsan’s face went ashen. ‘Two legions?’

‘That’s right,’ I replied. ‘It would be criminal to waste the opportunity that has presented itself.’

Rsan started shaking his head. ‘But the cost…’

‘Will be met,’ I said. ‘The treasury is full, is it not?’

‘Yes, majesty, but if it is to remain so then I would advise against such an expenditure.’

‘And when the Romans come,’ interrupted Dobbai, ‘what will you do, tallyman? Throw coins at them from the walls?’

Rsan was now alarmed. ‘Romans? We are not at war with the Romans.’

Dobbai cackled like an old crow. ‘Not yet, tallyman, but they will come.’

‘And when they do we shall be ready, have no fear, Rsan.’

My words did little to assure him.

‘So,’ I continued. ‘Domitus shall raise two legions, Nergal is forming his horse archers and I shall have my additional cataphracts. Due to Gallia’s condition, Nergal, it is probably best if you command the Amazons.’

Gallia rose from her couch. ‘The Amazons are under my command.’

Nergal looked down at his feet and Domitus stared into the distance.

‘Time to reconsider, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai.

Gallia stood defiant and I knew that she would not shift from her position. I shrugged my shoulders. ‘As you wish, my dear.’

Gallia smiled and retook her couch. ‘Praxima will command my women until I have given birth. She will answer to me and me alone.’

With Rsan still smarting from the news of a second legion, I informed him that I also wanted to establish a school in the city.

‘We have schools already, majesty.’

‘Yes, but this one will be different. It will be filled with the future officers of Dura, boys who will receive an education in the military arts, so that when they are men they will be able to lead others in battle. They shall be called the Sons of the Citadel.’

‘Parthian boys are taught to fight from an early age anyway, lord,’ said Nergal.

‘To ride and shoot a bow, I agree, Nergal. But I want boys to be taught tactics and strategy, to be able to converse with foreigners in their own tongue.’ I pointed at Domitus. ‘To know how many miles a legion can march in a day, and how to work in conjunction with foot soldiers on the battlefield.’

‘I doubt if there any tutors in Dura who can teach those subjects,’ offered Godarz.

I stood and started pacing the terrace. ‘Then we will bring them to Dura, Godarz. Greek and Egyptian scholars, Roman engineers, Chinese philosophers and holy men from Judea, Esfahan and Alexandria.’

‘But why, majesty?’ asked Rsan.

‘Dura,’ I said, ‘is prosperous. But what shall we do with that wealth, Rsan? Squander it on rich furnishings and gold statues, live a life of ease thinking that it will last forever? It will not. So we prepare, Rsan. We lay the foundations for a time when this kingdom will need its people and army to stand as one against adversity. A building with strong foundations stands more chance of surviving an earthquake.’

‘You speak well, son of Hatra,’ remarked Dobbai. I looked at the blank expression on Rsan’s face. He could not see my reasoning. But then, on this beautiful summer’s day with the sun slowly sinking in the west, a light breeze to stir the air and peace in the land, it must have been difficult to imagine horror. But I knew that if a kingdom wanted to remain strong it had to prepare for war.

And so it was. Every day exiles from Pontus, hard men with scarred faces and wounds from a score of battles, made their way to the legion’s headquarters in the Citadel. There they signed their names or made their mark agreeing to serve in Dura’s army. They served for pay, but it was not loot that had motivated them to walk all the way from Pontus to fight for me, it was revenge. They wanted a chance to kill more Romans. And they were all single men for those with wives and families stayed in their homeland and lived under Roman rule, or most likely were dead or had been enslaved. When they signed up they did so before Domitus, though surprisingly not one objected to serving under a Roman, for like them he too was an exile. In any case all of them had heard the stories of the prowess of Dura’s legion and its Roman commander, and they also knew that Domitus had served under Spartacus in Italy.

