Parthian Dawn

Chapter 3

The departure of Vardan and Axsen was the signal that we too had to prepare for our journey to our new home. The training of the legion went on apace under the watchful eye of Domitus, while Nergal took his horsemen out of the city every day to keep their skills sharp. As well as the fifty Parthians of the Companions, there were sixty others who had volunteered to come to Dura with us, mostly the younger sons of the landowners of my father’s kingdom. Hatra’s kings originally owned all the land in the kingdom, but over the years tracts of it were given to vassal lords in return for military service. These lands were mostly along the fertile banks of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. The lords in turn granted small plots of their territory to their servants and others who were landless, in return for which they paid a portion of their yearly crops to their lord. The rest of their crop they used for food or sold in the markets. The areas around the two rivers are fertile, made more so by the irrigation ditches, dams, canals and dikes that are used to control the spring floodwaters that come from the mountains far to the north. This results in great surpluses of wheat, barley, millet, beans, sesame seeds, dates, grapes, figs, melons and apples. As well as working his land, every farmer has to maintain his skill with a bow and practise with it on a regular basis. Every Parthian boy is given a bow before he can walk, and so by the time he becomes a man at sixteen he is an expert archer.

Most farmers were able to purchase their own horse, and when their lord called upon them for military service they rode off to war on their own mounts. The lords, of course, had their own herds of horses for themselves their sons and their guards. And when the call to arms came from my father, thousands of horse archers answered that call.

Horse archers could harry and wear down an enemy with their incessant volleys of arrows, always remaining beyond the spears and swords of opposition cavalry and infantry. But the most highly prized cavalry in the Parthian Empire were cataphracts — fully armoured men riding on armoured horses. Cataphracts were organised into formations called dragons, which numbered a thousand men divided into hundred-man companies, but very few of the empire’s kingdoms could muster a dragon of cataphracts.

Each cataphract wore a rawhide, thigh-length coat on which was fastened dozens of overlapping iron and bronze scales, the different coloured metals glinting and shimmering in the sunlight. On his head he wore a steel helmet with steel cheekguards, and nose and neck guards. His arms and legs were protected by rings of overlapping steel plates, while his horse also wore a rawhide coat covered in armour. In this way the beast’s whole body and neck were protected from enemy spears, swords and arrows. Even the horse’s head was covered in armour, including its eyes that were protected by metal grills.

The primary weapon of the cataphract was a long lance called a kontus with a shaft as thick as a man’s wrist and tipped with a heavy steel point. When levelled, the lance required both hands to hold it secure either on the right or left side of the saddle. Upon impact the momentum of horse and rider could propel the lance through two enemy soldiers. The rider released the lance and then went to work on the ranks of the enemy with his sword, axe or mace, the latter a brutal weapon that could cave in a man’s skull even if he was wearing a helmet. The cataphract was truly a fearsome warrior and my father had fifteen hundred of them. But weapons, horses and armour for both man and beast were expensive and required constant maintenance. Thus the royal stables and armouries at Hatra were staffed by hundreds of squires, craftsmen, blacksmiths and armourers, all working constantly to ensure horses were groomed, fed, watered and shod with iron shoes, that armour was repaired and new suits made, plus the fixing and production of swords, axes, maces, spears, lances, arrows and bows. Any kingdom would find such an endeavour financially crippling, but Hatra was fortunate that it was beloved of Shamash, who had gifted it the Silk Road.

The Silk Road was the name of the trade route that connected China in the east with the kingdoms on Parthia’s western frontiers, including Rome. It was so named because the most precious commodity that was transported along the route, and which Rome had an insatiable desire for, was silk. And so great quantities of the precious material were transported by caravan from China through the Parthian Empire, and the Silk Road ran straight through Hatra, to the city itself and then north and west to the city of Antioch. From there it was transported by sea across the Mediterranean to Italy and Rome. The kings of the empire guarded the Silk Road jealously, establishing military strongpoints along its whole length across Parthia, and in return for their safety the merchants who used the Silk Road paid customs duties levied on their goods. In this way they profited handsomely when their wares arrived at their destinations unmolested, and Hatra grew rich from the unending number of caravans that traversed the kingdom each year.

‘But Dura is not Hatra,’ said my father.

