Parthian Dawn

Chapter 4

We rose before dawn and said our goodbyes on the steps of the palace. The legion would already be packing up its tents and workshops and marshalling into its centuries and cohorts, Domitus barking curses and issuing orders as his subordinates organised their men into their ranks. Gallia was dressed in her war gear of mail shirt, leggings and boots, her spatha in its scabbard hanging from her belt, with her dagger tucked into the top of her right boot. Her bow was safe in its case hanging from her saddle, quiver at her hip. Her Amazons, similarly attired, were mounted behind her as she said farewell to my parents, sisters, Gafarn and Diana. The latter was in floods of tears as she hugged her friend. They had been together since the gladiator school in Capua and were now to be apart for the first time in years. Gallia embraced her friend tightly, kissed her on the cheek, put on her helmet and then vaulted onto Epona, her mare that she had brought with her from Italy. If there were tears in her eyes I did not see them, though I noticed that she quickly closed her helmet’s cheekguards, then dug her knees into Epona’s sides and trotted from the square without looking back, followed by her Amazons. My Parthian horsemen, Nergal at their head and my new banner carried behind him, waited on the far side of the square. A guard held Remus’ reins.

My father, dressed in a simple white tunic, sandals and beige trousers, had his arm around my mother’s waist. ‘Try not to get yourself killed down there.’

‘I will try.’

Tears streamed down my mother’s face as I embraced her. ‘May God protect you, Pacorus.’

‘Don’t be sad, mother, I’m only going to Dura not the end of the world.’

My words did not convince her. I kissed Diana and embraced Gafarn.

‘Keep your eye on our parents,’ I told him, ‘see that mother doesn’t get too morose.’

‘I will, and you look after yourself and keep Gallia safe.’

‘Always.’

Vata suddenly appeared, running down the steps as he buckled on his sword belt.

‘Apologies, too much to drink last night.’ He belched loudly, causing my mother to cast a disapproving look at him. He locked me in a bear hug.

‘Farewell, my friend. Keep safe.’

‘You too, Vata, and come to Dura soon.’

He released me and looked round. ‘Where’s Gallia?’

‘You missed her.’

‘That’s a shame. I was going to persuade her to come to Nisibus with me and leave you on your own.’

‘Same old Vata.’

We clasped each other’s forearms. I turned, mounted Remus and rode from the square and the palace of Hatra. We rode out of the city via the northern gates and then wheeled left to meet up with the legion as it marched southwest, towards Dura. It was not hard to find — five thousand men plus dozens of carts and mules moving across baked ground kicked up a big dust cloud. The men marched six abreast along the road that snaked south towards the Euphrates. Unlike Roman roads it was little more than a dirt track, seldom used by the trade caravans that headed west or east to and from Hatra. The day was bright and warm, with a slight easterly breeze that failed to blow away the dust kicked up by the horses.

We joined the long column of foot soldiers a short distance from the city. At the front marched Lucius Domitus, his helmet topped by a large transverse white crest, as usual his vine cane in his hand. He raised it in salute when he saw me and I reined in Remus beside him.

‘All is well, Domitus?’

‘All is well. It’s good to be on the move at last. Gives the boys a purpose.’

Gallia and her Amazons rode a hundred paces or so in front of Domitus, with my Parthians ahead of them. Galloping up with Nergal, Godarz fell in beside me looking up at the sun.

‘It is going to be a hot day. The nearest oasis is sixty miles away. Three days’ march. I hope you and your men can cover such a distance, Domitus.’

‘Have no fear of that. They can march that distance and fight a battle at the end of it.’

‘Hopefully they won’t be fighting any battles in the next few days,’ I said.

Domitus pointed at the griffin standard fluttering up the road.

‘Is that the banner that the witch sent you?’

‘She’s a sorceress, Domitus,’ I said.

‘Mmm. I think the boys would appreciate a look at it.’

I agreed. ‘Good idea. Nergal, ride ahead and have it shown to the men.’

At that moment I heard shouts behind me. Turning, I saw a figure on a horse riding towards the head of the column. As he drew nearer I could see that the horse was a mangy beast, dark brown in colour with a long mane and tail, and on its back was an equally dishevelled figure — Byrd.

Those men who had fought in Italy and who now marched behind us recognised him instantly, the man who had been their eyes and ears and the chief scout of Spartacus. Some shouted his name and others banged their javelins on their shields in salute, those that had them. He rode up and halted beside me, nodding his head in acknowledgement.

‘I’m glad you decided to come with us, Byrd. Welcome back.’

‘Thank you, lord. Where is Gallia?’

‘Up ahead.’ I looked at his horse. Its hoofs needed filing and its whole body needed a good brush.

‘Was not the money I gave you sufficient to buy a decent mount?’

He reached into his tunic and pulled out a pouch, then threw it to me.

‘No need money, lord. I sell my pots and buy beast with what I had.’