The armouries continued to work night and day, every day, week after week, month after month, producing swords, javelins, mail shirts, helmets, arrows, bows, maces, axes, scale armour for horses and men and the mighty kontus. Inside the brick buildings men worked with hammers, anvils, grinders, shears, vices and hole punches, while furnaces and bellows heated the steel that was hammered into shape to become sword blades.

Godarz enlisted so many armourers, blacksmiths, steel smiths, artisans, carpenters and saddle makers that we were forced to locate them to a campsite two miles north of the city. A large collection of tents sprang up near the river, and every day hundreds of men and some women made their way to their workplaces within Dura’s walls. The original garrison of the city, those score men who had greeted me on my arrival, were either paid off or given the opportunity to enlist in the new legion. Thereafter the guarding of the city, the Citadel and the area around Dura was the responsibility of Godarz. He and Domitus worked out a system whereby cohorts were rotated through the city to perform garrison duties, being replaced every month by a new cohort. In this way no legionary became used to the comparatively soft life of being a garrison soldier, which usually entailed nothing more than spending hours standing on sentry duty or patrolling the streets. With Haytham’s permission Domitus took the legion out on manoeuvres deep into Agraci territory, and days later I took my cavalry out of Dura to hunt it down. Malik and Byrd accompanied me, though it did not require any tracking skills to discern the path made by five thousand foot soldiers, nearly seven hundred mules and two hundred carts. We gave them two days’ start and then rode out to find them, five hundred heavy cavalry and their squires and a thousand horse archers led by Nergal. Praxima also brought her Amazons and a thousand camels trailed the host burdened with food, water and tents.

These exercises were always an excellent opportunity to keep the legion and my cavalry battle-ready. I always tried to make a mock assault on the legion at the end of the day, when the legionaries were constructing their camp for the night. Hours spent marching in full kit with packs is mentally and physically draining, and I thought that fast-moving horsemen stood an excellent chance of getting in among the legionaries. I was always proved wrong. And no matter how loud we blew our horns or how fast we charged, we always met a solid wall of shields, around which we galloped and hurled abuse at the ‘enemy’. And afterwards legionaries and horsemen shared an evening meal and Domitus told me how our approach had been seen from miles away.

‘Hundreds of horses kick up a big dust cloud. You never learn, you horse boys.’

The next day the legion and cavalry practised working together amid the heat, dust and flies. At first it was not easy. Roman tactics almost always placed cavalry on the wings in battle, but I wanted Dura’s army to be more flexible. So we spent time perfecting drills whereby the cataphracts and horse archers would retreat through the legion’s cohorts, who would endeavour to close ranks the moment the horsemen had passed through them. At first it was chaos, as cataphracts and horse archers rode between the gaps in the first-line cohorts, only to come up against a solid wall of shields of a cohort in the second line, as the legion’s second line was always drawn up in such a way that the cohorts covered the gaps of the first line. The front rank of riders pulled up and halted and those behind them did the same, so that in minutes there were hundreds of horsemen between and among the cohorts, shouting and cursing at the legionaries. Had it been a real battle the enemy would have had been hacking and spearing stationary riders with ease.

Nergal got very angry and jumped from his horse to confront the commander of the cohort whose men stood like a rock in front of his riders. The centurion strode towards Nergal and I thought they were going to clash swords, until the centurion removed his helmet and Nergal recognised him as one of the Companions, a great burly German named Thumelicus who lifted Nergal off the ground while giving him a bear hug. But the episode had revealed a major problem, which was solved by introducing a new drill whereby each cohort in the second line divided into two halves upon a specific trumpet blast, each group moving left and right respectively to deploy directly behind a cohort in the first line. This meant riders could ride though the first and second lines, which would close the gaps as soon as they were through. It took many weeks to perfect but I knew it would pay dividends in battle.

