‘Are you certain about this, majesty?’ queried Rsan.
‘Quite certain,’ I answered.
And so we trotted from the courtyard, through the Citadel’s gates and west down the main street of the city through the Palmyrene Gate into the desert, Byrd out in front. Many people fear the desert and in truth it is an unforgiving environment, hot during the day and bitterly cold at night, the abode of snakes and scorpions. The parched white bones of dead animals lying in mute testimony to the desert’s harshness. But the desert is also beautiful and serene. The wide-open spaces and lack of people allowing one to think and be at peace with its vastness. Its yellow and brown hues, the lush green of its oases and the stark outlines of the many outcrops give the desert a unique appearance that I always found invigorating. In truth I loved the desert and found journeying through it gave me an inner calm. I think it was the quiet, the absolute silence that pervades the desert that made me react to it the way I did. Even Rasha fell silent after the first morning.
We encountered no traffic on the track that wound its way west towards the oasis settlement of Palmyra, once a thriving trade centre but now the capital of the Agraci. This would have been the same route that Mithridates had taken during his abortive campaign against them, and the road the few survivors used in their flight back to Dura. I prayed to Shamash that we would not suffer the same fate.
That night we cooked and ate a brace of rabbits that we had brought from the city. Byrd found us some firewood from an abandoned wagon that we passed during the afternoon, and we sat around the fire as it cast our faces in an eerie red glow. Byrd had questioned us lighting a fire, but I told him that we were not on a scouting mission. The night was cool and so Gallia wrapped Rasha in a blanket and put a woollen cap on her head.
Rasha gnawed the meat from a small thighbone and then looked at Gallia. ‘Can I visit you again?’
Gallia smiled. ‘Of course, if you wish.’
‘Good. I like my room, and when I visit you I can put some of my own things in it.’
How innocent the world seemed through the eyes of a young child. I saw Byrd staring at Rasha. I wondered if he was thinking of his own family, now long dead, and his former life. If he was he never said. The next day he rode beside me with Rasha between Gallia and myself. On our right, in the distance, sat a long, squat limestone plateau, while on our left was an expanse of sand and rocks. A glint of light caught my eye and I squinted towards the plateau.
‘We are being watched,’ said Byrd casually.
‘By whom?’ asked Gallia.
Byrd nodded towards Rasha. ‘By her people.’
We saw nothing untoward for the rest of the morning and by noon it felt as though the sun was cooking us in a giant stone bowl, so we laid up in the lee of an outcrop forming part of a granite ridge extending to the north. We unsaddled the horses and used the saddles as back supports as we rested in the shade. I caught sight of a lizard scurrying between the rocks while overhead a buzzard glided effortlessly in the sky. After two hours we saddled the horses to continue our journey. The first hour was uneventful. Once again we appeared to be the only people in the barren landscape. But then I caught sight of a group of riders that suddenly appeared on our left flank, around a quarter of a mile distant. Their black shapes on black horses shimmering in the haze. Byrd rode up to me.
‘Our escort has arrived, lord.’
‘So it seems. You had better stay close.’
‘What do we do now?’ asked Gallia.
‘We carry on, my sweet.’
As we continued our trek west another party of horsemen, six in number, appeared on our right flank, at a similar distance to those on our left. The terrain was becoming hillier now, great sandstone slabs rising out of the ground. We ambled around one such pillar of stone and were confronted by line of at least a score of warriors on horseback. Remus, sensing danger, whinnied in alarm and we halted.
Each warrior was armed with a spear and sword at his waist. On their heads they wore turbans that covered the lower half of their faces. Only their dark eyes were visible. They carried large round shields on their left sides and wore black flowing robes covering their arms and legs. They were mounted on horses that could only be described as beautiful. Parthians love their horses, but I could see that this group of Agraci also held their mounts in high esteem. Their horses were big and powerful, deep chested with short heads, broad foreheads and wide jowls. They were a mixture of greys and chestnuts. Each one was wearing a red halter decorated with cowries and other adornments, finished with two groups of tassels, one on each side of the noseband. The tassels were braided, with the tops gathered and secured by gold threads. The horses’ chest sets were also decorated with coloured beads, cowries and golden silk threads, while red and gold tassels adorned each rider’s saddle.
One rider had halted in front of the group. He was a large, broad-shouldered individual who carried no spear or shield; his only weapons a curved sword with a white horn handle in a black sheath with a gold tip. He nudged his horse forward until he was around twenty paces from mine, fixing me with his black eyes as he did so. He halted and looked at Rasha then removed his turban to reveal a big, square-shaped face with a long nose and a thick, close-cut black beard. He dismounted from his horse and smiled at Rasha.
‘Have you no greeting for your father?’ His voice was deep, his coarse accent typical of the desert peoples.
‘Father!’ Rasha jumped from her horse and ran over to him. He scooped her up in his long arms and held her close. Then putting her down he examined her closely, no doubt to make sure she had not been harmed. Thankfully the marks on her ankles where she had been chained had disappeared. He stood up to face me, his right arm around her shoulder. He said nothing as he regarded us, while behind him his men eyed us menacingly. I decided to break the silence.
‘My lord, my name is…’
‘I know who you are, Pacorus, King of Dura, but I am intrigued as to why you would bring your queen with you?’ He glanced at Byrd. ‘And you bring so few warriors. Where is your army, your famed legion?’
‘I did not think it proper, lord, to enter your kingdom with an army at my back.’
His face betrayed no emotion as he no doubt weighed up our fate. ‘And now you expect me to let you return to your city unmolested?’
‘That is your prerogative, lord. My only thought was to return your daughter to you and therefore atone for the injustice done to your family by my predecessor.’
‘A Parthian army rides into my kingdom, attacks my people and steals my daughter. Parthians are not welcome here.’
‘I am not a Parthian, King Haytham’ said Gallia, ‘so what will you do with me?’
Haytham was taken aback. No doubt a woman had never spoken to him thus, or indeed anyone. Then the semblance of a smile creased his lips.
‘So, you are the famed Queen Gallia, the beauty from overseas who fights like a man. You too we have heard of. No doubt you have heard that we are savages.’
‘I have heard much, lord,’ she replied, ‘but I judge people according to how I find them. I hope you are a man who does the same.’