‘His encampment outside the city resembles a host of refugees,’ grumbled my father. ‘They need to be moved on.’
‘That may be difficult, majesty.’ It was the first time that Assur, high priest of Hatra, had spoken. Lean and possessing a somewhat severe countenance, he was now in his sixties but still commanded great respect. The guardian of the souls of the city’s population, he was the representative on earth of the god we all worshipped in Hatra, Shamash, Lord of the Sun.
‘Why is that, Assur?’ asked my father.
‘It is well known that the individuals you speak of are here for one reason only, to enlist in the service of your son, Pacorus. They believe, rightly or wrongly, that he is beloved of God, since a sage in the service of King Sinatruces foretold his return. Moreover, that he returned to us with the Lady Gallia by his side, whose coming was also foretold, has only added to the lustre that surrounds your son’s name. I would advise against making any move against our new guests.’
‘How many have graced us with their presence thus far?’ asked my father sourly, looking at Kogan.
‘My men have counted over five thousand thus far, majesty. And may I add that they are proving a heavy burden on the city’s resources. Most brought little or no food with them and Prince, er, King Pacorus has insisted that they should all be fed.’
‘Of course,’ I added, ‘otherwise they will starve and will be of no use to me.’
‘This matter needs attending to, Pacorus,’ said my father, ‘especially since visiting dignitaries will soon be arriving as your wedding guests. It is inappropriate that the first thing they will see of Hatra will be your band of beggars and thieves that have decided to make you a god.’
The meeting over, I made my way to my quarters in the palace to collect my weapons. I took Gafarn with me, walking through corridors teeming with clerks, servants and guards, Kogan’s soldiers, who stood like statues in front of white stone pillars.
‘I will be glad to get to Dura Europos.’
Gafarn was surprised. ‘You wish to leave Hatra?’
‘In truth, though I love my parents, I find the atmosphere in the palace suffocating. My parents are watching over me like hawks. I want to get married and then be away.’
‘Then it was fortunate indeed that you have been given your own city to rule.’
I bristled at this. ‘Fortunate! It was the least that Sinatruces could do.’
Gafarn laughed. ‘He could have had you killed and taken Gallia for himself. No one would have thought any less of him had he done so.’
I did not answer because he was right. Gafarn had a gift, which I found very irritating, of being able to sum up most situations succinctly. The Parthian Empire was made up of eighteen separate kingdoms, each one ruled by a king, but each of these kings elected one of their number to be the ‘King of Kings’, to rule over them all. In this way the empire had one voice and the likelihood of civil war breaking out between ambitious kings or factions was reduced. Sinatruces, now over eighty years old, had been King of Kings for fifty years. The great length of his rule had meant that all the kings of the empire naturally deferred to his decisions and accepted his authority without question.
‘Your father seems annoyed at your appointment. But then, hardly surprising as you are only twenty-five and he had to wait until his father, your grandfather, King Sames, died before he could wear Hatra’s crown. He was in his thirties then.’
‘Thank you, Gafarn, I know my family history.’
‘If you know it, then you must realise why he is so peeved. Add in that you have become a messiah, and you can understand his annoyance.’
‘I am not a messiah.’
He nodded. ‘Indeed you are not, but you are to those who have made the trip to Hatra.’
We picked up our swords, bows and quivers from our quarters and then walked to the stables adjacent to the sprawling royal barracks next to the palace, where my father’s bodyguard and the army’s other cavalry were quartered. The royal bodyguard consisted of five hundred of the finest sons of Hatra, all personally selected by either my father or Vistaspa, men who had been trained for war since an infant age. Like me, their whole lives were devoted to becoming expert in the military arts — riding, shooting a bow from the saddle, using a sword on foot and horseback, and a lance from the saddle. The royal bodyguard looked down on the members of the city’s professional army — a thousand heavy cavalry and five thousand horse archers — who in turn looked down on the city’s garrison: Lord Kogan’s two thousand foot soldiers, who in reality were a force for maintaining law and order in the city. God knows what they all thought of the ragged wretches who had come to Hatra with the sole intention of enlisting in my service.
The palace, a large limestone building in the north of the city, stood next to the city’s royal square, which was normally empty save for special occasions. Opposite the palace was the Great Temple, a massive colonnaded structure erected to pay homage to Shamash. The royal stables were thronged with soldiers, grooms, farriers, veterinaries and blacksmiths. Horseshoes were being hammered on anvils and horses were being saddled, exercised or groomed. The mounts of the royal family were housed in a separate block, a whitewashed stable with a tiled roof and running water. But in truth all of Hatra’s royal stables were luxurious, for to a Parthian his horse was the most precious thing that he possessed. Then I thought of my darling Gallia; perhaps not the most precious.
My horse was a pure white stallion called Remus, named after one of the founders of the city of Rome. He had been named thus by his master, and I had ‘liberated’ him when Spartacus had captured the city of Nola. I had ridden him from that day on, and he had been my trusty steed in many battles. When I escaped from Italy he came with me. During my time with Spartacus Remus had been quartered either in the open or under canvas, and he had got used to it. As I walked into the stables he kicked the door of his stall. A stable hand, a man in his late forties, frowned.
‘He still dislikes his stall, I see.’
‘Yes, highness. Most of the time he displays a grudging calm and remains aloof from us, but in the mornings, just before you take him out for his daily exercise, he becomes highly irritable.’
‘Like his master,’ quipped Gafarn.
Once I had entered his stall Remus calmed down, so I led him out, threw a red saddlecloth on his back and then strapped on the saddle itself. This comprised a wooden frame with four horns reinforced with bronze plates at each corner. The horns and the saddle were padded and covered in leather, and once in the saddle the horns held the rider firmly in place. Items of equipment could also be hung from these horns. While I was checking Remus’ straps and bridle, Gafarn saddled his horse, a white mare named Sura who had formerly been my horse before I had been captured in Cappadocia. Whereas Remus was headstrong and feisty, Sura was calm and determined. She was a fine horse and I was glad that she now belonged to my adopted brother. We slung bows in hide cases fixed to our saddles, while our quivers hung at our left hips, secured to a leather strap that ran over our right shoulders. For our ride we wore wide-brimmed hats, long-sleeved shirts and baggy leggings.
It was mid-morning now and the sun was beginning its ascent in a clear blue sky. There was but a slight breeze, and already the day was very warm. We left the city via the northern gate, one of four that gave access to Hatra, and then rode across the causeway over the wide, deep moat that surrounded the whole city. Hatra was in the middle of a desert, but the city itself was fed by many springs that produced cool, sweet water. These springs kept Hatra green and the moat full, but my father kept the surrounding area deliberately parched. When I asked him why he did not build watercourses that would make the desert bloom he had smiled and replied. ‘If an army lays siege to Hatra, its troops will die of thirst before they breach the city walls.’