As the year waned Gallia went into labour. Beforehand Alcaeus moved into the palace to be near at hand when it was time to deliver the baby. Gafarn and Diana also arrived from Hatra. I had written to Gallia’s closest friend to ask her to come to Dura, for I knew that her presence would have a calming effect on proceedings, and hopefully would also have a calming effect on me. I confess that as the time approached I grew agitated, more so than before any battle. I knew that women died in childbirth, died screaming in agony as their insides were damaged beyond repair as their unborn child came into the world. Claudia, the wife of Spartacus, had died from loss of blood after giving birth to her son. I had been present on that terrible night, and suddenly I feared for my wife.

‘She is in good hands,’ said Alcaeus, laying a hand on hand on my shoulder. ‘It is normal for a father to feel nervous, especially on the occasion of his first-born.’

Dobbai cackled behind him. ‘Greater powers than he wields will determine whether good fortune attends the mother and child.’

‘Good medicine and a clear head will help them both, I think,’ said Alcaeus, frowning at the unkempt old woman who scuttled around our bedroom with cases in her arms.

‘What are they?’ I asked.

‘The lords of your kingdom may be merciless killers but they fear the gods, as should you, son of Hatra.’

I discovered that she carried gold and silver cases, presents from Dura’s lords, each of which contained prayers to protect our child from evil spirits and diseases. Dobbai placed them at the foot of the bed.

Other gifts arrived at the Citadel, including a chest from my parents that contained a large amount of Esfand seeds, which were stored in white silk bags, around which were arranged gold and silver coins. The burning of Esfand wards off evil spirits and curses.

Dobbai nodded her head approvingly. ‘Very wise, your mother is very wise. You have made many enemies, son of Hatra, and they would like nothing more than the death of your child and the ruin of your kingdom.’

Dobbai supervised the carrying of the chest into our private quarters, insisting that only those I trusted should be allowed to touch it. So Domitus, Nergal and Gafarn carried it into the palace to our bedroom. This was the first time that Gafarn had met Dobbai, and while Nergal and Domitus said nothing and did what they were told, Gafarn took exception to this ugly old woman giving him instructions. His reward was a fierce rebuke.

Dobbai jabbed a long, bony finger at him. ‘Silence, king of Hatra, lest I weave a spell that shrivels your balls to nothing and turns your woman against you.’

Gafarn grinned at me. ‘You trust this old hag? She thinks I am your father.’

I said nothing. Dobbai’s finger was still pointed at him. ‘I did not say you are the current king of Hatra, but the crown will sit upon your head, that is, unless someone lops it off your shoulders before then. Now make yourself useful or go play with the snakes and scorpions in the desert.’

As Domitus and Nergal placed the chest on the floor at the foot of our bed, Gafarn shook his head at Dobbai.

‘Silly old witch, my brother is the heir to the throne, not I.’

Dobbai smirked at him. ‘How little you know, spawn of the desert, for your brother does not want Hatra’s crown. He will never leave the griffin’s side.’

Gafarn, clearly bored, waved an arm at her and left the room. At that moment a bird, a stork, landed on the balcony outside the bedroom. It walked on the stone floor for a few seconds, stopped, peered at us all standing like statues looking at it, and then spread its wings. It then flew onto the balustrade, regarded us once more and then flew away.

Domitus looked at Nergal and raised an eyebrow. Alcaeus frowned and I looked at Dobbai for reassurance. She nodded at me and smiled.

‘A good omen, son of Hatra, fortune will follow your child. The gods favour her.’

Alcaeus dismissed it as ‘nonsense’, but I noticed that thereafter he was much more relaxed than he had been, and Nergal immediately went off to inform Praxima about the auspicious sign, who then informed Gallia and Diana, who were in the latter’s bedroom avoiding the commotion as Dobbai prepared the birth chamber.

Domitus slapped me on the arm as he departed. ‘Venus is smiling on you, Pacorus.’

‘Who’s Venus?’

‘The Roman goddess of love,’ he said as he departed.