Godarz halted on the other side of Byrd. ‘That horse looks disgusting.’ Then he reached over and placed his hand on Byrd’s shoulder.

‘It’s good to see you again, old friend.’

I thought I detected a glint of happiness in Byrd’s eyes, but he just nodded.

‘You too.’

Everyone was delighted to see him, none more so then me, and word quickly spread through the legion of his arrival, which raised morale even higher. Very soon the men were singing as they marched, mostly ballads about seducing young girls and slaughtering their enemies, but I was happy that they were in good spirits as it made the burden they had to carry lighter. Each man carried around fifty pounds in weight on his back — food, water bottle, cloak, spare clothing, a spade and eating utensils — all strapped to a furca as the Romans call it. This is a wooden pole with a crossbar at the top, to which the pack is strapped.

Among the loads carried by the legion’s mules were wooden stakes. These stakes became part of the palisade around the camp that was created each night for both men and beasts, a place of safety and a stronghold, not that we would face any enemies in Hatran territory. Three hours before dark each day the vanguard laid out the camp with poles, and as each cohort reached the site its members would fall out to dig the ditch that would surround the whole camp. The earth that was dug was used to create the rampart upon which the stakes were planted to form a palisade. Thus were our tents, wagons, mules, camels and horses surrounded by a ditch, rampart and wooden wall. And in the morning the stakes were removed and loaded onto mules until the evening, when the laborious process would begin again.

Every night I walked among the campfires to sit with as many of the men as I could, and every night they wanted to hear the same stories, of how I had been a slave, had fought with Spartacus and had found Gallia. How we had fought and defeated the Romans. And all the time they asked me about Dobbai’s prophecies. Had she foretold my enslavement? Yes. Did she predict my meeting with Gallia? Yes. Was my becoming a king her doing? Yes. All these things they knew already, but they listened in awed silence as I told them the tale again. One night I happened upon a group of Thracians, now all centurions, who were Companions and formerly soldiers under Spartacus. That night they did the talking and I listened. The glow of the brazier cast us all in a red light as we wrapped our cloaks around us, for the desert nights were cool.

‘That night when we attacked the Roman camp at the foot of Vesuvius, that was the first time I saw you.’ The speaker was big and solid, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. ‘You and the rest were in chains.’

‘I remember,’ I said.

‘That was good sport that night. We slaughtered them all. At the end I was standing behind Spartacus as he watched you killing some Roman. You were hacking at his corpse like a mad man. Then you stopped and we all thought you were going to have a go at Spartacus.’

‘You looked like a wild-haired demon, Pacorus,’ remarked another. I might have been a king, but all the Companions were allowed such familiarity.

‘Anyway,’ continued the big one, ‘next thing you passed out and we had to carry you back to camp.’

‘You carried me?’ I asked.

‘Me and another one. Though we had to break your manacles first.’

‘I’ve still got the scars on my back from when that bastard centurion flogged me,’ I spat.

Before I knew it they were all showing off their battles scars with pride. One showed me a nasty white line that ran across his chest.

‘One of Crixus’ Gauls gave me that when he ran his dagger across my skin for saying something that upset him. Can’t remember what it was now.’

Another man looked up. ‘That’s the thing about Gauls, you don’t need a valid argument to get into a fight with them.’ He suddenly realised that I had married one. ‘No offence, sir.’

‘None taken, and I agree, they are a testy race.’

‘Good fighters, though,’ said the big Thracian.

I thought of Gallia in her war gear sat on Epona’s back shooting down her enemies without mercy. ‘Good fighters, yes.’

‘Hopefully,’ I said, ‘we won’t be doing much fighting from now on.’

They looked at each other and then burst into laughter.

‘What is so amusing?’ I asked.

The big one spat into the brazier.

‘The gods have a purpose for you, and it isn’t to sit on a throne growing old in the middle of the desert. All we know is fighting and war, just like you. It is our destiny.’

‘Can a man not change his destiny?’ I enquired.

He shook his head. ‘No.’

The trip to Dura was uneventful. The legion maintained a steady pace each day and the cavalry walked beside their horses along the dusty road. Byrd, as was his wont, disappeared for hours on end, riding ahead of the column to scout. I told him there was no need, as we were in Hatran territory and my father had established small strongholds throughout his kingdom — forts with a garrison of twenty or thirty cavalry — to both keep the peace and alert him to any threats. It was over two hundred miles from Hatra to Dura, and we had passed two of these forts already on our journey, half a dozen men plus their commander riding out to present his compliments, and to take a look at my new bride no doubt. But Byrd would have none of it, every day leaving camp before dawn to return again just before nightfall. The first thing he did was to report to me, and declare that he had seen nothing untoward.

‘I could have told you that, Byrd. Now go and get yourself something to eat, and get your horse seen to.’

