Every night I walked among the campfires to sit with as many of the men as I could, and every night they wanted to hear the same stories, of how I had been a slave, had fought with Spartacus and had found Gallia. How we had fought and defeated the Romans. And all the time they asked me about Dobbai’s prophecies. Had she foretold my enslavement? Yes. Did she predict my meeting with Gallia? Yes. Was my becoming a king her doing? Yes. All these things they knew already, but they listened in awed silence as I told them the tale again. One night I happened upon a group of Thracians, now all centurions, who were Companions and formerly soldiers under Spartacus. That night they did the talking and I listened. The glow of the brazier cast us all in a red light as we wrapped our cloaks around us, for the desert nights were cool.
‘That night when we attacked the Roman camp at the foot of Vesuvius, that was the first time I saw you.’ The speaker was big and solid, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. ‘You and the rest were in chains.’
‘I remember,’ I said.
‘That was good sport that night. We slaughtered them all. At the end I was standing behind Spartacus as he watched you killing some Roman. You were hacking at his corpse like a mad man. Then you stopped and we all thought you were going to have a go at Spartacus.’
‘You looked like a wild-haired demon, Pacorus,’ remarked another. I might have been a king, but all the Companions were allowed such familiarity.
‘Anyway,’ continued the big one, ‘next thing you passed out and we had to carry you back to camp.’
‘You carried me?’ I asked.
‘Me and another one. Though we had to break your manacles first.’
‘I’ve still got the scars on my back from when that bastard centurion flogged me,’ I spat.
Before I knew it they were all showing off their battles scars with pride. One showed me a nasty white line that ran across his chest.
‘One of Crixus’ Gauls gave me that when he ran his dagger across my skin for saying something that upset him. Can’t remember what it was now.’
Another man looked up. ‘That’s the thing about Gauls, you don’t need a valid argument to get into a fight with them.’ He suddenly realised that I had married one. ‘No offence, sir.’
‘None taken, and I agree, they are a testy race.’
‘Good fighters, though,’ said the big Thracian.
I thought of Gallia in her war gear sat on Epona’s back shooting down her enemies without mercy. ‘Good fighters, yes.’
‘Hopefully,’ I said, ‘we won’t be doing much fighting from now on.’
They looked at each other and then burst into laughter.
‘What is so amusing?’ I asked.
The big one spat into the brazier.
‘The gods have a purpose for you, and it isn’t to sit on a throne growing old in the middle of the desert. All we know is fighting and war, just like you. It is our destiny.’
‘Can a man not change his destiny?’ I enquired.
He shook his head. ‘No.’
The trip to Dura was uneventful. The legion maintained a steady pace each day and the cavalry walked beside their horses along the dusty road. Byrd, as was his wont, disappeared for hours on end, riding ahead of the column to scout. I told him there was no need, as we were in Hatran territory and my father had established small strongholds throughout his kingdom — forts with a garrison of twenty or thirty cavalry — to both keep the peace and alert him to any threats. It was over two hundred miles from Hatra to Dura, and we had passed two of these forts already on our journey, half a dozen men plus their commander riding out to present his compliments, and to take a look at my new bride no doubt. But Byrd would have none of it, every day leaving camp before dawn to return again just before nightfall. The first thing he did was to report to me, and declare that he had seen nothing untoward.
‘I could have told you that, Byrd. Now go and get yourself something to eat, and get your horse seen to.’
The state of Byrd’s horse had been a constant cause of friction between him and Godarz when we had all been in Italy, but now Godarz did not bother to confront my chief scout over the neglect of his mount. Instead, he made sure that there was a groom waiting when Byrd rode into camp, who was instructed to take his horse to the temporary stables where it was watered, groomed and fed. All this happened while Byrd was reporting to me, and I made sure that he stayed long enough in my tent to allow the horse to be properly attended to after its long day.
At the end of the ninth day, as the sun dropped into the west and red and purple hues filled the sky, Byrd appeared at the entrance to my tent. As usual, he was covered in dust and grime, his hair lank around his shoulders. It had been a hot day, and both Gallia and I had taken off our boots, armour and helmets and were stretched out in chairs.
Seeing him I pointed to a jug of water on the table. ‘Help yourself, you must be thirsty.’
Gallia raised her hand in recognition, and then closed her eyes. It had been a long, tiring day.
‘Your kingdom about to break out in revolt, lord.’
I jumped up. ‘What did you say?’
He walked over the table and poured himself a cup of water, then drank it down.
‘The lords in your new kingdom very angry, lord.’
Twenty minutes later Godarz, Domitus, Nergal and Byrd were gathered in my tent, their faces illuminated by two oil lamps that hung from the centre poles. Gallia stood beside me. Byrd then proceeded to tell them what he had learned that day. He had ridden to the eastern bank of the Euphrates and had crossed the river forty miles upstream from Dura. There was a bridge there, which was held by Hatran troops, giving access to the western side of the river. A toll was imposed on every traveller wishing to cross the bridge, though in truth there were few, as the bridge had originally been built by Sinatruces to facilitate troop movements across the river. My new kingdom had only been a Parthian province for a short time, having been conquered to create a shield for the western edge of the empire and, according to my father, to be a dumping ground for malcontents. Byrd crossed the river and learned from farmers on the far side that the kingdom was seething with resentment.
‘Why?’ asked Godarz.
Byrd shrugged. ‘They say Prince Mithridates is a tyrant.’
‘Who’s Prince Mithridates?’ said Domitus, yawning.
‘He’s the eldest son of King Phraates of Susiana, who in turn is the son of the King of Kings,’ I replied.
I could see that this meant little to Domitus, who looked at me blankly. ‘The point is,’ I continued, ‘that he has been ruling Dura and its lands, not very well by the sound of it.’
‘Will he not present himself to you at the river tomorrow, Pacorus?’ asked Nergal.
Protocol demanded that the prince should present himself to me in person, though as yet I had received no word from him. In any case if what Byrd said was true, then I decided that etiquette would have to take second place to realities.
‘He should, but tomorrow I will take all the horse and ride straight to Dura. Domitus and Godarz, you will stay with the legion and continue its march.’
‘I and the Amazons will come with you, Pacorus,’ said Gallia.
‘Very well, we leave before daybreak.’