Two days later Gallia went into labour. Mercifully it lasted only four hours and then I had a daughter. Afterwards Diana washed Gallia and Alcaeus cleaned the baby as Dobbai scooped up the afterbirth and poked it with a needle to frighten away any evil spirits that might harm the child. She then took the afterbirth out of the room and gave it to a waiting Domitus, whom she had ordered to attend, who was instructed to go beyond the city walls and bury it deep in the earth in an unmarked spot, together with a piece of charcoal to keep scavengers away.

I held my daughter in my arms and kissed her gingerly on the forehead. She had blue eyes and fair hair, though not as blonde as her mother’s, and her skin was slightly olive in colour. Gallia smiled at us both. Dobbai came back in the room and took the child from me. Her touch and manner was remarkably gentle as she quietly chanted prayers to ward away evil. My daughter was wrapped in a pure white linen gown called a peerahan e ghiyamat, meaning ‘dress of resurrection’, and on her head was placed a small scarf, in which was fastened a blessed pin to frighten away evil spirits for forty days. Dobbai then opened a small clay pot, inside of which was blessed clay from the city of Karbala. Dobbai touched the clay with her forefinger then placed the finger in the baby’s mouth, muttering prayers as she did so. Alcaeus rolled his eyes with contempt, but Dobbai caressed the child’s head with her hand and smiled at Gallia.

‘All is well.’

That night I slept on the bedroom floor, though in truth I closed my eyes little. Gallia, tired from her exertions, thankfully did sleep. When the morning light crept through the shutters my back ached and my mouth was bone dry. Dobbai entered without knocking attended by Diana, and they both sat by the bed until Gallia awoke. Diana put her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek while Dobbai inspected the child. Assured that my wife and daughter were in safe hands, I stepped outside the room to go to the kitchens. Outside the door were two guards, legionaries in full war gear carrying javelins, while guards also lined the walls of the corridor. There were more guards in the throne room, banqueting hall and on the steps outside the palace. There was also double the number of guards on the walls of the Citadel and at the gates, which were closed.

Domitus, his eyes surrounded by black rings and his face unshaven, walked up and saluted.

‘You look terrible.’

‘No sleep last night. Too busy.’

‘Let’s get some food,’ I said. ‘Why all the guards? Are we under siege?’

‘Dobbai wanted the whole Citadel ringed with guards to ward off evil spirits.’

‘I thought I was king here.’

‘Best not to mess with things that we don’t understand,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Congratulations, we are all thrilled that Gallia and the baby thrive.’

I took his hand. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

Dobbai insisted that the Citadel was closely guarded for forty days, during which time the child’s ears were pierced on the sixth day, a day that was particularly dangerous for mother and child I was informed. On that day the evil spirits were at their most malevolent, so Dobbai fashioned a long piece of cotton that was blackened at regular intervals with charcoal for protection. Called a mohr, she hung pieces of it around our bedroom. Then the Esfand seeds were burnt in a metal container on a chain, along with camphor, till nothing remained but ash. Then Dobbai took the container and blew the fumes towards Gallia and the baby, and then in the six directions — north, south, east, west, up and down. Once the ash had cooled Dobbai used it to make beauty marks between Gallia’s eyebrows, her palms, breasts and feet. Two pieces of thread, one white, the other blue, were twisted around each other to make a bracelet, which was then placed around Gallia’s right wrist. Then the baby’s eyes were darkened with ash. Thus were my wife and child protected from demons, curses and malevolent influences.

On the seventh day Dobbai permitted mother and child their first bath, though again a strict ritual was observed. Beforehand Gallia’s belly was massaged with honey, covered with crushed herbs and wrapped in white linen. Diana accompanied my wife as she was washed, oiled and massaged, and more blessed clay was rubbed on her forehead. This was to invoke the protection of Anahita, the goddess of all waters, war, love and fertility. Then the infant was washed and placed over the mother’s head, and as Diana held the baby Dobbai poured water over the baby which then ran down onto Gallia and thus protected her from barrenness.

We named our daughter Claudia in honour of our friend, the wife of Spartacus.