The state of Byrd’s horse had been a constant cause of friction between him and Godarz when we had all been in Italy, but now Godarz did not bother to confront my chief scout over the neglect of his mount. Instead, he made sure that there was a groom waiting when Byrd rode into camp, who was instructed to take his horse to the temporary stables where it was watered, groomed and fed. All this happened while Byrd was reporting to me, and I made sure that he stayed long enough in my tent to allow the horse to be properly attended to after its long day.

At the end of the ninth day, as the sun dropped into the west and red and purple hues filled the sky, Byrd appeared at the entrance to my tent. As usual, he was covered in dust and grime, his hair lank around his shoulders. It had been a hot day, and both Gallia and I had taken off our boots, armour and helmets and were stretched out in chairs.

Seeing him I pointed to a jug of water on the table. ‘Help yourself, you must be thirsty.’

Gallia raised her hand in recognition, and then closed her eyes. It had been a long, tiring day.

‘Your kingdom about to break out in revolt, lord.’

I jumped up. ‘What did you say?’

He walked over the table and poured himself a cup of water, then drank it down.

‘The lords in your new kingdom very angry, lord.’

Twenty minutes later Godarz, Domitus, Nergal and Byrd were gathered in my tent, their faces illuminated by two oil lamps that hung from the centre poles. Gallia stood beside me. Byrd then proceeded to tell them what he had learned that day. He had ridden to the eastern bank of the Euphrates and had crossed the river forty miles upstream from Dura. There was a bridge there, which was held by Hatran troops, giving access to the western side of the river. A toll was imposed on every traveller wishing to cross the bridge, though in truth there were few, as the bridge had originally been built by Sinatruces to facilitate troop movements across the river. My new kingdom had only been a Parthian province for a short time, having been conquered to create a shield for the western edge of the empire and, according to my father, to be a dumping ground for malcontents. Byrd crossed the river and learned from farmers on the far side that the kingdom was seething with resentment.

‘Why?’ asked Godarz.

Byrd shrugged. ‘They say Prince Mithridates is a tyrant.’

‘Who’s Prince Mithridates?’ said Domitus, yawning.

‘He’s the eldest son of King Phraates of Susiana, who in turn is the son of the King of Kings,’ I replied.

I could see that this meant little to Domitus, who looked at me blankly. ‘The point is,’ I continued, ‘that he has been ruling Dura and its lands, not very well by the sound of it.’

‘Will he not present himself to you at the river tomorrow, Pacorus?’ asked Nergal.

Protocol demanded that the prince should present himself to me in person, though as yet I had received no word from him. In any case if what Byrd said was true, then I decided that etiquette would have to take second place to realities.

‘He should, but tomorrow I will take all the horse and ride straight to Dura. Domitus and Godarz, you will stay with the legion and continue its march.’

‘I and the Amazons will come with you, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.

‘Very well, we leave before daybreak.’

In the cold half-light of the pre-dawn I saddled Remus and checked my quiver was full. My bow was carried in a leather case fastened to my saddle, my quiver holding thirty arrows hung from a belt that ran over my right shoulder. My armour comprised a black two-piece leather cuirass. A good friend, a German named Castus, who had been a general in the army of Spartacus, had given it to me in Italy. The cuirass had been taken from a dead Roman officer following one of our many victories. It was muscled and embossed on the upper chest with a golden sun motif, two golden winged lions immediately beneath it. It also had fringed strips of black leather over the thighs and shoulders, which were also adorned with golden bees. On my head I also wore a gift from Castus — the dead Roman’s helmet, a superb steel piece that was padded inside, had large, hinged cheek plates and a brightly polished brass crest, in which was secured a plume of white goose feathers.

‘You look very much the Roman,’ remarked Gallia as her face disappeared behind her helmet’s cheekguards.

‘Castus gave me this armour.’

‘I remember. Do you think you will need it today?’

I vaulted onto Remus. ‘Let us hope not.’

We moved fast, one hundred and twenty riders striking hard for the Euphrates. The great river began in the high mountains of Armenia, and then ran south for nearly two thousand miles before it emptied its waters into the Persian Gulf. Like the Tigris that bordered Hatra’s eastern frontier, the Euphrates was mightiest in the spring after the winter snows had melted in the mountains. The melt waters flooded south, raising the depth of the river along its whole course and always threatening to break its banks. Spring was now upon us and the river would be deep and fast flowing, the more so at Dura because another river, the Khabur, joins the Euphrates around forty miles north of the city. The Khabur dries up almost completely during the summer months, but in the spring it adds to the Euphrates’ torrent. The bridge that we headed for spanned a shallow section of the Euphrates; indeed, in the summer a man could wade across on foot, though now the waters would be twice the height of a man at least. But the bridge, over five hundred feet in length, had reinforced stone pillars that could withstand the flow.

We reached the bridge two hours after leaving camp and then rested the horses. I had the guards at the bridge fetch water for the beasts while their commander told me what he knew about what was happening on the other side of the river.

