And so it was. Every day exiles from Pontus, hard men with scarred faces and wounds from a score of battles, made their way to the legion’s headquarters in the Citadel. There they signed their names or made their mark agreeing to serve in Dura’s army. They served for pay, but it was not loot that had motivated them to walk all the way from Pontus to fight for me, it was revenge. They wanted a chance to kill more Romans. And they were all single men for those with wives and families stayed in their homeland and lived under Roman rule, or most likely were dead or had been enslaved. When they signed up they did so before Domitus, though surprisingly not one objected to serving under a Roman, for like them he too was an exile. In any case all of them had heard the stories of the prowess of Dura’s legion and its Roman commander, and they also knew that Domitus had served under Spartacus in Italy.
The armouries continued to work night and day, every day, week after week, month after month, producing swords, javelins, mail shirts, helmets, arrows, bows, maces, axes, scale armour for horses and men and the mighty kontus. Inside the brick buildings men worked with hammers, anvils, grinders, shears, vices and hole punches, while furnaces and bellows heated the steel that was hammered into shape to become sword blades.
Godarz enlisted so many armourers, blacksmiths, steel smiths, artisans, carpenters and saddle makers that we were forced to locate them to a campsite two miles north of the city. A large collection of tents sprang up near the river, and every day hundreds of men and some women made their way to their workplaces within Dura’s walls. The original garrison of the city, those score men who had greeted me on my arrival, were either paid off or given the opportunity to enlist in the new legion. Thereafter the guarding of the city, the Citadel and the area around Dura was the responsibility of Godarz. He and Domitus worked out a system whereby cohorts were rotated through the city to perform garrison duties, being replaced every month by a new cohort. In this way no legionary became used to the comparatively soft life of being a garrison soldier, which usually entailed nothing more than spending hours standing on sentry duty or patrolling the streets. With Haytham’s permission Domitus took the legion out on manoeuvres deep into Agraci territory, and days later I took my cavalry out of Dura to hunt it down. Malik and Byrd accompanied me, though it did not require any tracking skills to discern the path made by five thousand foot soldiers, nearly seven hundred mules and two hundred carts. We gave them two days’ start and then rode out to find them, five hundred heavy cavalry and their squires and a thousand horse archers led by Nergal. Praxima also brought her Amazons and a thousand camels trailed the host burdened with food, water and tents.
These exercises were always an excellent opportunity to keep the legion and my cavalry battle-ready. I always tried to make a mock assault on the legion at the end of the day, when the legionaries were constructing their camp for the night. Hours spent marching in full kit with packs is mentally and physically draining, and I thought that fast-moving horsemen stood an excellent chance of getting in among the legionaries. I was always proved wrong. And no matter how loud we blew our horns or how fast we charged, we always met a solid wall of shields, around which we galloped and hurled abuse at the ‘enemy’. And afterwards legionaries and horsemen shared an evening meal and Domitus told me how our approach had been seen from miles away.
‘Hundreds of horses kick up a big dust cloud. You never learn, you horse boys.’
The next day the legion and cavalry practised working together amid the heat, dust and flies. At first it was not easy. Roman tactics almost always placed cavalry on the wings in battle, but I wanted Dura’s army to be more flexible. So we spent time perfecting drills whereby the cataphracts and horse archers would retreat through the legion’s cohorts, who would endeavour to close ranks the moment the horsemen had passed through them. At first it was chaos, as cataphracts and horse archers rode between the gaps in the first-line cohorts, only to come up against a solid wall of shields of a cohort in the second line, as the legion’s second line was always drawn up in such a way that the cohorts covered the gaps of the first line. The front rank of riders pulled up and halted and those behind them did the same, so that in minutes there were hundreds of horsemen between and among the cohorts, shouting and cursing at the legionaries. Had it been a real battle the enemy would have had been hacking and spearing stationary riders with ease.
Nergal got very angry and jumped from his horse to confront the commander of the cohort whose men stood like a rock in front of his riders. The centurion strode towards Nergal and I thought they were going to clash swords, until the centurion removed his helmet and Nergal recognised him as one of the Companions, a great burly German named Thumelicus who lifted Nergal off the ground while giving him a bear hug. But the episode had revealed a major problem, which was solved by introducing a new drill whereby each cohort in the second line divided into two halves upon a specific trumpet blast, each group moving left and right respectively to deploy directly behind a cohort in the first line. This meant riders could ride though the first and second lines, which would close the gaps as soon as they were through. It took many weeks to perfect but I knew it would pay dividends in battle.
As the year waned Gallia went into labour. Beforehand Alcaeus moved into the palace to be near at hand when it was time to deliver the baby. Gafarn and Diana also arrived from Hatra. I had written to Gallia’s closest friend to ask her to come to Dura, for I knew that her presence would have a calming effect on proceedings, and hopefully would also have a calming effect on me. I confess that as the time approached I grew agitated, more so than before any battle. I knew that women died in childbirth, died screaming in agony as their insides were damaged beyond repair as their unborn child came into the world. Claudia, the wife of Spartacus, had died from loss of blood after giving birth to her son. I had been present on that terrible night, and suddenly I feared for my wife.
‘She is in good hands,’ said Alcaeus, laying a hand on hand on my shoulder. ‘It is normal for a father to feel nervous, especially on the occasion of his first-born.’
Dobbai cackled behind him. ‘Greater powers than he wields will determine whether good fortune attends the mother and child.’
‘Good medicine and a clear head will help them both, I think,’ said Alcaeus, frowning at the unkempt old woman who scuttled around our bedroom with cases in her arms.
‘What are they?’ I asked.
‘The lords of your kingdom may be merciless killers but they fear the gods, as should you, son of Hatra.’
I discovered that she carried gold and silver cases, presents from Dura’s lords, each of which contained prayers to protect our child from evil spirits and diseases. Dobbai placed them at the foot of the bed.
Other gifts arrived at the Citadel, including a chest from my parents that contained a large amount of Esfand seeds, which were stored in white silk bags, around which were arranged gold and silver coins. The burning of Esfand wards off evil spirits and curses.
Dobbai nodded her head approvingly. ‘Very wise, your mother is very wise. You have made many enemies, son of Hatra, and they would like nothing more than the death of your child and the ruin of your kingdom.’
Dobbai supervised the carrying of the chest into our private quarters, insisting that only those I trusted should be allowed to touch it. So Domitus, Nergal and Gafarn carried it into the palace to our bedroom. This was the first time that Gafarn had met Dobbai, and while Nergal and Domitus said nothing and did what they were told, Gafarn took exception to this ugly old woman giving him instructions. His reward was a fierce rebuke.