Parthian Dawn

Chapter 2

Hatra, city of one hundred thousand people, was a glittering jewel in the desert the day I married Gallia. Perhaps it was because I was madly in love with my tall, blonde-haired princess from Gaul, or perhaps it was because the city was filled with kings and princes and their gaudily dressed entourages, but whatever the reason the limestone walls and towers of the city seemed to sparkle that day. From every one of its one hundred and fifty towers flew scarlet banners bearing white horses’ heads — the royal symbol of Hatra, after the famed whites ridden by every member of the king’s bodyguard. Today, though, the men of the bodyguard had been given leave to attend my wedding. Only those who were of Hatra’s nobility were allowed to serve in the royal bodyguard, and now they were in the Great Temple with their families and friends, along with hundreds of others who had been invited. The massive temple, its exterior walls surrounded by high stone columns, was filled to the brim. Assur stood impassive at the high altar while his priests fussed and panicked as they tried to get everyone seated in the correct order. Father, my mother and myself were in the front row on the right side of the great aisle that ran down the centre of the temple. Also in the front row were Gafarn, Diana, the infant child of Spartacus and my sisters. Immediately behind, and much to Assur’s disapproval, were those who had come with me from Italy. I called them the ‘Companions’, for that is what they were. And so there was Nergal, my brave and loyal second-in-command who had taken a wild-haired Spanish girl as his wife. I turned and looked at them both, the grinning Nergal who always seemed so optimistic, his brown, shoulder-length hair almost as long as that of his wife. Praxima smiled at me and fixed me with her big round eyes. I smiled back. She leaned forward and laid a hand on my shoulder.

‘I am happy for you, lord.’

‘Thank you, Praxima. And I am happy that you are both here to share this day with me.’

She had been a Roman slave in a brothel. Now, in her white flowing dress, it was hard to believe that she had fought like a man in Italy; indeed, she had been and was Gallia’s subordinate when my love had formed her own band of women warriors. I looked beyond Praxima to where a score of the Amazons sat at my wedding, the survivors of Gallia’s command. They were all young and some were beautiful, and as I turned to face the altar I remembered that they were also deadly. I had seen Praxima slit men’s throats with a dagger and shoot them down without pity with her bow.

The other Companions were a mixed bunch — Parthians, Dacians, Germans, Thracians and Greeks — former Roman slaves who had laughed and shed blood together, who were united by an unbreakable bond of comradeship forged in the cauldron of battle. They shared jokes with the cropped-haired Lucius Domitus, the Roman whom they loved like a brother. But the man whom we all regarded as a father figure was on the other side of the aisle, to the left of the woman I was about to marry. His name was Godarz and he too had been a Roman slave. In his late forties, tall, lean with cropped hair, he was actually a Parthian who had been a slave in Italy for many years. So many, in fact, that he dressed like a Roman. Curiously, he had served in the Silvan army under Vistaspa long ago, the same man who now commanded my father’s army. I can only surmise that it was the hand of God himself who had led me to a town in Italy called Nola, which Spartacus had captured and where Godarz had been a slave. We had released him from his bondage and he had subsequently become the quartermaster general of the slave army, and a man I respected hugely. Now he was going to give Gallia away, for her own father was dead, killed by Gafarn, now my brother.

A large hand slapped my shoulder. ‘Not a bad crowd, Pacorus, should be a good day. Mind you, there’s still time for Gallia to change her mind and marry me instead.’

Vata planted his stocky body beside me, his big round face wearing a grin. My friend since childhood, his father had been Bozan. During my time away he had become sullen and withdrawn, but today some of the old Vata — happy and carefree — had returned. My father had made him governor of Nisibus, a city in the north of his kingdom, but today he was in Hatra as an honoured guest.

I laughed. ‘My friend, you delude yourself, she only has eyes for me.’

He leaned forward and caught Gallia’s eye, then waved at her. She smiled and waved back. He put his arm round my shoulder.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘women can’t resist a hero.’

‘When I see one,’ I replied, ‘I’ll let you know.’

He laughed aloud, prompting Assur to frown at him. Vata ignored the high priest and pointed at the silver Roman eagle standard that lay at the foot of the high altar.

‘You remember that day, Pacorus, when you took it?’

He was referring to the battle four years ago when we had defeated a Roman legion and I had captured the legion’s eagle.

‘Like it was yesterday, my friend.’

Assur suddenly beat the end of his staff on the white marble floor and gradually the hubbub died down. His voice was deep and solemn.

‘Marriage is the chief concern of human life, as from it arise the nearest and most endearing relationships which go to form the comfort and happiness of existence in this world: husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters. Marriage may be designated the hinge of all kindred, the strongest link in the chain that binds mankind together. Hail to Shamash.’

As one the congregation answered, ‘Hail to Shamash.’

He motioned to me and Gallia to come forward and sit in the two chairs that had been placed before him. Between the chairs two priests held a large white cloth. The marriage ceremony has strict rules, and both of us had been tutored in the proper procedure beforehand. I had fought in many battles and come close to death on many occasions, but today I was more nervous than I had ever been in all my life. And all the while I was aware that Shamash, the god of the sun whom I revered, was watching me from heaven. Were my dead friends, Spartacus and his wife Claudia, also observing me? I liked to think so.