‘Very little, majesty.’ He was a lean man in his late thirties with thinning shoulder-length hair and a gaunt face. He wore scale armour over his tunic and an open-faced helmet with a white plume on his head. He commanded fifty men, half a company, whose task was to guard the bridge and also patrol up and down the riverbank to prevent unwelcome guests — thieves, enemy scouts, Agraci — from entering Hatran territory. This mission was extremely easy at this time of the year when the river was swollen. I looked at the fast-flowing brown water heading south. I saw him looking at Gallia and her women, who had taken off their helmets and were wiping the sweat from their necks and brows. Gallia had her hair tied into a long plait, though Praxima always liked to have her red hair hanging loose at all times.

‘There used to be guards on the far bank, but two months ago they disappeared and since then we have heard little of events at Dura.’

‘Has there been much traffic across the river?’

He shook his head. ‘None, majesty.’

I did not doubt it. The farmers ate what they grew and no trade caravans came to this part of the kingdom any more. For to head west was to enter Agraci country, and certain death.

We continued our journey, across the bridge and then into the Kingdom of Dura, my kingdom. Riding south from the bridge, we travelled through country made lush by irrigation ditches and dams. I ordered my banner to be unfurled and carried behind me, for it was right that I should proclaim my presence as the new ruler of this land. We trotted past farmers working in the fields. They watched us for a few moments then continued with their work. In the distance I saw the fortified mansion of one of the kingdom’s landowners, a great walled residence with a high mud-brick tower. The tower provided an eagle’s eye view of the mostly flat terrain, and would give warning of the approach of hostile forces. The mansion also provided a safe haven for those who worked the land. Each lord would have his own retinue of soldiers, mostly horse archers, and in times of war these men would be reinforced by the farmers who worked the land. Dozens of soldiers riding behind a large white banner would not have gone unnoticed, but no riders emerged from the mansion. We rode on.

We at last came to Dura. My first impression of the city was its strength. Perched on a rocky outcrop above the banks of the Euphrates, any attacker would need a mighty army to take it. The only approach that could be made to the city was from the west where a large, flat plain of rock and earth led to the city’s western wall. At least half a mile in length, this wall was made stronger by high, square towers positioned at regular intervals. At a mid-point in the western wall were the main gates — black-stained wood studded with iron plates. On the north and south sides of the city’s walls were deep wadis, so the only way in was via the gates that were shut in our faces.

Our column halted on the road about three hundred yards from the gates. There was no sign of life anywhere on the plain or on the walls. In the distance and looming over the city stood the Citadel, which was built on the highest part of the outcrop.

‘Everyone stay here, out of arrow range,’ I commanded, nudging Remus forward. ‘Nergal, you are with me.’

We walked our horses towards the gates, and were soon followed by Gallia on Epona.

‘You should keep back, lady,’ said Nergal, clearly worried that we might be felled by a volley of arrows at any moment.

‘Nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘What sort of queen stays behind while her husband rides into danger?’

‘A sensible one,’ I suggested. She ignored me.

We reached the gates unharmed, to find them still shut. The gatehouse itself, which I later learned was called the Palmyrene Gate, was impressive. The two towers that flanked the gates were square and at least fifty feet tall, with arrow slits cut high in their walls. There was a great stone arch over the gates themselves. From a distance the walls and gates had looked impressive; up close they appeared even more formidable.

‘Is the city deserted?’ queried Gallia.

Nergal pointed to our right, to a part of the wall from which hung three rotting corpses. Our approach had temporarily scared off a host of ravens that had been picking at the cadavers, the bloated birds now sitting on top of one of the towers, watching us.

‘Someone put them there. I wonder what their crimes were to deserve such a punishment?’

Before I had chance to answer the gates began to creak and then slowly open inwards. Nergal instinctively drew his bow from its case and strung an arrow from his quiver.

I ordered him to put down the bow as the gates opened fully to reveal a man in his fifties, of average height and build, standing in the middle of the road. He had shoulder-length brown hair, a round face and wore a flowing white gown. At first I thought he was a priest. Two soldiers, each armed with wicker shields and spears, stood by the gates. Aside from their spears they wore no armour and carried no swords, and their only head protection were cloth caps. The middle-aged man knelt before us and bowed his head.

‘Greetings, King Pacorus. My name if Rsan and I welcome you to your city.’

‘Get up. Are you the governor?’

‘No, majesty, I am the city’s treasurer.’

My anger towards Prince Mithridates was beginning to rise. To have failed to greet us was bad enough, but to send a mere treasurer was an insult. I leaned forward in the saddle.

‘Does the governor have something better to do than meet his new king?’

Rsan shifted nervously on his feet. ‘The governor was executed several weeks ago, majesty. His body, along with that of the garrison commander and the high priest, is currently hanging from the walls.’

‘On whose orders?’

‘Those of Prince Mithridates, majesty.’

I turned to Nergal. ‘Ride back and get the others. Well, Rsan, let’s go and meet your Prince Mithridates.’

