Peter Darman - Parthian Dawn

‘No man imprisons me,’ snapped Gallia.

‘Well said, daughter,’ said my mother. ‘And now we shall have an end of all talk of politics and Romans. Nothing will happen before the wedding anyway.’

Hatra, city of one hundred thousand people, was a glittering jewel in the desert the day I married Gallia. Perhaps it was because I was madly in love with my tall, blonde-haired princess from Gaul, or perhaps it was because the city was filled with kings and princes and their gaudily dressed entourages, but whatever the reason the limestone walls and towers of the city seemed to sparkle that day. From every one of its one hundred and fifty towers flew scarlet banners bearing white horses’ heads — the royal symbol of Hatra, after the famed whites ridden by every member of the king’s bodyguard. Today, though, the men of the bodyguard had been given leave to attend my wedding. Only those who were of Hatra’s nobility were allowed to serve in the royal bodyguard, and now they were in the Great Temple with their families and friends, along with hundreds of others who had been invited. The massive temple, its exterior walls surrounded by high stone columns, was filled to the brim. Assur stood impassive at the high altar while his priests fussed and panicked as they tried to get everyone seated in the correct order. Father, my mother and myself were in the front row on the right side of the great aisle that ran down the centre of the temple. Also in the front row were Gafarn, Diana, the infant child of Spartacus and my sisters. Immediately behind, and much to Assur’s disapproval, were those who had come with me from Italy. I called them the ‘Companions’, for that is what they were. And so there was Nergal, my brave and loyal second-in-command who had taken a wild-haired Spanish girl as his wife. I turned and looked at them both, the grinning Nergal who always seemed so optimistic, his brown, shoulder-length hair almost as long as that of his wife. Praxima smiled at me and fixed me with her big round eyes. I smiled back. She leaned forward and laid a hand on my shoulder.

‘I am happy for you, lord.’

‘Thank you, Praxima. And I am happy that you are both here to share this day with me.’

She had been a Roman slave in a brothel. Now, in her white flowing dress, it was hard to believe that she had fought like a man in Italy; indeed, she had been and was Gallia’s subordinate when my love had formed her own band of women warriors. I looked beyond Praxima to where a score of the Amazons sat at my wedding, the survivors of Gallia’s command. They were all young and some were beautiful, and as I turned to face the altar I remembered that they were also deadly. I had seen Praxima slit men’s throats with a dagger and shoot them down without pity with her bow.

The other Companions were a mixed bunch — Parthians, Dacians, Germans, Thracians and Greeks — former Roman slaves who had laughed and shed blood together, who were united by an unbreakable bond of comradeship forged in the cauldron of battle. They shared jokes with the cropped-haired Lucius Domitus, the Roman whom they loved like a brother. But the man whom we all regarded as a father figure was on the other side of the aisle, to the left of the woman I was about to marry. His name was Godarz and he too had been a Roman slave. In his late forties, tall, lean with cropped hair, he was actually a Parthian who had been a slave in Italy for many years. So many, in fact, that he dressed like a Roman. Curiously, he had served in the Silvan army under Vistaspa long ago, the same man who now commanded my father’s army. I can only surmise that it was the hand of God himself who had led me to a town in Italy called Nola, which Spartacus had captured and where Godarz had been a slave. We had released him from his bondage and he had subsequently become the quartermaster general of the slave army, and a man I respected hugely. Now he was going to give Gallia away, for her own father was dead, killed by Gafarn, now my brother.

A large hand slapped my shoulder. ‘Not a bad crowd, Pacorus, should be a good day. Mind you, there’s still time for Gallia to change her mind and marry me instead.’

Vata planted his stocky body beside me, his big round face wearing a grin. My friend since childhood, his father had been Bozan. During my time away he had become sullen and withdrawn, but today some of the old Vata — happy and carefree — had returned. My father had made him governor of Nisibus, a city in the north of his kingdom, but today he was in Hatra as an honoured guest.

I laughed. ‘My friend, you delude yourself, she only has eyes for me.’

He leaned forward and caught Gallia’s eye, then waved at her. She smiled and waved back. He put his arm round my shoulder.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘women can’t resist a hero.’

‘When I see one,’ I replied, ‘I’ll let you know.’

He laughed aloud, prompting Assur to frown at him. Vata ignored the high priest and pointed at the silver Roman eagle standard that lay at the foot of the high altar.

‘You remember that day, Pacorus, when you took it?’

He was referring to the battle four years ago when we had defeated a Roman legion and I had captured the legion’s eagle.

‘Like it was yesterday, my friend.’

Assur suddenly beat the end of his staff on the white marble floor and gradually the hubbub died down. His voice was deep and solemn.

‘Marriage is the chief concern of human life, as from it arise the nearest and most endearing relationships which go to form the comfort and happiness of existence in this world: husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters. Marriage may be designated the hinge of all kindred, the strongest link in the chain that binds mankind together. Hail to Shamash.’

As one the congregation answered, ‘Hail to Shamash.’

He motioned to me and Gallia to come forward and sit in the two chairs that had been placed before him. Between the chairs two priests held a large white cloth. The marriage ceremony has strict rules, and both of us had been tutored in the proper procedure beforehand. I had fought in many battles and come close to death on many occasions, but today I was more nervous than I had ever been in all my life. And all the while I was aware that Shamash, the god of the sun whom I revered, was watching me from heaven. Were my dead friends, Spartacus and his wife Claudia, also observing me? I liked to think so.

I took my seat on the right side of Gallia and then the two marriage witnesses stepped forward, those who were the nearest relations to bride and bridegroom. Gafarn was standing by my side, while Godarz stood arrow straight beside Gallia. Assur nodded and the priests raised the curtain to allow Gallia and me to hold hands, after which the priests released the cloth to fall over our linked hands. Thus was it indicated to all present that the separation that had hitherto existed between Gallia and myself no longer existed, and that we were now united.

Then the two priests passed a long piece of twine around both of us seven times, a process that indicates union between man and woman. One strand can be broken easily enough, but not seven.

Assur raised both his hands, his eyes to the ceiling.

‘May Shamash, the Omniscient God, grant you a progeny of sons and grandsons, plenty of means of provision, great friendships and a long life.’

Turning to Gafarn, Assur spoke solemnly to him. ‘I ask you, in the presence of King Varaz, in the presence of the invited kings of the Arsacid dynasty, and in the presence of all who have come to Hatra to witness this marriage, if you have agreed that King Pacorus will take this maiden, Princess Gallia, in marriage, in accordance with the rites and rules of the Great Shamash?’