I took my seat on the right side of Gallia and then the two marriage witnesses stepped forward, those who were the nearest relations to bride and bridegroom. Gafarn was standing by my side, while Godarz stood arrow straight beside Gallia. Assur nodded and the priests raised the curtain to allow Gallia and me to hold hands, after which the priests released the cloth to fall over our linked hands. Thus was it indicated to all present that the separation that had hitherto existed between Gallia and myself no longer existed, and that we were now united.

Then the two priests passed a long piece of twine around both of us seven times, a process that indicates union between man and woman. One strand can be broken easily enough, but not seven.

Assur raised both his hands, his eyes to the ceiling.

‘May Shamash, the Omniscient God, grant you a progeny of sons and grandsons, plenty of means of provision, great friendships and a long life.’

Turning to Gafarn, Assur spoke solemnly to him. ‘I ask you, in the presence of King Varaz, in the presence of the invited kings of the Arsacid dynasty, and in the presence of all who have come to Hatra to witness this marriage, if you have agreed that King Pacorus will take this maiden, Princess Gallia, in marriage, in accordance with the rites and rules of the Great Shamash?’

‘I have agreed,’ replied Gafarn.

Assur’s stare was then transferred to Godarz.

‘Have you, with righteous mind and truthful thoughts, words and actions, and for the increase of righteousness, agreed to give this maiden to King Pacorus to be his bride?’

Godarz nodded. ‘I have agreed.’

Assur then gave his staff to one of the two priests who stood next to him and walked forward, indicating to Gallia and me to kneel. He then placed a hand on my shoulder and the other on Gallia’s, fixing us both with his stare.

‘Have you preferred to enter into this contract of marriage up to the end of your life with a righteous mind?’

We both replied. ‘I have preferred.’

Assur stepped back and once again raised his hands.

‘Know all that Shamash has now blessed this union and has decreed that King Pacorus and Princess Gallia, who is now queen, are married, and that no mortal man may question this union. May Shamash bless them. Hail to Shamash.’

The assembly replied ‘Hail to Shamash’, and then Assur gestured for us to rise. The two priests stepped forward and gathered the twine that had been wrapped around us, which was given to Godarz. The white cloth curtain they gave to Gafarn, then Gallia and I turned and walked down the aisle towards the temple’s main entrance. This faced east to greet Shamash every morning when the sun rose to begin its journey across the sky. The temple echoed with the sound of applause as I walked beside my wife, now also my queen. I glanced at her. The thin gold strips in her hair glinted in the light. On her head she wore a gold diadem inlaid with diamonds and large and small emeralds. Around her neck she wore a gold and diamond necklace. She was so beautiful and in truth I could not keep my eyes off her. She glanced at me with her eyes of the purest blue, eyes that could entrap a man as a spider’s web catches its prey.

‘Well,’ I whispered, ‘how do you like being a queen?’

She dazzled me with her smile. ‘I hope I can be a good one.’

We left the temple and walked across the Great Square to the palace quarter. Our route was lined by troops of the city’s garrison, soldiers armed and equipped in the Greek fashion, with full-face bronze helmets surmounted by white crests, leather cuirasses fitted with iron scales and leather greaves around their shins. Their large round shields were made of wood with an outer bronze facing, and their weapons comprised swords and six-foot thrusting spears. Many kings and princes surrounded themselves with guards who looked pretty in their brightly coloured baggy leggings and tunics, armed only with spears and wicker shields, but the troops of Hatra’s garrison were trained to fight on the battlefield as well as patrol the city’s streets. Their commander, Lord Kogan, a dour, serious man of the same age as my father, drove his men hard, as Vistaspa did with my father’s horsemen. Parthia’s strength was her cavalry, but the garrison’s two thousand men were a useful reserve for my father to call on. It was Kogan who met us outside the temple and escorted us into the palace, walking a few steps behind.

‘Your troops look splendid, Lord Kogan,’ I remarked as behind us my mother, father and the wedding guests filed out of the temple.

‘Thank you, majesty.’ His voice was crisp and emotionless.

It was past noon now and the day was hot, the sun beating down from a blue sky. There was no wind and even though I was wearing only white flowing robes, I could feel sweat running down the back of my neck. I looked at the soldiers sanding like stone either side of us. They must have been roasting under their helmets and in their leather cuirasses.

