Peter Darman - Parthian Dawn

‘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.’