He looked even more uncomfortable and averted my eyes. ‘I’m afraid that the prince and his retinue left the city yesterday.’

‘What!’

‘Apologies, majesty.’ He once again knelt on the ground and bowed his head. ‘He just left without any warning, boarded a boat and headed downstream. That is why the gates were shut.’

‘Get up. So who is in charge?’

He looked round and then at me. ‘I think I am, majesty.’

I was seething inside, but there was no point in taking out my anger on the poor fool standing before me.

‘Well, show me to my new palace so I can wash the dirt from my body.’

He bowed his head again. ‘Of course, majesty. But where is your bride, Queen Gallia? We were told that she would be accompanying you.’

He had not cast the rider sitting beside me a second thought; after all, ‘he’ was just another soldier dressed in a mail shirt with a helmet on his head. Gallia pulled off her helmet.

‘She is here. Take us to our home.’

Rsan, momentarily stunned, bowed once more and led the way from the gates to the Citadel. On the way I noticed that the city appeared to be divided into rectangular blocks of houses and shops separated by straight roads perpendicular to each other, much like the layout of Roman towns. I also noticed that the shops were closed and there were no people on the streets.

‘Where are the people?’ asked Gallia.

‘Prince Mithridates ordered a curfew.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘He, er, well. He told everyone that you were going to take the city by storm and burn it to the ground.’

‘He is obviously insane,’ remarked Gallia. Rsan said nothing.

The Citadel lived up to its name, a walled stronghold with a gated entrance in the southwest corner. The walls were high and thick with a firing step all along their length and square towers at each corner, also with firing platforms on top. Archers and spearmen lining the step and towers had the protection of a high stonewall with slits in it at regular intervals. Inside the Citadel, barracks were sited along the southern wall. These were fronted by verandas. At the northern end of the Citadel were workshops, bakeries and a granary. The latter was set up off the ground on a grid of short stone pillars to deter pests and allow air to circulate, preventing the food inside from spoiling. Fronting the granary was a raised timber platform where goods could be offloaded from carts.

On the eastern side of the courtyard was the palace, flanked by the large armoury on one side and stables on the other. There were more stables and barracks along the west wall. Finally, standing directly opposite the palace steps, stood the treasury and a squat building that I assumed to be a headquarters building, the place where the administration of the garrison took place. Except that there was no garrison.

‘Where is the garrison?’ Sitting on Remus in the stone-paved courtyard I looked around at what appeared to be an almost deserted stronghold. Two guards carrying spears and wicker shields were standing at the top of the palace steps, two more were either side of the gates.

Gallia halted Epona beside me. ‘Where is everybody?’

‘I do not know. Rsan, where is the garrison commander?’

‘Dead, majesty.’

‘Call assembly,’ I ordered.

Rsan ran over the front of the headquarters building and rang a large brass bell that hung from a wooden stand outside the main entrance. A few moments later fifteen soldiers were standing to attention in the courtyard. They included the guards on the steps and at the gates. I dismounted as Nergal and the rest of my horsemen trotted into the courtyard. I waved him over.

‘Get the horses in the stables, then find the kitchens so we can all eat.’

Nergal saluted and looked at the short line of soldiers. ‘Is that the whole garrison?’

‘It would appear so.’

As I dismissed the soldiers I ordered Rsan to follow us into the palace. Like the rest of the Citadel it was a functional building, with a colonnaded porch that led into an entrance hall with white walls and a low ceiling. We walked through the hall into the throne room, at the far end of which was a high-backed chair on a stone dais. White stone columns around the sides of the room supported a low ceiling. There was a corridor to the left of the dais and a large red door on the opposite side.

I pointed at the corridor. ‘Where does that go?’

‘To the banqueting hall, kitchens, guardroom and slaves’ quarters, majesty,’ answered Rsan.

‘And where does that door lead?’

He walked over and opened it. ‘To your private apartments, majesty.’

The day was fading by the time my horsemen and their horses were settled into the barracks and we finally sat down to eat. Like the other rooms in the palace, the banqueting hall was functional and not over-large. Compared to its equivalent in Hatra it was positively tiny. Light came in through the high windows cut in the wall, though the afternoon was dying by the time servants brought us wine, bread, fruit and cooked lamb. At least the kitchens were still staffed. I asked Rsan to dine with Gallia and me. We were three figures huddled around the end of a long table later joined by Nergal and Praxima. They both took off their sword belts and laid them on empty chairs, sitting down beside us eager to begin eating. As servants scurried around lighting oil lamps hanging from walls I saw Rsan eye Praxima warily. Nergal’s Spanish woman was certainly a wild one, her long hair tumbling unkempt down her back. She used her dagger to cut slices of meat from the side of lamb that lay before her. I had seen her slit men’s throats with that dagger.

‘There is room for two hundred horses and five hundred men, Pacorus.’ Nergal filled a cup with wine and took a large gulp.

‘So where is the garrison?’ I asked Rsan, who picked at the food without enthusiasm.

