The archivist handed me back the parchment, then shuffled nervously on his feet. Assur waved him away, leaving us all in silence. All eyes were on me now. My mother looked alarmed, my father bemused, while Assur stared at the banner intently, almost as if he expected it to spring to life.
My father spoke first.
‘It would appear that Sinatruces’ sorceress still takes an interest in you.’
‘So it seems.’
‘You should send it back,’ urged my mother.
‘It’s just a piece of cloth, mother. Besides, I like it. I shall have Domitus inform the legion of its arrival.’
Assur nodded in approval. ‘A wise choice, majesty.’
‘Soldiers are a superstitious lot,’ offered Vata, ‘they’ll see it as a symbol of luck.’
‘Then let us hope that it brings you luck, my son.’ My father stood up and held out his hand to my mother. ‘We are finished here, everyone is dismissed.’
Afterwards I wrote a short letter to Domitus telling him of the banner and instructing him to pass on the information to his centurions, who would inform their men. Then I took it to the armouries to have it fastened to a lance, and afterwards it was rolled around the shaft and covered by a waxed canvas sleeve.
As Gallia fell asleep in my arms I stared at the furled banner propped up in the corner of the bedroom.
In the morning it and we would be marching to Dura.
Chapter 4
We rose before dawn and said our goodbyes on the steps of the palace. The legion would already be packing up its tents and workshops and marshalling into its centuries and cohorts, Domitus barking curses and issuing orders as his subordinates organised their men into their ranks. Gallia was dressed in her war gear of mail shirt, leggings and boots, her spatha in its scabbard hanging from her belt, with her dagger tucked into the top of her right boot. Her bow was safe in its case hanging from her saddle, quiver at her hip. Her Amazons, similarly attired, were mounted behind her as she said farewell to my parents, sisters, Gafarn and Diana. The latter was in floods of tears as she hugged her friend. They had been together since the gladiator school in Capua and were now to be apart for the first time in years. Gallia embraced her friend tightly, kissed her on the cheek, put on her helmet and then vaulted onto Epona, her mare that she had brought with her from Italy. If there were tears in her eyes I did not see them, though I noticed that she quickly closed her helmet’s cheekguards, then dug her knees into Epona’s sides and trotted from the square without looking back, followed by her Amazons. My Parthian horsemen, Nergal at their head and my new banner carried behind him, waited on the far side of the square. A guard held Remus’ reins.
My father, dressed in a simple white tunic, sandals and beige trousers, had his arm around my mother’s waist. ‘Try not to get yourself killed down there.’
‘I will try.’
Tears streamed down my mother’s face as I embraced her. ‘May God protect you, Pacorus.’
‘Don’t be sad, mother, I’m only going to Dura not the end of the world.’
My words did not convince her. I kissed Diana and embraced Gafarn.
‘Keep your eye on our parents,’ I told him, ‘see that mother doesn’t get too morose.’
‘I will, and you look after yourself and keep Gallia safe.’
‘Always.’
Vata suddenly appeared, running down the steps as he buckled on his sword belt.
‘Apologies, too much to drink last night.’ He belched loudly, causing my mother to cast a disapproving look at him. He locked me in a bear hug.
‘Farewell, my friend. Keep safe.’
‘You too, Vata, and come to Dura soon.’
He released me and looked round. ‘Where’s Gallia?’
‘You missed her.’
‘That’s a shame. I was going to persuade her to come to Nisibus with me and leave you on your own.’
‘Same old Vata.’
We clasped each other’s forearms. I turned, mounted Remus and rode from the square and the palace of Hatra. We rode out of the city via the northern gates and then wheeled left to meet up with the legion as it marched southwest, towards Dura. It was not hard to find — five thousand men plus dozens of carts and mules moving across baked ground kicked up a big dust cloud. The men marched six abreast along the road that snaked south towards the Euphrates. Unlike Roman roads it was little more than a dirt track, seldom used by the trade caravans that headed west or east to and from Hatra. The day was bright and warm, with a slight easterly breeze that failed to blow away the dust kicked up by the horses.
We joined the long column of foot soldiers a short distance from the city. At the front marched Lucius Domitus, his helmet topped by a large transverse white crest, as usual his vine cane in his hand. He raised it in salute when he saw me and I reined in Remus beside him.
‘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.