He had asked me and Gallia to attend the weekly council meeting that was held in a small antechamber at the rear of the palace’s throne room. It was a plain room with a large table and chairs with a hide map of the Parthian Empire on one wall. Those present were my father, Kogan, Addu, Assur, Vistaspa and Vata in his capacity as the governor of Nisibus. Gallia’s presence was most unusual as women were forbidden to attend the royal council, at least until today. The expressions on the faces of Kogan, Addu and Assur conveyed their disapproval of this blonde-haired foreigner being seated among them, but Gallia ignored their frowns. Vistaspa wore his usual cold, aloof expression.

‘I know that, father.’

He lent back in his chair and regarded me for a moment. ‘Do you? Then what do you know about Dura?’

I shrugged. ‘It is a city on the west bank of the Euphrates. The opposite bank belongs to Hatra, so we shall be neighbours, father.’

A thin smile creased his lips. ‘While you have been here I took the trouble to find out a little more about Dura, and as Gallia is now your queen I thought it fitting that she hears what I have discovered.’

Gallia smiled at him, Assur frowned again and my father nodded at her. ‘Dura occupies a thin strip of land along the western bank of the Euphrates, as you say. The city was originally established by the Greeks over two hundred years ago, by the followers of Alexander the Great. It has been part of the Parthian Empire for less than fifty years, and in that time it has been more like a fortress outpost than a city. It was captured by Sinatruces when he was much younger than he is now, and ever since that time it was the domain of the King of Kings, to do with as he saw fit.

‘No one wanted to live in Dura or along the western bank of the Euphrates, so Sinatruces sent adventurers, exiles and those he wanted to be rid of to settle this new land. The result is that those who are now landowners view themselves as a separate people from the rest of the empire. They are sullen and resentful, and you, my son, are their new king. And if that was not bad enough, the desert that borders Dura’s lands are the territory of the Agraci.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from those around the table, and I had to admit that my heart sank at hearing that name.

Gallia looked confused. ‘Who are the Agraci?’

Assur stroked his beard and looked at her. ‘They are pestilence, my child, sent by God to remind us that the world is a dangerous place.’

‘Thieves and beggars mostly,’ added Vata, winking at her. ‘Nomads who roam the desert and prey on any unfortunate enough to stray into their territory.’

He was right. The Agraci were fierce nomads who inhabited the northern part of the Arabian Peninsula. The southern part was inhabited by the Bedouins, Gafarn’s people, but they kept themselves mostly to themselves, though they were not averse to raiding other people’s territory should the opportunity present itself. But the Agraci were a constant thorn in our sides. They were disliked, feared and hated, and everyone in Hatra was glad that the Euphrates separated us from them.

‘Well,’ continued my father, ‘the power of Haytham grows, which is most unfortunate for both of you.’

‘Who is Haytham? I asked.

‘The king of the Agraci. He has united the tribes of his people and now controls most of Arabia. He sends raiders north to Antioch and Damascus and west to the border of Egypt. It cannot be long before his gaze turns towards Dura. At the moment Prince Mithridates sits on the throne of Dura.’

‘Prince Mithridates, who is he?’ I asked.

My father smiled. ‘The grandson of Sinatruces. The wily old fox sent him to Dura either because he wanted to be rid of him or because he is a capable commander who can keep the Agraci at bay.’

Vistaspa refilled his cup from a water jug on the table. ‘Still, when your legion is fully trained you can send it into the desert to undertake pest control duties against the Agraci.’

‘That’s being unkind to pests,’ mused Kogan, which drew chuckles from those present, all except Gallia.

‘No wonder they give you so much trouble if you treat them so badly.’ Her words produced a stunned silence. Vata was no longer smiling. ‘If all they can expect from you is death and persecution, then you will have nothing but war with these people.’

Assur put his hands together. ‘My child, I fear you speak of things that you do not understand.’

‘I am not your child, I am a queen, so kindly address me as such.’

My father raised his eyebrows at her words, while Kogan and Addu looked down at the table. She continued, undaunted. ‘I know everything about persecution and severity and treating people as animals for sport. Even an imbecile knows that if you continually beat a dog it will eventually bite you. If you slaughter the men and women of this tribe, the Agraci, do you think that their sons and daughters will not thirst for vengeance? For supposedly wise men, you appear to be unable to see the simple logic in this.’