The banqueting hall of the palace was a spacious, airy room with a high ceiling supported by stone pillars. White marble tiles covered the floor and the walls were also white, against which stood more of Kogan’s soldiers. At the far end of the hall was the high table for the bride, groom and their immediate families. In front of the high table, which sat on a stone dais, were arranged the feasting tables for the hundreds of guests that were now being shown to their seats as servants served us sweet wine. My father, a gold crown atop his close-cropped head, bent down and kissed Gallia on her cheek, as did my mother, who also wore a crown. As the level of chatter increased, people took their seats and were also served wine. My Companions sat either side of a long table that had been arranged directly in front of me, at right angles to the high table. My father and Assur had disapproved strongly to their being placed in such a prominent position in the seating order, but I had insisted. These were the individuals I had fought beside, shared dangers with and counted as my dearest friends. I smiled as I looked at them: long-haired Thracians and Germans, wild-looking Dacians, leather-skinned Greeks, Parthians from Hatra and the feared Amazons, all of whom had earlier walked onto the dais, ignored my father and embraced Gallia warmly, each one warning me that I had better protect her otherwise I would have them to answer to. My mother sat open-mouthed at their contempt for protocol, the more so when they also embraced Diana, for she too was one of this strange sisterhood. And then they sat with the rest of the Companions, former slaves who now took precedence over Parthian kings and aristocrats.

The banquet lasted hours as a horde of sweating servants brought the guests silver platters heaped with cooked lamb, chicken, camel, goat, stews flavoured with cinnamon, mint and pomegranates; elaborately stuffed fruits and vegetables; skewers of barbecued peacock; apricots, artichokes, eggplants, lemons, oranges, pistachios and spinach. Others filled silver cups with wine or water, and as the former flowed freely the volume of chatter increased markedly. My father and mother fussed over Gallia, while a steady procession of guests made their way to the top table to pay their respects to her and myself. Courteous to me, they focused all their attention on my bride who looked radiant and was clearly enjoying herself. I had seen Gallia wear a stern and cold visage on the battlefield, but today she was carefree and inviting, quick to laugh and eager to return the affection of those who were introduced to her. I could only watch and admire her, and swell with pride as I saw her conquer those kings, my father’s closest allies, who had made the journey to be at our wedding.

Parthia was a great empire made up of a number of separate kingdoms, but each of the kings who ruled those kingdoms realised that there was strength in unity, and so they elected a King of Kings to rule over them and the whole empire. In this way the empire remained strong in the face of its external enemies, such as the Armenians to the north, the Romans in the west and the Indians in the east. The aged King of Kings Sinatruces rarely left his capital at Ctesiphon. His son, King Phraates, had made the journey to Hatra in his father’s place. He now stood before us and bowed his head. We stood and bowed to him.

‘Thank you for honouring our wedding, majesty,’ I said.

He smiled, white teeth showing in the middle of his neatly trimmed short beard and moustache flecked with grey, like his shoulder-length black hair.

‘The honour is mine, Pacorus. Much has happened since we first met, and now you have brought a beautiful bride from a foreign land to grace the empire.’ He suddenly looked sheepish. ‘My father sends his regards and hopes you both have long and prosperous lives.’

His eyes averted mine. He was obviously embarrassed that Sinatruces, after Gallia and I had arrived at Hatra from Italy, had lured us both to Ctesiphon with the sole intention of stealing Gallia from me and making her one of his concubines. He had sought to assuage my wrath by making me king of Dura Europos, but his plan had unravelled, not least due to the threats of eternal damnation heaped upon him by his foul old sorceress, Dobbai. The upshot had been that I still had my beloved but had also come away from Ctesiphon with a kingdom.

‘Majesty,’ I replied, ‘your father is both gracious and wise, and the empire is indeed fortunate that he rules over us all.’

The answer obviously dispelled any discomfort Phraates may have felt, for a wide grin showed itself beneath his bulbous nose.

Behind Phraates came King Aschek of Atropaiene, a land many miles northeast of Hatra that bordered the Caspian Sea. He had thick, black wavy hair and a hooked nose. King Farhad, lean, severe and dark-eyed, came next. He ruled Media, a land to the southwest of Atropaiene that also lay on Hatra’s eastern border, on the eastern bank of the River Tigris. King Gotarzes of Elymais was similarly stern looking, though his gaunt features resembled a worn-out scholar rather than those of a warlord. However, his eyes were alert and his grip formidable. Elymais was a kingdom that lay to the east of Hatra’s lands, the western border of which lay on the coastline of the Persian Gulf. It was also directly south of Phraates’ own kingdom of Susiana.

King Vardan, by comparison, was barrel-chested and round faced, with a hearty laugh and hands like a bear’s paws. He almost crushed me as he wrapped his arms around me in an iron embrace, grabbed Gallia’s hands and kissed them, then embraced my father. Vardan ruled Babylon, once a mighty city but now fallen into decay, though the kingdom’s lands were still rich in agriculture and supported a large population. Vardan had brought with him his daughter, Axsen, a woman about my age who unfortunately resembled her father in appearance, being rather sturdy. Years ago, before my destiny took me to Italy and Gallia’s side, there had been talk of a marriage between Princess Axsen and myself. Those plans had come to nothing, but much mirth had been had at the princess’s expense. We had called her Princess Water Buffalo, and I was now ashamed that I had been so cruel. She embraced Gallia and then me, and was plainly happy to be sharing our day. She told Gallia that she looked beautiful and that she would like to be her friend. My wife took her hand and promised that she would be, while all the time I could feel my cheeks colour. She told Gallia that she was still looking for her own prince, and my discomfort increased. When Axsen and her father had regained their seats I sighed with relief, thinking my embarrassment had gone unnoticed. I was wrong. Gallia jabbed me in the ribs.