‘Dead, majesty.’

‘From what?’ queried Gallia.

‘Alas, majesty, they were killed in battle.’

I finished my wine and stretched back in my chair. ‘Please enlighten us, Rsan.’

We had finished the food by the time he had finished his sorry tale. When he had been placed in charge of the city, Prince Mithridates had fancied himself as a great warrior, the equal of Alexander the Great and Hector of Troy. He had decided to put an end to the Agraci once and for all, and had ridden out of the city at the head of most of the garrison plus his own retinue of cavalry given to him by his father, King Phraates. The force totalled three hundred foot and five hundred horse, and most of it was slaughtered when it was ambushed by the Agraci two days’ march from the city.

‘Apparently,’ continued Rsan, ‘they were overwhelmed by huge numbers of Agraci, who descended on Prince Mithridates and his men like a plague of locusts. The prince did not lack for courage, but there were simply too many of them.’

‘And who told you this?’ I asked.

‘Prince Mithridates himself, who managed to escape the slaughter and make his way back to the city unscathed.’

‘A true hero, obviously,’ remarked Gallia dryly.

Rsan continued. ‘The prince, with what few forces he had left, attacked the Agraci again a while later, and captured Haytham’s young daughter.’

Rsan shook his head, his brow furrowed. ‘The Agraci king, majesty, is a most cunning individual, and when his daughter was taken from him he started raiding the prince’s, er, your kingdom. Prince Mithridates called upon the local lords to give him men to punish Haytham, but they refused.’

I was surprised. ‘Why?’

‘The prince had raised the taxes considerably to pay for his household here, and they resented it. So he invited each lord to send his eldest son to a great feast here, in the Citadel, as a sign of his contrition towards them. And when they came he had them all put in chains.’

This was outrageous. I stood up. ‘And have these men have been returned to their fathers?’

Rsan looked down at the floor. ‘No, majesty, they are locked away in one of the store rooms next to the armoury.’

‘Go and get them, now!’

Gallia pointed at him. ‘Wait, where is the daughter of this Agraci king?’

Rsan held out his arms in a gesture of innocence. ‘In one of the kitchen store rooms, I believe.’

Gallia stood up. ‘Find her and bring her here too.’

‘Majesties,’ said Rsan, ‘these prisoners may be dangerous, and you have no guards. May I suggest…’

‘Enough!’ I shouted. ‘Go and fetch the prisoners.’

Rsan scuttled away. I told Nergal to go and fetch some of my horsemen just in case we encountered problems. He came back with a dozen men who stood around the hall with their bows beside them. First to arrive was the Agraci prisoner, who was a mere girl of eight or nine years. She had big brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. Her feet were bare and her clothes torn, and manacles were around her ankles. She shuffled slowly into our presence, shaking and obviously frightened. Gallia was enraged at her treatment. She walked over to the girl, knelt down in front of her and tenderly embraced her. ‘You are in no danger.’

Whether she understood or not, Gallia’s words were spoken in a soft tone which the girl would have noticed. Gallia looked at me while still holding her.

‘Get these chains off her.’

I told Nergal to go and get an armourer or blacksmith, and ordered that more food be brought from the kitchens. The girl looked as though she could do with fattening up. Gallia took her hand and then sat her down at the table while I waited for the other prisoners to arrive. They did so ten minutes later, a sullen group of young men, unshaven and also clapped in irons. Their eyes burned with resentment as they stood before me.

‘My name is Pacorus and I am the new king of Dura. You will all be released immediately and are free to go back to your families.’ Though they said nothing, I detected a palpable feeling of relief in the room. Some of them looked at each other and nodded.

One of them, about my age with a dark complexion, held up his manacled wrists. ‘What about these?’

‘What about these, majesty, I think is the correct term.’

He looked me with narrowed eyes, then relaxed. ‘Apologies, majesty.’

‘No apologies are necessary. The chains will be removed now, though I hope that you will all stay tonight as my guests.’

My offer was met by silence, but their mood improved when two anvils arrived and two burly blacksmiths with thick forearms broke their fetters, attending to the Agraci girl first. And the room slowly filled with chatter as they sat down at the table and helped themselves to the food that was ferried from the kitchens. Most of them cast glances at Gallia, who was feeding the girl small pieces of fruit and bread from a plate. The girl still said nothing.

‘Is she mute?’ I asked.

‘I doubt it,’ she hissed, ‘she’s probably terrified. I’m going to take her to our private apartments, give her a bath and get her into some clean clothes.’

‘What about me?’

‘What about you?’ she sniffed. ‘I’m sure you are capable of finding a place to sleep tonight.’ I kissed her on the cheek and she led the young girl from the hall.

Once the former captives had had their fill, Nergal escorted them to one of the barracks where they could sleep for the night. Afterwards he came back and we sat together at the table while the servants cleared away the mess. Praxima had disappeared with Gallia and the child, but not before she had threatened to ‘cut the balls off Prince Mithridates’ if she ever met him.