Assur cleared his throat loudly and glared at her. Vistaspa, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin with his right hand. He was also looking at Gallia, but was that admiration in those cold, black eyes? I thought it might be.

My father raised his hands. ‘Thank you, daughter, for your most eloquent words. But we must move on. My point is this: you are both going into a most uncertain, perhaps dangerous, situation and I want you to think hard about what you are about to undertake.’

‘I will go to Dura,’ Gallia’s words were like arrows shot from a bow.

‘Where you go, I follow,’ I said.

My father merely nodded. ‘Well, then, it is settled. To more practical matters. I have arranged for Addu to issue two million drachmas from the treasury, enough money to pay each man of your legion for a year. They may serve you now for ideological or religious reasons, but eventually even fanatics need food in their bellies.’

I was astounded. It was a huge sum.

‘You are most generous, lord,’ Gallia’s words were sincere and she bowed her head at my father, who smiled at her. Addu fidgeted in his chair.

‘You have something to say, Lord Addu?’ queried my father.

Addu, gaunt with thinning brown hair, cleared his throat. ‘I would merely wish to point out, majesty, that the treasury will miss such a generous amount.’

When my father selected Addu to be the royal treasurer it was an inspired choice. He was truly a man who knew the value of everything and the worth of nothing, an individual who had a large parsimonious streak coursing through him. He believed that taxes and customs duties were for one purpose only — to fill the treasury. But while he was happy to see great amounts of money pour into the treasury, he was loath to see any going out. He viewed any expenditure as frivolous waste, especially any resources spent on the army. He could see the value of Kogan’s garrison, though only if his soldiers were protecting the treasury, but to him all other expenditure was a waste of valuable resources.

‘Is not the money mine, to do with as I see fit?’ asked my father casually.

‘Of course, of course, majesty,’ Addu’s voice became even higher pitched. ‘I was merely pointing out that Hatra may need such a sum in the future.’

Vistaspa looked up and fixed Addu with his black eyes. ‘Are you saying that I will have more money to spend on the army, Addu?’

Addu looked alarmed. The conversation was not going the way he wanted, not at all. ‘No, no, no. Of course not. The expenditure on the army is already exorbitant. I fear that if we spend any more on it the result could be the city’s bankruptcy.’

This was nonsense, and Addu knew it.

My father sighed. ‘Lord Addu, Hatra is strong because her army is strong, you know this. The army ensures peace and peace means trade, which means crops grow, taxes are collected and customs duties are charged on caravans that pass through Hatra’s territory. In the same way, a strong Dura,’ he nodded at me, ‘means that Hatra’s western frontier is secure, so money spent on promoting that security is an investment in Hatra’s future, do you not agree?’

Addu did not, of course, but he merely smiled and politely bowed his head to my father.

‘Good, that’s settled, then. Pacorus, when do you leave?’

‘In a week, father.’

‘Then may Shamash protect you both.’

‘May He indeed,’ said Assur, eyeing Gallia warily. All nodded gravely in response.

The meeting concluded, all went their separate ways to attend to their duties. Assur stomped past Gallia and me without saying anything; clearly still angry at the way he had been spoken to.

‘He is arrogant,’ hissed Gallia.

‘He, my love, is the high priest of the Great Temple and a man who is used to others listening to him. He is wise and severe.’

‘And full of himself,’ she sniffed. ‘How much is two million drachmas?’

‘More than enough to pay five thousand soldiers for a year.’

The drachma was the currency within the Parthian Empire. A soldier was paid on average a drachma a day, so I would have enough to pay the legion and buy some weapons to equip them with. It was a good start.

Addu passed Gallia and bowed to her, then scuttled back to his tally sheets and ledgers. My father joined us and we walked to the gardens.

‘Thank you, father, for the money.’

‘It was your mother’s idea, she thought it inappropriate for a prince of Hatra to be unable to pay his soldiers.’

‘Will not the taxes of Dura be able to pay for his men?’ queried Gallia.

‘Perhaps, daughter, but five thousand men is a lot of boots to suddenly descend on a region.’ He cast me a glance. ‘You could always use your men to extract more taxes from the locals at sword point.’

‘That would make me a tyrant, father.’

He shrugged. ‘Kings must do what they must to hold their kingdoms.’

‘Even if it earns them the hatred of their subjects?’ Gallia shot back.

