And so, with Vistaspa’s permission, I asked Godarz if he would accompany me to Dura.
‘I do not wish to drag you away from Hatra if you do not want to leave. It must be your decision.’
Godarz now busied himself with finding the best horses for Hatra’s army, especially pure whites; indeed, while a slave in Italy he had assembled a fine collection of horses for his master. One of these beasts was a white stallion with blue eyes that I took and named Remus. I had ridden him thereafter.
‘I would have to ask Prince Vistaspa for his permission, Pacorus.’
‘I have already done that, for I know that you are friends and so I sought his permission to approach you and he consented.’
He nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘And what do you want of me?’
‘To be governor of Dura,’ I replied, ‘to ensure that taxes are spent wisely and the city’s defences are strong.’
‘I know nothing of Dura.’
‘You know what Godarz, neither do I. But perhaps we can learn together.’
He accepted my offer.
There remained one more task to fulfil before I could leave Hatra. Years ago, in another lifetime, my father had sent a raiding column into the wild country of Cappadocia in reprisal for Rome’s aggression against Hatran territory. I was part of that raiding party, as was the man I now sought out in Hatra, a guide named Byrd who had also been enslaved by the Romans, and who had subsequently been the leader of a ragged band of scouts in the army of Spartacus.
I went into the city the next morning, walking through the bustling streets bursting with Hatra’s citizens and foreign visitors. The air was hot and filled with the smells of pungent spices from the East. The markets were heaving with people buying and selling garments, animals, pottery and exotic foods. The stalls were packed full of wares, customers haggling, shouting, cursing and laughing. Kogan’s guards kept order, but in general the atmosphere was good-natured although frenetic. I walked down to the southern part of the city, past brothels, inns and along litter-strewn streets. Beggars, their limbs distorted and their faces diseased, pot-marked and ugly, held out their filthy hands for money. I reached into my leather pouch and gave them some drachmas, for I too had been a penniless wretch once. I walked under an arch into a small square, around which more stalls were arranged. This was the poorer quarter of the city, and the wares on sale reflected that — coarse garments, poor quality utensils and thin loaves. Around the square were shops, mostly one-roomed affairs that opened out on to the square, their owners placing benches to separate the square from their abodes. I had consciously dressed in a simple white tunic, brown leggings and leather boots, but the sword hanging at my hip marked me apart from the dozens of others, some barefoot, all haggard, who were there to buy products.
I walked up to one of the shops on the south side of the square, which like the others had a wooden bench placed in front of its entrance. The bench was piled high with earthenware pots, and behind it a scruffy man, tall with dark, shoulder-length hair, his face lean, was arguing with a portly man with thinning hair.
‘You no like, then don’t buy.’ The seller’s eyes, narrow and brown, fixed the customer with a cobra-like stare. The man threw his arms into the air and walked away.
‘You won’t become rich with that attitude, Byrd.’
He recognised me instantly. ‘Lord, I not expect to see you in this part of the city.’
He smiled, one of the few times I had seen him do so in the years that I had known him. He still looked the same as when I had first clapped eyes on him before the fateful raid into Cappadocia. He had been hired as a guide and my first impression of him was far from positive. Dressed in scruffy clothes, I had, I am ashamed to say, looked down on him. But he proved his worth in Cappadocia and afterwards the more so when he became the chief scout in the army of Spartacus. He collected a ragged band of like-minded and similarly attired individuals, fifty in all, who became the eyes and ears of the army. They operated in small groups, riding ahead and reporting back on Roman garrisons and any armies that might be heading our way. And then, after that terrible spring day when Spartacus fell in battle, the scouts had simply melted away like they had never existed. All except Byrd, who elected to travel back with me to Parthia. Since my return to Hatra I had seen him little.
‘I close early today, lord. Come inside.’
He threw an old brown blanket over the pots on the bench and beckoned me to enter his shop, which in reality was a small space with a table on one side. A drawn curtain barred the entrance to what I assumed was a bedroom. He gestured at one of the stools tucked underneath the table. I pulled it out and sat down and he did the same. He filled a cup with water from the jug on the table and handed it to me.
‘You want to buy some pots, lord?’
I laughed. ‘Not quite. I have come to see if I can interest you in coming on another journey.’
He drank some water. ‘Journey?’
‘I have a new kingdom to go to.’
‘I know, lord. You travel to Dura soon.’
‘So, I see your old skills have not deserted you.’
He looked disinterested. ‘It is common knowledge.’
‘I would like you to come with me, to be my chief scout, or anything else that you might like to be.’
‘You very kind, lord, but I have a new life.’
I looked around his miserable quarters and his threadbare clothes. I could not believe that he was happy living such an existence, and then I remembered that the Romans had killed his family in Cappadocia when he had been away on the road selling pots. Perhaps he felt guilty that he had lived and they had died. Maybe living in misery was his way of atoning for the wrong that he felt he had committed, but perhaps I was thinking gibberish.
‘We miss you, Byrd,’ I said absently.
‘Who “we”, lord?’
‘Well, Gallia for one, and Diana and Gafarn.’
A smile spread across his lean face. ‘They are fine people. And the child, it thrives?’
‘He thrives. He is strong, just like his father.’
‘And Gallia, she is well?’
I drained my cup. ‘Strong, proud and defiant as ever, Byrd, just like in Italy.’
‘I came to temple when you were married. She very beautiful woman.’
‘You were at my wedding, why didn’t you come to the banquet afterwards?’
‘I stay at back of temple, lord, make no fuss.’
I laid a hand on his arm. ‘There are no barriers between those who served Spartacus, my friend, always remember that. It matters not if you are a king or a pauper; those of us who were in Italy are brothers. Nothing will ever change that. Please think about my offer.’
I took the purse hanging from my belt. ‘Take this. There is enough money for you to purchase a good horse and a saddle. We leave for Dura the day after tomorrow. I would feel a lot safer knowing that you are with us.’
He shook his head. ‘Hatra not like Italy, lord, no Romani here.’
I stood up and we shook hands.
‘Please give the matter some thought, Byrd. If you decide to stay, then please go to the palace and see Gafarn and Diana from time to time.’
‘They stay in Hatra?’
‘Yes, my mother likes having a young child in the palace, and everyone loves Diana too much to see her go.’
‘It will be hard on Gallia to leave her friend.’
‘It will.’ I pointed at him. ‘That is why your presence is all the more important. She will want as many of her old friends around her as possible.’