‘I remember, long ago in Italy, you, Gafarn and Nergal taking great delight in making fun of that young girl.’

I tried to bluff it out. ‘Do you? I don’t really remember…’

She jabbed me even harder. ‘Don’t try to squirm out of it. I saw you avoiding her eyes. I think she is charming, and you should be ashamed of yourself for your childishness.’

‘Yes, my love.’

She caught Gafarn’s eye. ‘And you too, Gafarn.’

My brother looked at her, then me, in confusion. I pointed at Axsen and then shrugged. I think he was going to laugh, but then saw the disapproval on Gallia’s face. He looked down at his plate and began picking at his food.

King Balas was the last monarch to pay his respects. Sixty if he was a day, he had a kind, round face with hazel eyes and a bushy beard and moustache. He was dressed in a simple light blue robe and plain leather sandals on his feet. He could easily have been mistaken for a carpet salesman rather than a king. Balas ruled Gordyene, a kingdom on Parthia’s northeastern frontier, bordering Armenia. I knew he had been a great warrior years ago, and had defeated the Armenians many times, plus anyone else who had been foolish enough to invade his territory. He embraced me.

I bowed my head to him. ‘Thank you for honouring my wedding, majesty.’

‘You don’t have to call me majesty, Pacorus, you’re a king as well.’ He looked at Gallia.

‘Make an old man happy.’ He embraced her and then kissed her on the cheek, which made my mother frown and my father laugh. He next embraced my father and then bent over the table and kissed my mother on the lips.

‘You are still my sweetheart, Mihri.’

For once my mother blushed and was lost for words and then waved Balas away, suppressing a grin as she did so. He came back to me.

‘As I’m staying in Hatra for a few days, you must tell me how you managed to win the heart of such a beauty.’ He winked at Gallia.

‘Varaz, perhaps we can have an archery competition. You can try and win back that money you lost to me the last time we pitted our bows against each other.’

My father raised his cup. ‘I look forward to it.’

‘Is the competition open to all?’ asked Gallia.

Balas eyed her. ‘Can you handle a bow?’

‘Better than Pacorus, majesty,’ said Gafarn.

Balas threw back his head and laughed. ‘Looks like we have some competition, Varaz. I look forward to seeing if what they say about you is true, Gallia. What about you, Pacorus, are you in?’

I shrugged. ‘I will take no pleasure in beating you, majesty.’

He slapped me hard on the shoulder. ‘We’ll see about that.’

It was a happy occasion, as were the days that followed, a time of laughter and joy, of new friendships made and old ones reaffirmed. All thoughts of the outside world receded from my mind as I walked arm in arm with Gallia in the royal gardens, among strutting peacocks and ornamental fountains.

‘We could stay here, you know,’ I said as we stood on a narrow bridge watching the giant goldfish gently swim in one of the ornamental ponds below.

‘Stay here, in Hatra?’

I leaned back on the stone rail and gazed at her. ‘Why not? You like it here, do you not?’

She kissed me tenderly on the lips. ‘I could be happy here, but you have your own kingdom to rule now. What would happen to it if you stayed here?’

‘No doubt Sinatruces would give it to someone else.’

‘But he gave it to you, Pacorus,’ she said softly. ‘What do you want?’

I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. ‘I want you.’

‘You have me forever, you know that. But it is time for you to move on. There is an old saying among my people — you can never step in the same piece of water twice.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means, my love, that you have outgrown Hatra and can never go back to your youth. It is time to spread your wings.’

I pressed my body into hers. ‘I never knew you were a philosopher.’

‘If you take me back to your bedroom I will show you how a philosopher makes love.’ Her voice was sultry and my loins stirred at her invitation.

And so the days passed making love and sharing time with friends. Balas did not forget the archery competition, and so my father arranged for a target to be set up in the gardens, a large round bale of straw packed tight and covered with hide. On the front had been painted a number of rings with a small black circle in the centre. Set on a wooden stand, the target was chest high. A score of servants arranged tables upon which were placed jugs of wine, cups, and platters of meats, bread and fruit. Balas was in a mischievous mood and had gathered a group of supporters to cheer him on. These included my mother and sisters, King Farhad of Media, his son Atrax, who was more cheerful than his stern father though just as tall, King Vardan of Babylon, Princess Axsen and Diana. I competed against Gallia, Balas, my father and Gafarn.

Balas took a large gulp of wine and stood before those assembled.

‘Welcome everyone. Now today I am going to give a demonstration of archery to show how it should be done. Obviously I will win, so this competition is to determine who will come second. Has everyone got a bow to shoot?’

A Parthian’s bow was one of his most precious possessions. And all Parthia’s aristocrats and royalty learned how to shoot one from an early age, most before they could walk.

