Peter Darman - Carrhae

Its head moved, I swear it did, in a gesture akin to a nod of recognition, as I passed under the arch and exited the city. I pulled on the reins to halt my mule and then looked back up at the statue. It was immobile. Of course it was. Foolish old man.

My old mule knew the route he had to take every day and once we had descended the gentle slope that led from the gates he headed off the road heaving with carts, wagons, camels, mules and travellers on foot and ambled south, towards the fields and date palms of the royal estates. Fed by irrigational canals that had been vastly improved by the engineering skills of Marcus Sutonius, they grew the crops and fed the cattle, pigs, sheep and goats that sustained the palace and the garrison, as well as producing a surplus that was sold in the city. Dozens of villages had sprung up inland of the Euphrates where farmers and their families prospered.

I sat on the cart as the mule trudged down the dusty track leading to my bench. When he stopped I alighted the cart, unstrapped him from his harness and then led him to the shade of the date palm. I never bothered to tether him because he was too lazy to attempt to escape, being content to remain by my side apart from the occasional amble down to the river’s edge to drink.

I eased my creaking body down and rested my hand on my sword hilt. I don’t know why I bothered to strap it on each day because I was far too old and frail to wield it. But then I had worn a sword since my teenage years and it was a link to my past, to a time when I had been a warlord and commander of armies. It was also a link to the man who had given me it and whose memory I still revered. I watched the waters flow past and heard the comforting sound of birds overhead. The tiring bustle of the city seemed far away as I watched a dragonfly hover above the blue waters of the Euphrates. The air was sweet and pure and the silence was having a most sleep-inducing effect and soon my eyelids were closing as I drifted into blessed slumber.

I awoke with a start. Something was wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up and my senses were heightened. I felt the same surge of tension and energy that I had experienced countless times on the eve of battle. I jumped up and drew my sword as the air was suddenly filled with the dull, melodious thud of marching feet. I swung round and saw a long column of soldiers approaching like a great black snake slithering across the terrain. But that ground was lush and rolling, a blanket of green as far as the eye could see. The river and date palms were gone. What madness was this?

I tightened the grip on my sword and saw that my hands were no longer covered with wrinkled skin and bulging veins but were smooth and strong. I stared at my left hand in disbelief.

‘Sleeping on guard duty, Pacorus?’

I turned around and saw a man on a powerful brown horse, an individual with muscular shoulders beneath the mail shirt he was wearing, his face chiselled, his jaw line strong, his dark eyes unyielding. His hair was cropped short but he was no Roman. His lips broke into a broad grin.

‘Has the cat got your tongue, King Pacorus of Dura?’

My sword fell to my side as I beheld the figure of Spartacus before me, who now slid off his horse and strode up to lock me in an iron embrace.

He pulled back and slapped me on the arm. ‘Lord,’ I whispered.

‘It is good to see you, my friend.’

‘Lord!’ I shouted, before dropping my sword and embracing him in delirium.

‘I hope you are going to give him back to me, little one,’ another person said and I froze as I recognised the voice.

I turned to see a woman with hair as black as night dismount and walk towards me with a feline grace. Her full lips parted as she smiled and opened her arms to embrace me.

‘Claudia.’

I felt tears welling up in my eyes to run down my face as I blubbered like a child. She held me close and kissed my wet cheeks.

‘Why the tears, little one?’

‘It has been so long, lady. I thought I would never see you again.’

My lord placed an arm around my shoulder. ‘We never abandon our friends, Pacorus, you should know that.’

He vaulted into the saddle and helped his wife into hers as the vanguard of his army arrived, a great mass of men armed with javelins, wearing helmets and carrying Roman swords. They marched six abreast, rank upon rank filing past me and banging their javelins on the insides of their Roman shields as they did so. I saw long hair protruding from beneath the helmets and heard the chant, ‘Parthian, Parthian,’ and raised my hand to the Germans who acclaimed me.

A man with a long face, long hair and a beard sauntered up and offered his arm.

‘We were beginning to think you would live forever,’ he grinned as I clasped his forearm.

‘We can’t have you grabbing all the glory, Castus,’ I replied.

‘We will talk of that in camp tonight.’

I picked up my sword as I heard another familiar voice. ‘I hope you’ve kept it sharp.’

I looked up to see Cannicus standing over me, with the hulking figure of Thumelicus beside him. I laughed out loud and threw my arms around them both.

‘Never have I been so happy to see so many Germans.’

‘Until tonight,’ said Thumelicus before rejoining the ranks.

Next came thousands of Thracians led by a squat, dark-haired man with a scar down the right side of his face. He pointed at it as he passed me.

‘I see you have a souvenir like mine.’

‘Yours is deeper, I think, Akmon.’

The serried ranks continued to pass me as I placed my sword back in its scabbard and Spartacus and Claudia walked their horses forward to my side.

‘Are you coming with us, Pacorus?’ he asked.

I looked up at him. ‘I have no horse, lord.’

‘Do you not?’ said Claudia, looking beyond the column of troops.

The horizon, previously empty, was suddenly filled with horsemen cresting a hill who then flooded the valley we were in and rode towards us. I saw a great white banner sporting a red design and then a rider with flowing blonde hair holding the reins of a white stallion that galloped beside her and a wave of pure joy swept through me. The riders slowed their horses to a trot and then halted as Gallia walked Epona and Remus through the parting ranks and brought my horse to me.

The tears came again as she gave me a dazzling smile, jumped down and threw herself into my arms.

‘You did not think I would leave you, my love, did you?’

‘Never,’ I answered, my heart full of gladness.

I cupped her young face in my hands and stared into her blue eyes.

‘Was it all a dream?’

‘Life and death are but fleeting dreams, my love, but love is eternal.’

I hoisted myself into the saddle and once again felt the powerful frame of Remus beneath me. He snorted and flicked his tail and I leaned forward and patted his neck. Gallia mounted Epona and then we followed Spartacus and Claudia as they trotted forward beside his marching army. The other horsemen fell in behind us: Vagharsh carrying my banner, the grinning Nergal beside Praxima and Gafarn and Diana joining us with the mail-clad Amazons behind them. I shook hands with them all as we rode on.

Spartacus slowed his horse as we neared a man wearing a white transverse crest atop his helmet who was barking orders to the soldiers marching beside him. He struck one with his cane.

‘No talking in the ranks. You’re no longer slaves but soldiers, so act like it.’

Spartacus rode alongside him. ‘Pacorus has joined us, Domitus.’

My friend turned and raised his cane to me. ‘About time. We need someone to keep your horse boys under control.’ He gave me a grin. ‘We’ll talk later, my old friend.’

Spartacus shook his head and smiled. ‘Well, Pacorus, we must make haste if we are to get home.’