The lords of Dura were hard frontiersmen, men given lands on the western bank of the Euphrates because only they had the courage and skills to conquer a wasteland filled with hostile Agraci. Dura had belonged to the King of Kings, and the wily fox Sinatruces had sent those who were uncontrollable and rebellious to do battle with the scorpions, snakes and Agraci. Only the strongest and most cunning survived, but those who did carved out their territory with blood and iron and had no time for court etiquette or politics. They still did not kneel to any king and I did not ask them to kneel to me, but I had earned their respect and they now gave me loyalty. And the peace with the Agraci had held, so now their lands were unmolested and turning a profit, which in turn was making them prosperous.
For his part Haytham kept an iron grip on his people and prohibited any incursions into Dura’s territory. But old habits die hard and there was the occasional transgression, usually a raid to steal livestock. Haytham always found out and had the livestock returned, along with the severed heads of the thieves as proof that justice had been meted out. Such gestures were appreciated by Dura’s lords. For his part, after bidding Gallia and me a fond farewell, Malik returned to his people and took Byrd with him, though after a few days Gallia was harassing me to take her to see Haytham.
‘We could invite him here, Rasha too.’
She was insistent. ‘No, I think we should visit him. It is only polite.’
I suddenly realised why she was so keen to journey to Palmyra. ‘You want to see Byrd’s woman.’
She avoided my eyes. ‘Nonsense, I had completely forgotten that he had one. In any case…’
‘Very well, my sweet, we will visit Haytham and satisfy your curiosity.’
And so we did. I took Haytham a present of a pair of elephant tusks that had been hacked off a dead beast after we had beaten Porus. On the road I was struck how much traffic there was — camels carrying great loads, mules weighed down with wares and even travellers on foot. How different from the first time that we had made the same journey, when we took Haytham’s daughter back to her father.
Palmyra was a great sprawling collection of tents around a huge oasis that had turned the arid desert green. There were hundreds of trees fed by the waters — palms, olives and pomegranates — and there must have been thousands of people living among the lush landscape.
‘We have set aside a large area to the south for the merchants and their animals, and we dug irrigation channels to provide men and their beasts with water, which we charge them for.’ Haytham grinned broadly. He was still an old thief at heart.
We sat cross-legged on the carpets in his tent, eating roasted goat wrapped in pancakes, dipping them in delicious yoghurt and washed down by fruit juice. Rasha was cuddling up to Gallia as we ate and talked.
‘Is there any trouble?’ I asked.
‘Never,’ replied Haytham. ‘I make sure of that. I provide escorts from the edge of your territory all the way down to Petra if they so desire, but most of the caravans have their own guards and keep themselves to themselves.’
‘And you are happy with our agreement?’
He nodded. ‘I have no complaints, and Malik does nothing but talk about you and your army. I think you are turning him into a Parthian.’
‘What do you know of Byrd?’ asked Gallia.
Haytham rose and picked up some cushions and placed them around Gallia. He had obviously heard of her pregnancy. ‘Your scout? He’s a strange one. Doesn’t talk much but he and Malik have become good friends so he comes and goes as he wishes. He’s found himself a woman here.’
‘Gallia is dying to meet her.’
‘I am merely curious, that is all,’ she said.
‘I’ll ask Malik to bring them over tomorrow, if you wish.’
Malik and Byrd had just returned from a journey to Syria, so I could pretend that my meeting with them was for reasons of strategy, though I doubt that anyone was fooled, especially as there was no reason for Byrd’s woman to be there. She was a dusky skinned individual of average height and slim build, wrapped in her dark brown Agraci robes, her hair braided under her shawl. She had dark brown eyes, almost black, with a slender nose and full lips. Her name was Noora and Gallia was delighted to meet her.
‘I am a friend of Byrd’s,’ Gallia said.
‘I have heard of you, lady,’ she looked at me. ‘And you too, sir.’
‘Please, call me Pacorus.’
Byrd looked totally disinterested as Gallia took Noora by the arm and bombarded her with questions.
‘Sorry about all this, Byrd,’ I said, ‘you know what women are like.’
‘No matter, lord. It is good to see Gallia looking so well. One thing you should know, though. We heard stories of many Romani soldiers marching across the land from Greece into Asia.’
‘Going where?’
‘Armenia and Pontus.’
That was indeed worth knowing. With reinforcements, Lucullus would be emboldened to make further incursions into Parthian territory, though first he had to destroy the remnants of his enemies in Pontus and Armenia. Perhaps that would keep him occupied and avert his gaze from Parthia. Perhaps, but I was still uneasy. Our stay in Palmyra was an extremely pleasant diversion, though, and I was pleased that Byrd had found a companion after his years of loneliness. Gallia wanted them both to come back with us to Dura to live in the palace, though the look of horror on Byrd’s face at such a prospect told me that he would be staying with Haytham and his people.
‘I hope I can still call on your services, Byrd,’ I said on the morning of our departure. ‘You are my best scout.’
‘Just send word, lord. I come.’
We did take one person back with us, though — Rasha. She wanted to hear more tales of elephants and in any case Gallia loved having her in the palace, so that was that.
I wrote to Phraates, Aschek of Atropaiene and Farhad of Media telling them about the reinforcements being sent to Lucullus, though I was rather surprised when I received a message back from Phraates telling me that Lucullus had sent a courier to Ctesiphon stating that Rome wished for peace with Parthia and looked forward to amicable relations between our two empires. There was no mention of Rome withdrawing from Gordyene, though. Phraates also informed me that Mithridates had appeared at his court and had begged his forgiveness for being ‘intoxicated’ by Narses and raising his sword against his father. Phraates had forgiven his son, of course, but had given the city of Susa to Orodes for safekeeping, retaining Mithridates at Ctesiphon to be the commander of the garrison and his ‘special advisor’, whatever that meant. At least Orodes now controlled the kingdom of Susiana and its army.