I held up my bow and nodded to Balas. Like all Parthian bows, ours were double-curved, with recurve tips at the end of the upper and lower limbs, and a set-back centre section that was grasped by the left hand. The limbs, thick in proportion to their width, were fashioned from several pieces of maple, birch or mulberry, with sinew from the hamstrings or tendons of cows or deer on the outside of the limbs, and horn from a buffalo, long-horned cow or ibex on their inner side. All the parts were fastened to each other with glue made from bitumen, bark pitch and animal grease. The whole bow was then wrapped in fibres made from the tendons of slaughtered animals to protect it from the elements. The bows of my father and Balas were covered in lacquer to make them totally waterproof. Gallia, Gafarn and I had bows that had no lacquer covering, which came from China, because we had made our bows in Italy when we had fought with Spartacus.

‘Shall we put the target at fifty paces, Varaz?’ Balas asked my father.

‘You sure you can see that far, old man?’

‘Old man?’ Balas turned to my mother and feigned mortification. ‘Do you hear that, Mihri? He uses any opportunity to insult me, I who have been like a father to him all these years.’

Balas may have been old, but he was still a big, thickset man and his arms were still muscular.

A group of servants hauled the target into position and then scampered away.

‘Well, father,’ said my father, ‘you can shoot first.’

We all hit the target with ease, a servant holding up a small red flag to indicate a centre hit; a white flag denoted a strike outside the bull’s eye, and a green flag a hit on the target’s outer edge. All the flags were red, so the target was moved back another twenty-five paces.

‘So, Pacorus,’ said Balas, hitting the bull’s eye again, ‘when do you leave for your new kingdom?’

I released my bowstring. Red flag. ‘One or two weeks, majesty.’

Gallia shot. Red flag.

‘Good shot, my lady,’ said Balas. He watched her pluck another arrow from her quiver and placed the nock in the string. At our wedding she had been a picture of feminine beauty, flowing blonde locks, white dress and gold jewellery, but today she was dressed in leggings, leather boots, blue tunic and her hair ran down her back in a long plait. I had seen her dressed thus most of the time when she had fought in Italy. Balas was clearly intrigued by her.

‘I have heard,’ he continued, ‘that you have fought in battle, and that you led a fierce band of women warriors.’

She fired her arrow. Red flag. ‘It is true, lord, that I have fought my enemies, and others joined me in that fight. Some of them are with me still.’

He smiled at her. ‘Well, hopefully you will not have to fight any more now that you are in Parthia.’

My father waved at the servants, who moved the target back another twenty-five paces. Gallia fired another arrow. Red flag.

‘While there are Romans in this world, lord, there can be no peace.’

‘And yet,’ Balas continued, ‘is not one of Pacorus’ commanders a Roman?’

‘You are well informed, lord,’ said Gallia. ‘And, yes, you are right. His name is Lucius Domitus and he is a Roman.’

‘And you trust this man?’

‘Of course,’ she replied.

Balas pressed the matter. ‘Why?’

She looked him in the eye. ‘Because we have fought together in battle, and because I know that he would lay down his life for me, and that makes him my brother, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.’

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds and then Balas roared with laughter. He put down his bow and wrapped his thick arms around her.

‘You have got yourself a lion as a bride, Pacorus. Would that I had a hundred like her for my palace guard.’

My mother and sisters smiled, and even Farhad looked momentarily less severe.

‘Indeed, majesty,’ interrupted Gafarn, ‘I heard that Spartacus once said that if he had a thousand like Gallia he could take Rome itself.’

‘Spartacus?’ Farhad looked at me, clearly intrigued.

‘The general I served with in Italy, majesty,’ I said. All eyes were on me now, the happy Axsen and her father Vardan, the old rogue Balas and my sisters and parents. I could see that my mother was looking into the distance, perhaps wishing that the subject had not been raised.

‘It’s no secret,’ I said. ‘I was taken captive by the Romans in Cappadocia, that much you know at the very least. I and others.’ I put down my bow, walked over to Gafarn and laid a hand on his shoulder, then on Diana’s, who smiled at me.

‘We were to be slaves forever,’ I continued. ‘To be worked like dogs until we died. But one man saved me, saved all of us, and led an army of us, an army of slaves. And he led us to victory after victory over the Romans, and I was proud to serve under him and even prouder to call him friend.’ I moved to be beside Gallia and took her hands in mine. ‘And in Italy, hundreds of miles from my home and my family, I found the most beautiful and bravest woman that God put on the earth. She then fought by my side and we defeated the Romans, beat them until we became masters of their land, former slaves turned into invincible warriors by a gladiator named Spartacus.’

Farhad drew himself up to his full height and folded his arms in front of him. ‘If this slave general, this Spartacus, was so excellent a warlord, why was he defeated and killed, for I know that he is no more and that Rome still stands?’

‘Rome still stands, yes,’ I agreed. ‘But only because he lost the one thing that was precious to him above all things, and which made him long for death.’

‘What was that, Pacorus?’ asked Vardan.