‘I apologise for Praxima, Pacorus.’

I passed him a cup of wine. ‘Why? I feel the same way, spoilt little brat. He has created a disastrous situation and now he has run back to his father. I should send Praxima to fetch him back and then she can carry out her threat.’

‘Not how you expected to begin your reign.’

I shrugged. ‘No matter, tomorrow is another day, and Domitus and the legion will be arriving.’

Nergal finished his wine and stood up. ‘You might be needing them. Goodnight, Pacorus.’

‘Goodnight, Nergal.’

Rsan approached wanting to make conversation, but I bade him goodnight and he left me alone with my thoughts. My limbs ached from the journey and I realised that I still had my armour on. I took off the cuirass and laid it on the table along with my sword and belt. Collecting them up I went to find a room to sleep in while my wife attended to the daughter of an Agraci king. It was a strange start to our new life.

The next day, having slept in one of the bedrooms in the palace’s private chambers, I rose early and took breakfast on a large terrace overlooking the Euphrates more than a hundred feet below. The palace was sited on the eastern edge of the Citadel atop the cliff that rose up sheer from the riverbank. There was a small, narrow island in the middle of the river, and on the far side the other bank was Hatran territory. At the foot of the cliffs was a small harbour, from where Mithridates had made his flight no doubt.

Gallia and our young guest joined me soon afterwards. My wife wore a simple white gown with sandals on her feet. Her hair, unplaited, shone in the morning light. Slaves fussed around us, serving us fruit, pastries and cool water. Gallia sat beside me with the child next to her. The little girl looked far healthier than last night, with her hair combed and her face washed. She too wore a simple white dress, though I noticed she still bore red marks around her ankles where the fetters had been.

‘You two look well.’

‘Yes,’ Gallia smiled at the child, ‘she is pretty, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose.’

The child nibbled at a peeled orange as Gallia stared out over the river. ‘Our bedroom also has a terrace with a similar view. Magnificent, isn’t it?’

I cut a slice of melon with a knife. ‘Hopefully tonight I can see for myself.’

‘It’s a very large room,’ said the girl.

‘So,’ I said, ‘you can speak.’

The girl smiled to reveal perfect white teeth. ‘Of course.’

Gallia put an arm round her shoulders. ‘What is your name?’

She finished the orange and picked up a wafer smeared with honey. ‘My name is Rasha.’

‘That’s a lovely name,’ replied Gallia.

‘It means young gazelle.’

‘My name is…’ I did not finish my sentence before she interrupted me.

‘You are Pacorus and your wife is called Gallia, and you rescued her from a fire-breathing dragon in a land on the other side of the world, and you got back home on a white stallion who has wings.’

Gallia laughed. ‘Who told you such things?’

Rasha finished eating her wafer and picked up a fig. ‘The slaves told me. They used to sneak me food even though I wasn’t allowed any. Was the dragon big?’

I nodded gravely. ‘Big and ferocious, and he had huge claws and breathed fire that singed my hair, and my battle with him lasted all day and all night, but I jumped on his back and killed him with my sword.’

Her eyes were alight with excitement. ‘And was Gallia chained to a rock?’

I faked sorrow. ‘She was, chained and helpless. But fortunately I came to her rescue.’

‘What a gift you have for fairy tales, Pacorus.’ Gallia observed with a raised eyebrow.

‘Did you ride your horse here?’ asked Rasha.

‘Yes, he’s in the stables. Would you like to see him?’ She nodded enthusiastically.

So after breakfast we walked through the palace to the stables, Gallia jabbing me sharply in the ribs on the way.

‘Helpless was I?’

Rasha helped to groom and feed Remus, though she was disappointed to discover he had no wings. I told her that he had taken them off as they were very heavy, and in any case he didn’t need them now he was home.

While Gallia took Rasha off to meet her Amazons, who were grooming their horses near the stables, I had the sons of the lords given back their mounts. They assembled in the courtyard as I stood with Nergal on the palace steps and bid them farewell. I told them that I was sorry for their mistreatment and hoped that we would meet again in happier times. I also told them that their fathers would not have to pay any increased taxes. There was nothing else to say. The gates were opened and twenty unhappy and resentful young men rode from Dura.

‘At least you freed them,’ said Nergal.

‘I had hoped to meet them and their fathers in more auspicious circumstances.’

‘Well, I’m sure their ire will subside once they are back with their families.’

‘Let’s hope so, Nergal, let’s hope so.’

My mood failed to improve as Rsan briefed me on the state of the royal finances. The treasury was empty due to Mithridates’ failure to collect any taxes and his penchant for extravagance. I saw no evidence of this in the palace, but Rsan informed me that the prince had had all the gold ornaments and statues shipped back to Susiana before my arrival along with his harem.

‘His harem!’

‘Yes, majesty, a dozen women he had purchased from slave traders. They too went back with him to Susiana.’

