‘Now your father, he reminds me of Spartacus — courageous and strong, and a man who knows bullshit when he smells it. Now that friend of his, the big brawler.’
‘King Balas?’
‘Yes, that’s him, now he’s smarter than he lets on. And he was correct in what he said about your father becoming head king. Because the one that was elected.’
‘King Phraates.’
‘He’s weak, Pacorus. You may all like him but he lacks resolve. And he’s fatally wounded already.’
‘How so?’
‘Any man who lets his son steal his kingdom will receive no respect, and without respect he will not be able to command other kings.’
‘Technically,’ I said, ‘when Phraates became head king, as you say, Mithridates became King of Susiana.’
Domitus shook his head. ‘No one will see it like that. Unless Phraates marches to his capital, takes it back and executes his son, he will be seen as weak. And who follows weak leaders?’
Domitus had done wonders to turn a bunch of former slaves, misfits, thugs, itinerants, drifters and idealists into a body of fighting men, and I knew that what he said was true. He was a simple man, really, an individual who was brave, loyal and forthright. You knew where you stood with Domitus, this ex-centurion whom I had come to like and respect immensely. He said little and never complained, but he was harder than the steel of the gladius he wore at his hip. Every man of his legion respected him, even though he had had many of them flogged and allotted extra fatigue duties to those who were sloppily dressed on parade or inattentive during training, but they knew he was fair in his punishments and he never asked any man to undertake something that he himself would not do. He never spoke of his parents or if he had any brothers or sisters, and I assumed that his mother and father were long since dead. I often thought that he might be lonely, but he never let the mask of professionalism slip. That said I tried to make sure that he was at the palace as often as possible, despite the fact that he disliked sitting behind his desk in the headquarters building. He preferred to be pacing around the legion’s camp with his officers, cane in his hand, or leading a cohort on a twenty-mile route march during the heat of the day. I rose from the table.
‘The die is cast my friend.’
He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his neck. ‘Then let’s hope that we can kill Narses quickly.’
But the army would have to wait for the moment, for a more pressing matter had to be attended to.
Despite Demetrius’ brusque manners he was not averse to earning extra money on the side. Not that he needed to as he was being paid a king’s ransom to carve my griffin statue.
‘Nonsense,’ he snapped, ‘I have given you a very reasonable rate for my services, which, incidentally, are most sought after. I could be in Egypt working for Pharaoh, who would pay me much more and provide me with a harem for my entertainment.’
He really was a most taxing individual. ‘Then why don’t you?’
He stopped his chiselling and looked at me. ‘Well, for one thing, your wife is a most charming lady. And your mother is also intriguing.’
‘My mother?’
‘Yes, the one who gave you the banner in the first place. I must say that I have never met such interesting females. Most queens and princesses are as dull as ditch water, but they are certainly not. And for that reason I stay.’
‘She’s not my mother.’
‘Really? Pity.’
‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘will you take on a new commission?’
‘Of course, I have already promised your mother. She was most insistent, said it would bring you luck. Working with metals is slightly different to stone, of course, but my skills are extensive and I dare say I will manage.’
‘Dobbai commissioned you?’
He frowned at me. ‘That is what I said. Is your hearing impaired?’
But how did she know? Every Roman legion had a silver eagle as its principal standard, which became like a religious icon to the men. It was revered, loved and the legionaries would lay down their lives protecting it. I was determined that my own legion would have a similar standard, though it would not be the eagle design of my enemies. I was going to explain to Demetrius exactly what I wanted but had apparently been beaten to it.
‘But how do you know what to cast?’ I asked.
‘Your mother was quite specific. Now if you don’t mind I have a lot of work to do.’
I gave up trying to reason with him and left him to his stonework. A week later he sent a message saying that the new piece was finished. I took Gallia and Dobbai with me to his workshop to inspect it, and was truly awe-struck by what I saw. A golden griffin, about foot and a half long, lay on Demetrius’ bench. The expert casting had produced a piece that showed every one of the beast’s features, its talons, wings, head, body and tail wrapped around its hind quarters. It was made of metal but it seemed alive, ready to fly from the bench, for Demetrius had gone to work with his tools to expertly refine its features.
I stood in wonder, and even Dobbai for once appeared to be lost for words.
‘He’s beautiful,’ was all Gallia said.
‘A beautiful beast for a beautiful lady,’ retorted Demetrius.
‘It is to be the standard of my legion,’ I said.
Demetrius sighed. ‘A great pity, a beautiful woman should surround herself with precious objects.’
I looked at Dobbai. ‘How did you know?’
She shook her head. ‘You are easy to read, son of Hatra. Perhaps too easy.’
I knew that the griffin would become a sacred object to Domitus and his legionaries. It was late afternoon when I had the legion assembled outside the Palmyrene Gate. What a sight — five and a half thousand men fully armed and equipped standing in their centuries and cohorts! The day was still warm as the shadows grew longer, the men silent in their ranks. Domitus was in front of them with his officers, shiny metal discs on the front of his mail shirt and a white transverse crest atop his helmet. I rode out of the city with Gallia beside me. Behind us were my cataphracts in full armour and steel masks, together with Gallia’s Amazons in mail shirts and helmets, carrying their bows. Immediately behind me rode Vagharsh carrying my griffin banner and Nergal holding a thick ash shaft, on top of which, wrapped in linen, was the gold griffin. The cavalry deployed into a long line facing the legion and halted, while I nudged Remus forward until he was level with Domitus. His men stood to attention as I raised my right arm.
‘Men of the Duran Legion, I salute you. In a short space of time you have gone from being civilians to soldiers. None know what fate has in store for us, but I do know that you will not let yourselves or me down. Some of you fought in Italy with Spartacus. Know you that I hold true to what he believed in, that each man should be judged on his own merits regardless of his position at birth or race. You stand testimony to that belief. I thank you for your faith in me, and as a small token of my gratitude I present you with your standard.’
I dismounted and took the wrapped griffin from Nergal, then walked over to Domitus and handed it to him. He looked surprised, for I had kept this project a secret from him. I took my dagger to the twine wrapped around the linen and cut the threads. The same dagger that had once belonged to a brutal centurion who had been my jailer before Spartacus had liberated me. I yanked the linen cover away to reveal the gold griffin fastened to a small steel plate atop the pole. Domitus smiled with pride as he regarded the work of art, and though his men remained silent I sensed a surge of elation course through their ranks like a lightning bolt. The orange rays of the early evening sun caught the griffin and for a moment it seemed to stir, angry, restless and fierce before the soldiers who would come to love and revere it. Thus did the Duran Legion receive its griffin standard.