‘His wife, lord, his beautiful, wise wife, the Lady Claudia. For they were soul mates and where she went he was determined to follow.’ I saw that Gallia’s eyes were cast down to the ground as she remembered her dead friend. Diana clasped Gafarn’s hand tight. I continued, for it was a story that deserved to be told and I wanted to talk of my friend and lord, Spartacus. ‘And so, the morning after she had given life to her son at the expense of her own, he marched out of camp to do battle with the Romans, one man against an army. And I walked beside him, not because he commanded me to but because I loved him as a brother, and behind us thousands of others did likewise for the same reason. For we cared not about glory or riches, but only wanted to die with honour beside the man who had given each of us our freedom, perhaps the most precious thing that a person can hold. And so we fought at his side all that day. He was cut down by his enemies, as were hundreds of others, but we beat them again, beat them until they retreated. Then we carried the body of our lord from the field of battle and laid it upon a great pyre, and then laid the body of his wife beside his. We stood and watched the flames consume their bodies and their spirits ascend to heaven. And that, my lord king, is why Rome still stands, because of the death of one woman.’

Farhad nodded his head at me. ‘Well said.’

Axsen had tears in her eyes. ‘That is the most romantic thing I have heard. Pacorus, you and Gallia must come to Babylon and tell me more of your time in Italy. Father, tell them they must come.’

Vardan smiled. ‘Of course, they will be honoured guests.’

My mother had a look of relief on her face. ‘You are all very kind, I thank you.’

Balas embraced her. ‘Nonsense, we’re all here because we like and respect you and Varaz, and this young stallion,’ he tilted his head at me, ‘is a worthy son. Now, put that target back some more so I can show you all who’s the master archer here.’

Gafarn won the archery competition.

Several days later Vardan, his daughter, Farhad, Gotarzes and Balas requested that I take them to see my legion that was being trained in the desert. I gladly acquiesced, and was soon joined by Gallia, my father, Gafarn and my sister, Aliyeh. I found this odd as she had never taken an interest in my followers before, but then I noticed that Farhad’s son, Atrax, had also come along and that Aliyeh made sure she rode beside him. My sister was always serious, but today, in the late afternoon’s pleasant light, she smiled much and seemed carefree. Gallia noticed them too.

‘It would seem that your sister has found an admirer.’

‘An alliance between Media and Hatra would please my father. Atrax seems agreeable enough.’

‘Hopefully, if she does marry, it will be for love.’

‘Princesses usually marry for political reasons.’

She was indignant. ‘I didn’t.’

‘No, because you are an exception, in every conceivable way.’

When we reached the camp it had the ordered appearance of a Roman legionary outpost more than ever. Occupying a large rectangular space on the baked ground of the desert, it was now surrounded by an earth rampart. We rode on the track up to the main entrance, a wide gap in the middle of the rampart, which was guarded by two of my legionaries, men in helmets and mail shirts and equipped with shields and javelins. They could have been Roman soldiers, were it not for their white tunics and shields rather than the red favoured by the legions of Rome. They snapped to attention as I rode at the head of the column into the camp. As Remus walked slowly towards the centre of the camp I looked around at the neat rows of tents and was reminded of my time with Spartacus. His camps had been laid out in a similar fashion and his army had mirrored the organisation of Rome’s legions.

‘They have conquered half the world,’ he once told me, ‘so I see no reason not to employ their methods.’

Gallia reached over and grabbed my hand. ‘For a moment I thought I was back in Italy.’

I nodded. ‘I know. I still miss him.’

On we rode, to the centre of the camp where Domitus had pitched his new commander’s tent, a large beige structure built around a rectangle of poles with two flaps for an entrance, each tied back with leather straps. Two guards stood at the entrance, and one shouted inside as we approached. Seconds later the muscular form of Lucius Domitus strode out into the sunlight. He squinted at us as his eyes adjusted to the light, then raised his vine cane to me in salute. He was dressed in a simple white tunic, leather belt, sandals on his feet and his Roman short sword at his hip. He caught sight of Gallia and bowed his head to her, who nodded back. He ignored the Parthian kings, prince and princesses behind me.

I dismounted from Remus and clasped his forearm, he responded with an iron grip.

‘All is well, Domitus?’

‘All is well, Pacorus.’

‘I have brought some guests who have expressed an interest in seeing your legion.’

‘It’s your legion.’

‘How are you, Domitus?’ asked Gallia.

‘Well, lady, thank you.’

I turned to my guests. ‘This is Legate Domitus, who will be our guide today.’

The horses were taken to the stable area and then Domitus escorted us through the camp and then outside to the training fields, where hundreds of men were practising throwing javelins, marching in units of eighty men called centuries and honing their skills with wooden swords and wicker shields.

Balas, dressed in a simple flowing robe and leggings, a battered turban on his head, was intrigued by the latter activity. He pointed at the men crouching in front of large wooden posts driven into the ground, wicker shields tucked close to their bodies while instructors bellowed orders at them to jab at the posts with their wooden swords.

Balas looked at the sharp-featured Domitus. ‘So, you are a Roman?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And what is a legate?’ enquired Farhad, who unlike Balas was dressed like a king, with an expensive gold tunic, silver belt and a beautiful sword hanging from it in a silver-edged scabbard.

‘The commander of a legion, sir. Don’t slash with those swords, stab with them. Slashing is for cavalry and other useless bastards.’

Domitus’ outburst at those at the posts made Gallia and Axsen jump, while the others stared at him in disbelief.