He linked his arm in hers. ‘Not every ruler has the love of his subjects. You two will find that Dura is not Hatra.’

‘But it will have the same respect for the law as Hatra does, father.’

The days following went in a blur, and in that time Domitus prepared the legion for its march south, while Nergal collected wagons, mules and camels to carry the hundreds of tents, tools and food that we would need on the journey. The royal ovens baked thousands of hard biscuits that would last for weeks, while boxes of dates were dispatched to the legion’s camp. While this frenetic activity was going on I went to find Vistaspa. I located him putting two companies of cataphracts through their paces ten miles north of the city, on a baked stretch of flat ground. The earth shook as the armoured horses and their riders galloped behind the figure of Vistaspa, the horsemen carrying their levelled lances with both hands. It was late afternoon and the fierce heat of the day was abating somewhat, but it was still warm and the men would be sweating profusely in their armour and helmets. I watched the men maintain their formation as they halted, turned around and then charged again.

Afterwards I rode over to the men as they dismounted and drank greedily from their waterskins.

‘Don’t gulp it down,’ shouted Vistaspa, sweat pouring down his bony face. ‘Take small mouthfuls and give your horses some. They are thirsty as well.’ He saw me and saluted.

‘I would have a word with you, Lord Vistaspa.’

We walked away from the tired, sweating soldiers and their mounts, whose heads were down. The men would have a long walk back to the city to save their horses further fatigue.

‘I have a favour to ask you,’ I said.

His face remained expressionless, as it always did. ‘Of course.’

‘I wish to ask Godarz to be the governor of Dura, with your permission.’

‘He is yours to command, majesty, you do not need my permission,’ replied Vistaspa, ever the observer of protocol.

Godarz had once served under Vistaspa many years ago, before Godarz had been captured and enslaved by the Romans, and I knew that his return to Parthia had delighted Vistaspa. I therefore felt a pang of guilt that I was making this request, but Godarz was a friend and had been the quartermaster general in the army of Spartacus. I needed his administrative abilities at Dura, and more than that I respected and trusted him.

‘But I would prefer to have your permission.’

I thought I detected a slight look of contempt on his face. ‘You have my permission, majesty.’

I knew that I was a king only by dint of a strange turn of events, and that in normal circumstances I would not have inherited Hatra’s crown until my father’s death, which hopefully was many years away. Vistaspa knew this too, just as he knew that I had fought in a slave army. He had once saved my life when I had let my guard down around some Roman captives, and soon afterwards I had been captured by the Romans. No doubt he believed that going to Dura was a fool’s errand that would lead to disaster, but if he did he kept his council on the matter.

And so, with Vistaspa’s permission, I asked Godarz if he would accompany me to Dura.

‘I do not wish to drag you away from Hatra if you do not want to leave. It must be your decision.’

Godarz now busied himself with finding the best horses for Hatra’s army, especially pure whites; indeed, while a slave in Italy he had assembled a fine collection of horses for his master. One of these beasts was a white stallion with blue eyes that I took and named Remus. I had ridden him thereafter.

‘I would have to ask Prince Vistaspa for his permission, Pacorus.’

‘I have already done that, for I know that you are friends and so I sought his permission to approach you and he consented.’

He nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘And what do you want of me?’

‘To be governor of Dura,’ I replied, ‘to ensure that taxes are spent wisely and the city’s defences are strong.’

‘I know nothing of Dura.’

‘You know what Godarz, neither do I. But perhaps we can learn together.’

He accepted my offer.

There remained one more task to fulfil before I could leave Hatra. Years ago, in another lifetime, my father had sent a raiding column into the wild country of Cappadocia in reprisal for Rome’s aggression against Hatran territory. I was part of that raiding party, as was the man I now sought out in Hatra, a guide named Byrd who had also been enslaved by the Romans, and who had subsequently been the leader of a ragged band of scouts in the army of Spartacus.

