‘It is the storm demons,’ shouted Dobbai, ‘they wish to enter and spread their desolation.’
For five days the storm raged. Such was its fury that no one could venture outside, with visibility reduced to nothing and skin and clothes running the risk of being sand-blasted after even a few seconds of exposure. On the third day the wind increased in intensity, a ceaseless roaring noise surrounding the Citadel and driving everyone inside to distraction. I thought the roof and doors would be ripped off such was its rage. I saw fear in men’s eyes as the wind and sand assaulted our fortress. Claudia screamed and wailed and people began to pray to their gods. I too prayed to Shamash that He would spare us, or at least my wife and daughter. Even Domitus looked alarmed. No, not alarmed, helpless, something I had not seen in his eyes before. This in turn made me alarmed. Nergal held Praxima close and I held Gallia and Claudia, while Dobbai paced up and down, seemingly oblivious to the terror that was spreading among us. Only one person seemed truly unconcerned, happy even, and that was Surena, who held a pale Viper in his arms, her face buried in his chest. And then, after the fifth day, when our nerves had been frayed to breaking point, when we had despaired of getting solace from the pounding noise that filled our world, the wind stopped. There was suddenly absolute silence. At first I thought that my hearing had given out after the days of howling and roaring, but then Dobbai laid a hand on my arm.
‘It is over, they have returned to the underworld once more.’
We sighed with relief and embraced each other. Some fell to their knees, wept and thanked their gods. Domitus caught the eye of Dobbai and nodded in acknowledgement that she had been right. She nodded back. Then it was back to normality.
Domitus called together his officers and began the task of preparing the march north once more. Men were recalled from the outlying forts. Thanks to Dobbai’s warning the army and its supplies were unharmed, and soon men and materials were moving out of the Palmyrene Gate to assemble once more in camp. Shutters and doors had been pummelled by the storm and some roofs had been torn off, but in general the city was relatively unscathed. Then I remembered the stone griffin statue at the Palmyrene Gate. High and exposed, it would have taken a terrible beating from the sand and dust — if it was still there at all. I rode down to the gate and raced up to the battlements, to find the statue untouched. I ran my hand over its contours. It was as if it had just been carved; there was not a mark on it. How could this be?
It took two days before the army was ready to move. I was still concerned that the Romans had stolen a march on us but Dobbai scoffed at my worries.
‘You think the Romans were able to march through Al-Dabaran? They will be in a perilous condition. It will take them many days to recover from the punishment they have received.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘It is of no consequence.’
‘If it is of no consequence,’ I said, ‘then why did you bother to warn me of the storm?’
‘Because I am fond of your wife and daughter, son of Hatra, that is why. If anything happens to you then they will suffer, and I do not wish to see that. And the gods have not yet finished with you, so go and play at being a general.’
Byrd and Malik rode ahead as the army began its march from Dura, the legionaries marching six abreast and Nergal’s horse archers forming a flank guard for the foot, wagons and mules. Domitus, as always on foot, marched at the head of his men in front of the colour party carrying the gold griffin and the standard of victory. I rode at the tip of the army with Gallia and Orodes. Behind us came the standards of Dura and Susiana, and behind them Gallia’s Amazons. The cataphracts, their squires and camels were in the centre of the column, Domitus and his legionaries trailing behind. Nergal also had two hundred horse archers acting as a rearguard. I left five hundred foot and fifty horse archers behind at Dura, plus the Roman engineers that we had captured.
We marched north at a steady pace, covering around fifteen miles a day, and each day our numbers were increased when we linked up with one of Dura’s lords and his retinue. Many of their sons were members of my cataphracts and each day brought a happy reunion of father and son, sons in some cases. Each lord brought at least five hundred horse archers, so that by the time we reached the northern boundary of the kingdom the army totalled over twenty thousand men. How absurdly proud we all were, for we were unvanquished and rated ourselves among the best warriors in the empire. And we all also knew that our numbers were too few to take on the might of Pompey. We travelled under an intense clear blue sky, the army strung out over many miles as it hugged the Euphrates. Camels grumbled and spat, mules brayed and men sweated. Each night we slept in tents in a large camp erected in the Roman fashion, surrounded by a ditch and rampart surmounted by a wooden palisade, and each day it was disassembled ready for its erection on another site at the end of the march. As men spent between three and five hours a day disassembling the camp, Nergal sent his scouting parties far ahead into the surrounding desert, and ahead of them all rode Byrd and Malik.
We kept close to the Euphrates as we passed a mountain called the Jabal Bishri, a massive limestone and sandstone plateau with huge basalt outcrops that some said were fifty miles in length. We halted in the large expanse of land between the Jabal Bishri and the river, in the irrigated strip beside the Euphrates. At first I thought I might anchor one flank of the army on the river itself, as I had done at Dura last year, but Pompey had so many foot soldiers that he would be able to outflank our own legionaries with ease, and then herd them into the river while he fended off our own cavalry. So I decided to fight him inland on the plain, where at least our advantage in horsemen would keep his own cavalry at bay, and where the hard-packed dirt surface made excellent ground for charges and flanking manoeuvres. But eight legions against two was still sobering odds.
This was the furthest extent of Dura’s lands. Further north there were no fields or homes — just flat desert, the Euphrates disappearing into the distance.
On the final day of marching, with the sun beating down on us with relentless savagery, Surena came galloping up to the head of the column. Since the sand storm he had been in a ridiculously happy mood and today was no different. Like all of us he wore only his white baggy shirt and loose leggings and boots, a floppy hat on his head — helmets were carried on our saddles until the fighting began, unless you wanted to roast your brain. Gallia and her Amazons wore wide-brimmed floppy hats to keep the sun off their necks, and they let their hair fall freely about their shoulders. Some, such as Viper, cut their hair short to save them having to plait it when they donned their helmets, but Gallia and Praxima kept their hair long, which I was glad of. But it was Viper who was the topic of conversation today.
Surena halted his horse beside Remus and bowed his head. ‘Lord, I have happy news.’
‘Excellent, Surena. Have the Romans retreated?’
‘No, lord, I don’t know anything about them, but Viper has agreed to see me when we get back to Dura.’
I looked at Gallia on my other side, who rolled her eyes. ‘My congratulations.’
‘I knew I would win her round in the end. Bit of luck that storm blowing up when it did, though’
‘I’m sure the gods arranged it especially so you could woo her, Surena,’ I said.
‘Yes, lord,’ he beamed. ‘I was wondering, lord, if I might have some leave after the battle.’
‘Leave?’ The idea that he might be killed during the next few days had obviously not entered his mind.