‘Begging your pardon, but if they don’t get it right at the beginning then they won’t be much use when it comes to the real thing.’

‘My palace guards carry wicker shields,’ mused Gotarzes. ‘I did not realise that Roman soldiers are also armed with them.’

Domitus suppressed a smile. ‘They aren’t, sir. They only use them for training.’

‘Why?’ Farhad was clearly intrigued, while I noticed his son was totally disinterested, paying close attention to Aliyeh, who was clearly delighted with the adoration of a handsome young prince.

Domitus pointed at the recruits sweating under the sun that was now making its descent into the western sky. ‘Those shields are weighted with iron strips on the inside, making them heavier than their proper shields, and the swords are similarly weighted. Toughens up the men, you see, strengthens their arms and shoulders. Battles can be long affairs. Isn’t that right, Pacorus?’

I saw my father frown at Domitus’ familiarity, but those of us who had fought together in Italy shared a bond that was stronger than iron; indeed, any of those who had come with me from Italy was free to address me thus.

‘That’s right, Domitus.’

‘I remember when we fought all day in north Italy, near Mutina,’ added Gallia. ‘It was hot that day.’

‘That it was, lady,’ said Domitus. ‘But we didn’t falter. Hard training, you see.’

‘Train hard, fight easy, you remember Bozan’s words, father?’ I said.

Bozan had not only been the commander of my father’s army, but also his friend. ‘I do,’ he said.

Domitus approved. ‘He was obviously a sensible man.’

Axsen linked arms with Gallia. ‘You are truly an intriguing woman, Gallia. I have never met a woman who has fought in battle before.’

‘I would like to know what one of those shields and swords feels like,’ Balas said.

‘I would advise against it, majesty,’ I said. Domitus was shorter than the Parthians present, as were most Romans, but Domitus did not have an ounce of fat on him and his frame was packed with muscles. I had seen him fight in battle, and knew him to be a master with a Roman short sword.

‘Nonsense,’ said Balas. He pointed at Domitus. ‘What do you say, Roman, fancy your chances against an old campaigner?’ Domitus shrugged.

‘If you wish, sir.’

Moments later Domitus stood with a wicker shield held tight to his left side with a short wooden sword in his right hand. Balas, who unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to my father, was similarly equipped and waved the sword around in front of his body. Domitus crouched low and held his sword close to his body. All his life Balas had fought from the saddle, and though he might know how to battle on horseback he was hopelessly outmatched against an ex-Roman centurion. Balas tried to fight as he would from the saddle, with great scything attacks with his sword, but Domitus easily anticipated these moves and countered them with very effective feints and thrusts. It was over soon enough, as Balas shouted and tried to slash at Domitus’ head, but the latter ducked and smashed his shield into the king’s body, knocking him to the ground. Then Domitus pounced and was standing over Balas, the point of his sword at his throat. Domitus then stood back, threw down his sword and offered his hand to Balas, who accepted and was hauled to his feet. Balas roared with laughter and clasped Domitus’ muscled forearm. My father gave Balas his sword back.

‘A most expert display, Roman,’ said Farhad, nodding towards the men training at the posts. ‘Are all your men as proficient?’

Domitus shook his head. ‘They’ve got a way to go yet, but they’re shaping up nicely. Mind you, we need a few thousand swords, javelins, helmets and mail shirts before they can fight.’

‘That will be settled when we get to Dura, Domitus,’ I said.

‘Dura is a small city,’ said my father, ‘and to equip thousands of men thus will be expensive. It is not Hatra.’

‘Perhaps it can be a second Hatra,’ I offered.

He smiled. ‘Perhaps.’

Farhad continued with his quizzing of Domitus. ‘So, Roman, what qualities do you look for in recruits?’

We began walking back to the centre of the camp as the sun began turning to a red ball in the sky. ‘Quite straightforward, sir, I’m only interested in those who are single, have good eyesight and decent characters, and we don’t take any who’ve had their balls lopped off, begging your pardon, ladies.’

On the way back to Hatra, I rode between Balas and Gallia as the sky turned a deep red with the approach of the evening.

‘I like your Roman,’ said Balas.

‘He’s a good man,’ I agreed.

‘Does he miss his home?’

‘No, majesty,’ I said, ‘when we found him he was condemned to be a slave in their silver mines.’

‘He has no love of Rome,’ added Gallia.

‘Does he love Parthia, then?’

‘No, lord,’ replied Gallia, ‘he has a love for Spartacus.’

‘But Spartacus is dead, is he not?’

Gallia looked directly ahead. ‘Not his memory, or his son, and I think that we are the only true family Domitus has ever known.’

Balas nodded. ‘When I heard that you had returned, Pacorus, and listened to the tales that were spreading about you and your wild woman from a far-off land, I thought that they were stories to impress children and old women, but now I begin to think otherwise. I have seen many things in my life, some great, most terrible. But I have never heard of a slave general such as this Spartacus. I have seen the loyalty that he engenders still, and I marvel that an army has appeared in the desert, an army that follows you because its soldiers believe you to be beloved of the gods, an army that is led by a Roman, your most hated foes. And you, Gallia, you who are so beautiful yet fight as fiercely as any man and who leads a band of women warriors, who has fought and killed without mercy. We live in strange times, I think.’