I went into the city the next morning, walking through the bustling streets bursting with Hatra’s citizens and foreign visitors. The air was hot and filled with the smells of pungent spices from the East. The markets were heaving with people buying and selling garments, animals, pottery and exotic foods. The stalls were packed full of wares, customers haggling, shouting, cursing and laughing. Kogan’s guards kept order, but in general the atmosphere was good-natured although frenetic. I walked down to the southern part of the city, past brothels, inns and along litter-strewn streets. Beggars, their limbs distorted and their faces diseased, pot-marked and ugly, held out their filthy hands for money. I reached into my leather pouch and gave them some drachmas, for I too had been a penniless wretch once. I walked under an arch into a small square, around which more stalls were arranged. This was the poorer quarter of the city, and the wares on sale reflected that — coarse garments, poor quality utensils and thin loaves. Around the square were shops, mostly one-roomed affairs that opened out on to the square, their owners placing benches to separate the square from their abodes. I had consciously dressed in a simple white tunic, brown leggings and leather boots, but the sword hanging at my hip marked me apart from the dozens of others, some barefoot, all haggard, who were there to buy products.

I walked up to one of the shops on the south side of the square, which like the others had a wooden bench placed in front of its entrance. The bench was piled high with earthenware pots, and behind it a scruffy man, tall with dark, shoulder-length hair, his face lean, was arguing with a portly man with thinning hair.

‘You no like, then don’t buy.’ The seller’s eyes, narrow and brown, fixed the customer with a cobra-like stare. The man threw his arms into the air and walked away.

‘You won’t become rich with that attitude, Byrd.’

He recognised me instantly. ‘Lord, I not expect to see you in this part of the city.’

He smiled, one of the few times I had seen him do so in the years that I had known him. He still looked the same as when I had first clapped eyes on him before the fateful raid into Cappadocia. He had been hired as a guide and my first impression of him was far from positive. Dressed in scruffy clothes, I had, I am ashamed to say, looked down on him. But he proved his worth in Cappadocia and afterwards the more so when he became the chief scout in the army of Spartacus. He collected a ragged band of like-minded and similarly attired individuals, fifty in all, who became the eyes and ears of the army. They operated in small groups, riding ahead and reporting back on Roman garrisons and any armies that might be heading our way. And then, after that terrible spring day when Spartacus fell in battle, the scouts had simply melted away like they had never existed. All except Byrd, who elected to travel back with me to Parthia. Since my return to Hatra I had seen him little.

‘I close early today, lord. Come inside.’

He threw an old brown blanket over the pots on the bench and beckoned me to enter his shop, which in reality was a small space with a table on one side. A drawn curtain barred the entrance to what I assumed was a bedroom. He gestured at one of the stools tucked underneath the table. I pulled it out and sat down and he did the same. He filled a cup with water from the jug on the table and handed it to me.

‘You want to buy some pots, lord?’

I laughed. ‘Not quite. I have come to see if I can interest you in coming on another journey.’

He drank some water. ‘Journey?’

‘I have a new kingdom to go to.’

‘I know, lord. You travel to Dura soon.’

‘So, I see your old skills have not deserted you.’

He looked disinterested. ‘It is common knowledge.’

‘I would like you to come with me, to be my chief scout, or anything else that you might like to be.’

‘You very kind, lord, but I have a new life.’

I looked around his miserable quarters and his threadbare clothes. I could not believe that he was happy living such an existence, and then I remembered that the Romans had killed his family in Cappadocia when he had been away on the road selling pots. Perhaps he felt guilty that he had lived and they had died. Maybe living in misery was his way of atoning for the wrong that he felt he had committed, but perhaps I was thinking gibberish.

‘We miss you, Byrd,’ I said absently.

‘Who “we”, lord?’

‘Well, Gallia for one, and Diana and Gafarn.’

A smile spread across his lean face. ‘They are fine people. And the child, it thrives?’

‘He thrives. He is strong, just like his father.’

‘And Gallia, she is well?’

I drained my cup. ‘Strong, proud and defiant as ever, Byrd, just like in Italy.’

‘I came to temple when you were married. She very beautiful woman.’

‘You were at my wedding, why didn’t you come to the banquet afterwards?’

‘I stay at back of temple, lord, make no fuss.’

I laid a hand on his arm. ‘There are no barriers between those who served Spartacus, my friend, always remember that. It matters not if you are a king or a pauper; those of us who were in Italy are brothers. Nothing will ever change that. Please think about my offer.’

I took the purse hanging from my belt. ‘Take this. There is enough money for you to purchase a good horse and a saddle. We leave for Dura the day after tomorrow. I would feel a lot safer knowing that you are with us.’

He shook his head. ‘Hatra not like Italy, lord, no Romani here.’