‘Talking of slaves, all those in the Citadel are to be freed immediately.’

Rsan looked alarmed. ‘Freed, majesty?’

‘That is correct. They can stay if they wish, in which case they will be paid for their services, but they are all free to choose.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘It is quite simple, Rsan, I was a slave once, and I will not have any man or woman endure what I have experienced. See to it.’

In the afternoon the legion arrived and Domitus and Godarz presented themselves at the palace. And as they took nourishment on the palace terrace where I had taken breakfast earlier, I briefed them on what had happened thus far.

‘You let me take a couple of centuries and hunt the bastard down. We’ll bring him back and you can have him crucified on the far bank, over there.’ Domitus was as blunt as ever. He spoke in Latin, a language Rsan could clearly understand, for his mouth was open, aghast at such a proposal.

‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘I am sorely tempted. But I like his father and his grandfather is King of Kings, so I will forego that pleasure.’

Domitus belched loudly. ‘Pity.’

I gestured for Rsan standing by the door, to sit.

‘Rsan here is the treasurer, though he tells me the treasury is empty. Rsan, this is Godarz, who is the new governor of the city.’ Rsan bowed his head to Godarz, who nodded back.

Rsan became less sombre when Godarz informed him that a large sum of drachmas would be filling the treasury forthwith, just as soon as it was offloaded from the carts. I instructed Domitus to house two centuries in the Citadel, with a further cohort stationed in the city itself. There were some twenty-five towers on the circuit wall surrounding Dura. Each was capable of holding a dozen men. In addition to the large gatehouse at the Palmyrene Gate, all of them needed to be garrisoned.

The legion’s camp was established half a mile west of the city among the rock and iron-hard earth of the desert. As it was to be a permanent fixture, I ordered that a mud-brick wall be erected around its perimeter. The men would still be living in tents, but each cohort would be rotated between living in the camp and garrison duties in the city and Citadel, which would provide a variety of living conditions. The score of men from the original garrison I gave to Rsan as a treasury guard. They were under the overall command of Domitus, who took up residence in the headquarters building in the Citadel, but I did not want to dismiss them lest they took to banditry, and in any case I wanted to assure Rsan that he still had a place in the new regime. It was not his fault that the city’s former ruler had been a tyrant.

The city curfew was abolished and life for Dura’s citizens began to return to normal. Brick-making for the legion’s camp provided immediate additional employment for the citizens and trade in food and animals showed signs of recovery. This was most important, for without markets there would be no taxes for the treasury, and without taxes there would be no money to provide weapons and armour for the legion. Blacksmiths, farriers, veterinaries and armourers all had to be fed and housed.

Five days after our arrival at Dura I was returning to the city from the training fields — a barren stretch of earth near the legion’s camp — in the company of Gallia. While the legionaries practised drills, throwing javelins and becoming proficient with their swords, the horsemen honed their archery skills. The Amazons trained with them. We were both covered in grime and our tunics were soaked in sweat as we walked our horses back to the city. It was approaching noon and the heat of the day was stifling with a raging sun in a clear blue sky.

There was no traffic on the road west from Dura that snaked past the legion’s camp and out into the desert, to where the Agraci waited.

I drank from my waterskin, the liquid warm and unedifying, and then passed it to Gallia. Epona was lathered in sweat, as was Remus, and they were both breathing heavily from their exertions.

‘I would like to chop off the hands of Mithridates,’ she said casually.

‘Praxima wants to cut off his balls, you want to slice off his hands and Domitus wants to crucify him. There won’t be much left of him afterwards, that’s for sure.’

‘Arrogant little puppy, he has caused us many problems.’

‘He certainly has,’ I replied, ‘but at least I can put one thing right. I think it’s time Rasha was returned to her father.’

‘I agree,’ she said, wiping sweat-matted hair off her brow. ‘But who will take her back. Everyone fears these Agraci.’

‘I will,’ I said.

She turned to look at me with those blue eyes I loved so much. ‘Are you mad?’

‘I don’t think so, but I want to meet this king, so perhaps if I take his daughter he will not kill me outright.’

‘And perhaps he will.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, ‘it’s decided.’

‘Then I am coming with you.’

‘What?’

‘Either we go together or Rasha stays here’

I looked away from her into the empty desert.

‘There,’ she continued. ‘now it’s decided.’

Rsan was appalled at the idea of us going into the desert without an army, as was Godarz, while Domitus advised against it. Nergal just looked shocked and shook his head continually, but I told them that the matter was not up for discussion.

‘I will take Gallia and Byrd, and the child.’

‘You will not return, then,’ announced Godarz.

‘If that happens, my friend,’ I said, ‘you will become king. All those present will bear witness to my wish.’

‘At least let me go with you, Pacorus,’ said Nergal, his eyes full of pleading.

‘I will think on it. We will leave tomorrow.’

I told Nergal that he would be staying at Dura.