‘Let us hope we also live in peaceful times,’ I said.

Gallia scoffed at this. ‘Pacorus is a dreamer, my lord. He dreams of a world that will never be. The avarice and corruption of men will ensure that there will always be war.’

‘I fear you are right, my lady. What can be done?’

Gallia looked at him, then me. ‘We can keep our bowstrings tight and our sword blades sharp.’

Balas laughed. ‘Forget Dura, Gallia, come back with me to Gordyene and be the commander of my bodyguard.’

In the days following Gallia grew very fond of Balas, the old warhorse who liked to have a pretty woman to impress. He would tell us how he had fought the Armenians and made his capital, Vanadzor, a stronghold that no army could take. We were walking in the royal gardens through a long arch formed by palm trees, Gallia linking her arm in his.

‘There were so many of them that they were like an army of locusts, masses of infantry, plus cavalry, chariots and camels. It seemed as though they had brought every animal in Armenia to lay siege to my city. But we threw them back, and then I led my cavalry out onto the plain and scattered them. It was a long, bloody day, but at the end of it we stood triumphant and they skulked back to their homeland.’

‘Then you had peace?’ asked Gallia.

Balas shook his big head. ‘Not for many a year, because they kept coming back, tens of thousands of them. And each time we gave them battle and threw them back, but it was hard and I lost a lot of good friends. And then they sent their secret weapon, their most terrible adversary.’

‘Who?’ I too was enthralled.

‘A woman. Isabella her name was and she was the eldest daughter of the Armenian king. She was tall, beautiful, proud and strong, and she told me that her father wished for an alliance between our two kingdoms, and that he offered the hand of his daughter in marriage to cement our alliance.’

‘And you refused his offer?’ I asked.

‘That was my initial intention, but you see her father was clever. He realised that Isabella was more formidable than any army he could throw against me, and so it proved. I fell in love with her and we were married, and so I became my enemy’s son. And thus we had peace and I had Isabella, and it was the happiest time of my life. She had a big heart and my people took her into their own hearts and Gordyene seemed blessed.’

‘Why didn’t you bring her to the wedding?’ asked Gallia.

‘Because she died over ten years ago, child.’ A mask of sadness came across his face. ‘Taken by a plague that ravaged my city.’

Gallia rested her head on his shoulder and tightened her grip on his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

Balas shrugged. ‘It was the will of God, but I know that she is waiting for me and that we will be together again. Actually, you remind me of her, all zest and fire.’

‘What about the Armenians, majesty?’ I enquired.

‘Their border is quiet these days. Their eyes are on the west, where the Romans will come from.’

‘What about Mithridates?’ I asked. Mithridates was the King of Pontus, a land that lay to the south of the Black Sea and a kingdom that had been at war with the Romans for nearly twenty years.

‘Who’s Mithridates?’ asked Gallia.

Balas sighed. ‘A great warrior and a man who has held back the Romans for a generation, but now his armies are largely scattered and he is all but beaten. And Armenia is next to Pontus, and when Pontus falls the Romans will be on the Armenian border.’

He said no more. There was no need, for he knew that if Armenia fell then the Romans would be on the borders of his land. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that he did not stand alone, for Gordyene was a kingdom in the Parthian Empire and behind Balas stood the other kings of the empire.

Balas took his leave of us two days later, his lion banner fluttering behind him as he led a column of horsemen out of the city’s northern gates back to Gordyene.

‘I would like to go to his homeland and see him,’ said Gallia.

‘It’s all mountains and trees,’ said my father. ‘Good country for hunting.’

‘We will go, my love,’ I took her hand, ‘I promise.’

The next day Farhad and Gotarzes also left Hatra for their homelands. As we said our farewells I caught sight of Farhad’s son, Atrax, giving Aliyeh a brooch. He then took her hands in his and kissed them. We all pretended not to notice the tears in her eyes as his father’s retinue of armoured-clad horsemen, one carrying his king’s banner of a white dragon on a black background, trotted away to Media. The last of the kings to leave was Vardan, along with his daughter Axsen. She was a hopeless and incurable romantic, but we liked her all the more for it. She saw love and hope everywhere, and did not have a bad bone in her whole body. She made Gallia and me promise that we would visit her in Babylon, and gave Gallia a ring with an inlaid ruby gemstone.

‘It is the stone of life and energy, and also of wisdom.’

‘Really?’ Gallia looked at me.

‘Perhaps you should give it to Pacorus, he could do with some wisdom.’

Axsen hugged me, a big smile on her face. ‘I hope one day to have my own king and I hope he will be like you.’

‘I will pray for your happiness, lady, for you truly deserve it.’

‘And we promise,’ added Gallia, ‘that we will come and see you in your home soon.’

‘I will look forward to that day, my friends.’

We watched Vardan, Axsen and their royal guards trot away from the palace, and we waved when Axsen turned in the saddle and raised an arm to us both in salute.

‘I like her,’ said Gallia.

‘So do I.’