I stood up and we shook hands.

‘Please give the matter some thought, Byrd. If you decide to stay, then please go to the palace and see Gafarn and Diana from time to time.’

‘They stay in Hatra?’

‘Yes, my mother likes having a young child in the palace, and everyone loves Diana too much to see her go.’

‘It will be hard on Gallia to leave her friend.’

‘It will.’ I pointed at him. ‘That is why your presence is all the more important. She will want as many of her old friends around her as possible.’

I walked back to the palace not knowing if I had convinced him, but hoping I had said enough, if only to give him a better life. But then, perhaps he was contented.

‘So, will he come?’

Gallia was checking her bow and the arrows in her quiver and her mail shirt was hanging on a wooden frame by the side of our large bed.

I shrugged. ‘You know Byrd, he’s a law unto himself.’

She pulled her sword from its sheath. Like mine it was a Roman cavalry weapon called a spatha. Its blade was straight and each edge was sharpened. My spatha had been a gift from Spartacus and was one of my most treasured possessions. My most treasured possession was standing next to me, examining the razor-sharp edges on her own sword.

‘You said he was selling pots.’ She gingerly stroked one of the edges with a finger, smiling in approval at its lethality.

‘That’s right, down in the south of the city, in one of the less salubrious districts.’

‘You should have commanded him to come.’ She slammed her sword back in its scabbard.

‘And you think he would have obeyed?’

She looked at me. ‘Of course not, but it would have got you used to issuing commands. Isn’t that what kings do?’

I ignored her jibe. ‘In any case, I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want to be with us. How do you feel about Diana staying here?’

She pulled her dagger from its sheath and examined its blade. ‘I will miss her, but she likes it here and everyone adores her, especially your mother. I think she sees the baby as a sort of grandchild. And knowing that Diana is happy and safe is a weight off my mind.’ She giggled. ‘Who would have thought it, a Roman kitchen slave who has become a princess? It’s a strange world.’

A loud knock on the door startled us. ‘Lord king, a courier has arrived with a package for you. He awaits you in the throne room.’

We followed the guard from our bedroom, through the palace’s private chambers and along a long corridor that led to the rear of the throne room. Kogan’s guards stood around the room at intervals of ten paces, looking like bronze statues in their breastplates and helmets. My father sat in one of the high-backed chairs, my mother in another. Assur stood to one side of the marble-covered dais, along with Kogan and Vata. Gafarn, Aliyeh and Diana were standing on the other side, all of them looking at a distinctly nervous soldier who held what appeared to be a large bundle of hides in his hands. The silence was oppressive as we entered the room.

‘Ah,’ said my father, ‘perhaps now the mystery can be solved.’

I was bemused. ‘Mystery, father?’

‘Indeed. This man,’ he pointed at the soldier stood in front of him, ‘has brought a gift for you. Tell him.’

The soldier wore red leather boots, red leggings and a yellow tunic. He cleared his throat.

‘Thank you, majesty.’ His eyes darted between me and my father, who began drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne, until a disapproving look from my mother persuaded him to desist. The soldier continued. ‘This package is to be delivered to King Pacorus in person.’

My father pointed at me. ‘Here he is, so you may deliver it, finally.’

The soldier bowed his head at me and laid the bundle at my feet. He then reached into his tunic and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment, which he handed to me. ‘I was also instructed to give you this, majesty.’

I took the parchment, which had a wax seal. ‘Instructed by whom?’

‘The sorceress of King of Kings Sinatruces, majesty.’

My father suddenly looked interested, as did everyone else. He waved the courier away.

‘Open it Pacorus,’ said my mother.

I broke the seal on the parchment and unrolled it. The writing was in a language I did not recognise. ‘I do not know these words.’

‘Let Lord Assur take a look.’

Assur walked over to me and took the scroll. He peered at it for a long time.

‘I believe it is written in ancient Scythian, majesty, though I recognise only a few words. However, there is a clerk in the temple who is an expert on languages. I will bring him.’

He then handed me back the parchment and marched from the room. My father pointed at the bundle on the floor.

‘Perhaps Dobbai herself is in there, ready to spring out at you. While we wait for Assur to return, we will see what’s in it.’

‘It is Pacorus’ gift, Varaz, so he should open it,’ said my mother.

