Peter Darman - Parthian Dawn

‘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.