‘You think Mars watches over you?’
He snorted at that notion. ‘No. Caring is for women, but I believe that if he is pleased he will protect a soldier so he can watch him again in battle.’
‘He did not protect Spartacus,’ I said, thinking to catch him out.
‘Spartacus wanted to die that day and Mars granted him a good death. I hope one day that he will extend to me the same courtesy.’
‘Not yet, my friend,’ I told him. ‘I need you for a few more years yet.’
I left him keening the edge of his sword and walked outside. The evening was hot and filled with the smell of leather, the smoke of cooking fires and human sweat. Men sat around in groups talking, playing dice or checking their equipment. Mail shirts were being cleaned of any dirt or, most rare in hot desert climes, rust; swords and daggers were being sharpened and helmet straps examined. Every man was trained in the use of the javelin and gladius, but in battle it was his defensive equipment that saved his life. Roman helmets were very practical items, but I had had the armourers strengthen our helmets with a forehead cross-brace. This made them heavier, but Dura’s legion was Parthian, not Roman, and that meant having to fight hordes of horsemen on campaign. Even Roman helmets could be split by a man on a horse hacking down with a downward sweep of his sword, but the steel cross-brace offered protection against this.
As I passed near to groups the men stood up, but I ordered them to resume their leisure activities. I did not wish to disturb them; I was just glad to be back among them. I felt relaxed in their company, untroubled by what the enemy might throw at us in the coming days.
A strapping centurion, vine cane in hand, marched up and saluted. He wore no armour or helmet but his cane indicated his rank, that and his broad shoulders, thick chest and muscled arms. I recognised his face. As I wracked my brain trying to think of his name, he saved me the trouble. ‘Arminius, sir.’
‘Of course, forgive me, I should know the names of all the Companions.’
He grinned. ‘I think you have enough on your plate at the moment to be bothering with names.’
I tugged his elbow. ‘Walk with me.’
‘We are moving out, tomorrow, I hear.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘time to remind the Romans whose country it is.’
‘I’m glad. I didn’t hold with…’ he glanced at me.
‘Speak freely, Arminius.’
‘Well, I didn’t hold with leaving the queen in Dura. A lot of us are very fond of her and we want to get back to the city as quickly as possible.’
Neither did I, though I knew that at this moment the queen was exactly where she wanted to be, and that it would take more than a Roman army to evict her from her home.
Chapter 15
I slept for two hours at most as I waited for the new day. Before dawn I dressed and walked to the stables in the middle of the camp to feed and water Remus. Then I groomed him and snatched a mouthful of porridge and water from the stable hands. The area stank of horse and mule dung. Already centurions were barking orders and their men were dismantling tents. The clatter of cooking utensils, the grumblings of mules and the rustle of men donning their mail shirts and personal equipment filled the air. It takes around three hours for a camp to be dismantled and its component parts packed into wagons, loaded onto mules or carried on the shoulders of individual legionaries. Domitus searched me out and we stood watching his men go about their business with consummate ease. They had done this many times before, those who had fought in Italy with Spartacus had done it for years, and I always liked to watch the organised chaos that transformed a heaving camp into a marching army. The first centuries were already forming into column of march, the men six abreast, in preparation for their journey west. By the time the last contingents had departed from where we were now standing, the legion’s foremost century would have covered around ten miles.
After an hour Nergal arrived with my cataphracts, who wore only leggings, shirts and helmets. They carried their bows and quivers, but the scale armour for both them and their horses was carried on the camel train attended by the squires, and which waited to the north. It was a hard life for these boys, up before dawn each day to attend to the horses and then learning the art of war around their everyday chores. But at least they would be spared battle, as their task was to stay in camp, ferrying ammunition supplies to the horse archers and to help tend the wounded. Then, at the end of the battle, they would assist their masters in taking armour off men and horses. If the worst happened and we were defeated, the squires were ordered to flee to Hatra and seek the sanctuary of my father.
The day would be hot and already the air was filled with dust thrown up by the thousands of sandal-clad legionaries and the hundreds of mules of the legion. The men of Pontus, my second legion, albeit still in transformation, were also in camp. Thus nearly eight thousand foot soldiers were on the move, and riding on their flanks would be a thousand horse archers and five hundred cataphracts. At the bridge we would hopefully rendezvous with Dura’s lords and their horsemen.
‘I have scouts riding far ahead, lord, and beyond them are Byrd and Malik,’ said Nergal, ‘but we have heard of no Romans crossing the Euphrates.’
‘Hopefully they still believe that Dura’s army is trapped in the city. As long as we are able to cross the river unmolested, then they will have to fight.’
‘They could escape west across the desert,’ said Domitus.
‘Is it in Roman nature to flee from barbarians, Domitus?’ I asked.
He winked at me. ‘Absolutely not.’
At that moment Surena rode up on his horse, which appeared to have been groomed as it looked decidedly better than when he had ridden it into camp. I vaulted into my saddle.
‘You stay with me,’ I told him.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To fight a battle, so keep close and stay out of trouble.’
He smiled at me. ‘Are we going to kill Chosroes?’
‘No, Surena, we have others to kill first.’
It took us three days to reach the bridge across the Euphrates. When we arrived Nergal, Byrd and Malik were already there, together with a score of Agraci horsemen, black-clad warriors carrying round black shields and armed with long spears and curved swords. As the army marched across the stone arches and engineers mapped out the site for the night’s camp on the west bank, I saw dead Romans lying on the riverbank.
‘You did well, Nergal,’ I said.
‘Not me, lord,’ he nodded at Malik. ‘This was an Agraci victory.’
I nodded to a beaming Malik. ‘My thanks.’
‘It was easy enough. We pretended to be pilgrims and killed them on the bridge. None escaped.’
Nergal was looking at Byrd. ‘Show him.’
Byrd shrugged and reached inside his robe. He pulled out a letter, nudged his horse forward and handed it to me. It was stained with blood.
‘It was taken off a dead Romani courier on his way to Dura.’
By the looks on the faces of Byrd and Malik they knew what its contents were. I opened it and read the Greek words.
To my dear friend Lucius Furius
I have received reports of your excellent progress at Dura and the happy news that you expect the city to fall imminently. That you have encountered no resistance does not surprise me, as it is well known that the eastern peoples are effeminate and degenerate. It would be most desirable if you could capture the so-called King of Dura and his wife, as their parade through the streets of Rome would be a great political boost and would go some way to counter the popularity that Pompey enjoys within the city.
When Dura falls I grant you full authority to do with it as you see fit, though I will retain full control of the dues raised from the tolls levied on the trade caravans, and you are additionally entitled to half of the profits from the sale of its citizens in the slave markets, though what price you will obtain for such wretches I do not know.