I pulled my dagger from its sheath and cut the cords wrapped round the hides.

Inside was a rolled piece of cloth. I gestured to Vata and Gafarn to give me assistance as I unrolled it. It was a large square standard, white in colour with gold edging. Vata held one corner and Gafarn the other as they held it aloft in front of me. It was as high at both of them, and Gafarn was over six foot in height. In the centre of the banner was a red mythical beast, with the head and talons of an eagle and the body of what looked like a lion. It also had wings.

‘How magnificent,’ remarked my mother.

‘There’s enough gold in that edging to pay for a palace,’ noted my father.

‘How long do we have to hold it here,’ complained Gafarn, ‘my arms are aching?’

‘What is it?’ asked Gallia.

‘It is called a griffin if I am not mistaken.’ Assur re-entered the chamber with a small, portly man scurrying beside him, who walked over to stand beside me and peered at the banner. He smelt of old scrolls and leather.

‘Mm, yes indeed. A griffin. Head of an eagle and the body of a lion.’

Assur handed him the scroll that came from Dobbai. ‘And this?’

The archivist held it close to his face and started mumbling to himself.

‘You were right, holiness. It is ancient Scythian. I haven’t seen this language written in an age.’

‘Would you care to read it to us,’ requested my father.

‘Read it?’ The archivist looked up and realised where he was. He blushed. ‘Yes, of course, majesty.’ He bowed awkwardly, and then bowed again to my mother. My father waved his hand for him to continue.

‘Can we put it down?’ asked Gafarn.

‘Lay it down on the floor in front of me,’ said my father. As they did so the archivist read the letter. His voice was crisp and a little high pitched.

To Pacorus, King of Dura Europos and son of Hatra, greetings.

Just as you have ended one journey, so you and your bride are about to begin another. Those who are beloved of the gods do not know what path has been set for them, and those of us who are close to the gods are given only glimpses of what they have in store for you. So it is with you, son of Hatra. The gods have given you a great gift in the form of your new bride, and to prove that you were worthy of her you had to throw off your chains and defeat your enemy in the heart of his kingdom. You have fulfilled that part of your quest, but know that it is only one part.

Behold your banner, which is the image of the Griffin, a creature that inhabited the land when the world was young, and when life and death were but a dream. I saw you riding upon this beast in a vision, and knew that it had been chosen for you. The Griffin makes his nest on the high peaks, overlooking his kingdom, safe from his enemies. He has the head and front talons of an eagle and this is appropriate, for your destiny is entwined with the eagles of Rome. You fight them but they are a part of you. The Griffin has the body of a lion, for you will be a lion of the desert when the time of troubles comes. The Griffin has wings to carry him far and wide, just as you will be called upon to go hither and thither to assist those who have need of you. Let the Griffin be your symbol to show the gods that you honour and respect them, so that you are allowed to keep your queen, who has been sent by them to be by your side.

Know you this as well. The white of the background is a symbol of the purity of your cause, and the red of the Griffin will be the blood that will be spilt in your quest. Heed these words, son of Hatra, and obey the gods. For they are watching you.

The archivist handed me back the parchment, then shuffled nervously on his feet. Assur waved him away, leaving us all in silence. All eyes were on me now. My mother looked alarmed, my father bemused, while Assur stared at the banner intently, almost as if he expected it to spring to life.

My father spoke first.

‘It would appear that Sinatruces’ sorceress still takes an interest in you.’

‘So it seems.’

‘You should send it back,’ urged my mother.

‘It’s just a piece of cloth, mother. Besides, I like it. I shall have Domitus inform the legion of its arrival.’

Assur nodded in approval. ‘A wise choice, majesty.’

‘Soldiers are a superstitious lot,’ offered Vata, ‘they’ll see it as a symbol of luck.’

‘Then let us hope that it brings you luck, my son.’ My father stood up and held out his hand to my mother. ‘We are finished here, everyone is dismissed.’

Afterwards I wrote a short letter to Domitus telling him of the banner and instructing him to pass on the information to his centurions, who would inform their men. Then I took it to the armouries to have it fastened to a lance, and afterwards it was rolled around the shaft and covered by a waxed canvas sleeve.

As Gallia fell asleep in my arms I stared at the furled banner propped up in the corner of the bedroom.

In the morning it and we would be marching to Dura.