Peter Darman - Parthian Dawn

Several days later Vardan, his daughter, Farhad, Gotarzes and Balas requested that I take them to see my legion that was being trained in the desert. I gladly acquiesced, and was soon joined by Gallia, my father, Gafarn and my sister, Aliyeh. I found this odd as she had never taken an interest in my followers before, but then I noticed that Farhad’s son, Atrax, had also come along and that Aliyeh made sure she rode beside him. My sister was always serious, but today, in the late afternoon’s pleasant light, she smiled much and seemed carefree. Gallia noticed them too.

‘It would seem that your sister has found an admirer.’

‘An alliance between Media and Hatra would please my father. Atrax seems agreeable enough.’

‘Hopefully, if she does marry, it will be for love.’

‘Princesses usually marry for political reasons.’

She was indignant. ‘I didn’t.’

‘No, because you are an exception, in every conceivable way.’

When we reached the camp it had the ordered appearance of a Roman legionary outpost more than ever. Occupying a large rectangular space on the baked ground of the desert, it was now surrounded by an earth rampart. We rode on the track up to the main entrance, a wide gap in the middle of the rampart, which was guarded by two of my legionaries, men in helmets and mail shirts and equipped with shields and javelins. They could have been Roman soldiers, were it not for their white tunics and shields rather than the red favoured by the legions of Rome. They snapped to attention as I rode at the head of the column into the camp. As Remus walked slowly towards the centre of the camp I looked around at the neat rows of tents and was reminded of my time with Spartacus. His camps had been laid out in a similar fashion and his army had mirrored the organisation of Rome’s legions.

‘They have conquered half the world,’ he once told me, ‘so I see no reason not to employ their methods.’

Gallia reached over and grabbed my hand. ‘For a moment I thought I was back in Italy.’

I nodded. ‘I know. I still miss him.’

On we rode, to the centre of the camp where Domitus had pitched his new commander’s tent, a large beige structure built around a rectangle of poles with two flaps for an entrance, each tied back with leather straps. Two guards stood at the entrance, and one shouted inside as we approached. Seconds later the muscular form of Lucius Domitus strode out into the sunlight. He squinted at us as his eyes adjusted to the light, then raised his vine cane to me in salute. He was dressed in a simple white tunic, leather belt, sandals on his feet and his Roman short sword at his hip. He caught sight of Gallia and bowed his head to her, who nodded back. He ignored the Parthian kings, prince and princesses behind me.

I dismounted from Remus and clasped his forearm, he responded with an iron grip.

‘All is well, Domitus?’

‘All is well, Pacorus.’

‘I have brought some guests who have expressed an interest in seeing your legion.’

‘It’s your legion.’

‘How are you, Domitus?’ asked Gallia.

‘Well, lady, thank you.’

I turned to my guests. ‘This is Legate Domitus, who will be our guide today.’

The horses were taken to the stable area and then Domitus escorted us through the camp and then outside to the training fields, where hundreds of men were practising throwing javelins, marching in units of eighty men called centuries and honing their skills with wooden swords and wicker shields.

Balas, dressed in a simple flowing robe and leggings, a battered turban on his head, was intrigued by the latter activity. He pointed at the men crouching in front of large wooden posts driven into the ground, wicker shields tucked close to their bodies while instructors bellowed orders at them to jab at the posts with their wooden swords.

Balas looked at the sharp-featured Domitus. ‘So, you are a Roman?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And what is a legate?’ enquired Farhad, who unlike Balas was dressed like a king, with an expensive gold tunic, silver belt and a beautiful sword hanging from it in a silver-edged scabbard.

‘The commander of a legion, sir. Don’t slash with those swords, stab with them. Slashing is for cavalry and other useless bastards.’

Domitus’ outburst at those at the posts made Gallia and Axsen jump, while the others stared at him in disbelief.

‘Begging your pardon, but if they don’t get it right at the beginning then they won’t be much use when it comes to the real thing.’

‘My palace guards carry wicker shields,’ mused Gotarzes. ‘I did not realise that Roman soldiers are also armed with them.’

Domitus suppressed a smile. ‘They aren’t, sir. They only use them for training.’

‘Why?’ Farhad was clearly intrigued, while I noticed his son was totally disinterested, paying close attention to Aliyeh, who was clearly delighted with the adoration of a handsome young prince.

Domitus pointed at the recruits sweating under the sun that was now making its descent into the western sky. ‘Those shields are weighted with iron strips on the inside, making them heavier than their proper shields, and the swords are similarly weighted. Toughens up the men, you see, strengthens their arms and shoulders. Battles can be long affairs. Isn’t that right, Pacorus?’

I saw my father frown at Domitus’ familiarity, but those of us who had fought together in Italy shared a bond that was stronger than iron; indeed, any of those who had come with me from Italy was free to address me thus.

‘That’s right, Domitus.’

‘I remember when we fought all day in north Italy, near Mutina,’ added Gallia. ‘It was hot that day.’

‘That it was, lady,’ said Domitus. ‘But we didn’t falter. Hard training, you see.’

‘Train hard, fight easy, you remember Bozan’s words, father?’ I said.

Bozan had not only been the commander of my father’s army, but also his friend. ‘I do,’ he said.

Domitus approved. ‘He was obviously a sensible man.’

Axsen linked arms with Gallia. ‘You are truly an intriguing woman, Gallia. I have never met a woman who has fought in battle before.’

‘I would like to know what one of those shields and swords feels like,’ Balas said.

‘I would advise against it, majesty,’ I said. Domitus was shorter than the Parthians present, as were most Romans, but Domitus did not have an ounce of fat on him and his frame was packed with muscles. I had seen him fight in battle, and knew him to be a master with a Roman short sword.

‘Nonsense,’ said Balas. He pointed at Domitus. ‘What do you say, Roman, fancy your chances against an old campaigner?’ Domitus shrugged.

‘If you wish, sir.’

Moments later Domitus stood with a wicker shield held tight to his left side with a short wooden sword in his right hand. Balas, who unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to my father, was similarly equipped and waved the sword around in front of his body. Domitus crouched low and held his sword close to his body. All his life Balas had fought from the saddle, and though he might know how to battle on horseback he was hopelessly outmatched against an ex-Roman centurion. Balas tried to fight as he would from the saddle, with great scything attacks with his sword, but Domitus easily anticipated these moves and countered them with very effective feints and thrusts. It was over soon enough, as Balas shouted and tried to slash at Domitus’ head, but the latter ducked and smashed his shield into the king’s body, knocking him to the ground. Then Domitus pounced and was standing over Balas, the point of his sword at his throat. Domitus then stood back, threw down his sword and offered his hand to Balas, who accepted and was hauled to his feet. Balas roared with laughter and clasped Domitus’ muscled forearm. My father gave Balas his sword back.