‘That’s what she told me,’ concluded Domitus, ‘seems to have worked a treat.’
I smiled to myself. Perhaps I should leave these Romans to Gallia, she seemed to be coping very well.
‘So Dura still stands, Byrd?’ I asked.
He drained his cup and smiled at me. ‘No Romani army will take that city.’
After a final council of war, during the course of which I had again explained the tactics that we would use the next day, the lords went back to their men. I had insisted that they and their followers, plus all of Nergal’s horsemen and my own cataphracts, should sleep behind the earth rampart of the legion’s camp. This made for a crowded camp, as the men of Pontus were also accommodated within its circuit, but I did not trust the Romans not to attempt a nighttimes’ assault and I did not want to give them the opportunity for an easy victory Malik and Byrd assured me that their Agraci scouts had the Romans under close watch, but I insisted, and I even requested that Orodes bring in his men as well. He acquiesced, more from not wishing to appear discourteous than because of any sense of danger. Domitus approved.
‘Just because we are home doesn’t mean we get sloppy.’
It was the first time that I had heard him call Dura home and I was pleased. I always worried that he missed his own people, but if he did he never said so and now I was reassured that he felt one of us. I knew that he was immensely proud of his legion, and had every right to be, and also that he was held in great respect by his men.
That night I wrote a letter to my father and mother, explaining that I would be giving battle tomorrow and that afterwards, Shamash willing, I would march to Hatra’s aid. Later I went outside to stretch my legs. I never slept much before a battle, two or three hours at most, but I was seldom tired on the day of action itself. Rather, it was as if my senses were heightened by the prospect of slaughter. My mind raced with ideas, my reflexes were faster than usual and I could almost feel my blood coursing through my body. I put this down to my upbringing, when I had first been introduced to the tools of war as a small boy. By the time I was eight I could shoot a bow from the saddle, wield a small sword, throw a spear with some accuracy and fight with a mace and shield. When I became a teenager I had mastered the use of all these weapons and had learned how to fight as part of hundred-man mounted company, then as a member of a dragon. I had fought my first battle at the age of twenty-two and now, six years later, I stood on the eve of another one. I stared south and saw the black shape of Dura’s walls and its Citadel framed against the clear night sky. No lights flickered in Dura. I smiled. Gallia had all the windows barred with shutters and no lamps burned in the city’s streets. She knew that a sentry or careless individual framed by light made an easy target for an enemy archer or slinger.
Tomorrow I would be with my love once more.
Surena appeared and offered me a cup of water.
‘You should get some sleep,’ I told him, taking the cup and emptying it.
‘I’ve tried, but as soon as I shut my eyes a thousand images fill my mind. I will sleep after the battle.’
I hoped that it would not be the sleep of death. He still had his knife tucked in his belt and wore sandals on his feet.
‘Come with me,’ I said.
We walked among the rows of tents holding sleeping legionaries until we came to the southeast corner of the camp where Nergal and his horsemen were located. The comforting smell of horses, and the not-so welcoming smell of their dung, met my nostrils as I found my cavalry commander sitting on the ground playing dice with his officers.
‘I did not know you were a gambler, Nergal.’
They all saw me and made to stand up. I indicated for them to stay where they were.
‘I’m not really, lord, but I feel lucky and wanted to take advantage.’
I tilted my head at Surena. ‘I came to find this one a sword and some boots.’
Nergal looked at Surena. ‘Pity he can’t wait until tomorrow. There will be many Roman ones lying on the ground.’
This brought laughter and smiles from his officers.
‘I wish to have a sword now,’ said Surena sternly, ‘so I can kill the enemies of Pacorus.’
Nergal stood up and tugged at Surena’s tunic, indicating that he should follow him. ‘That’s King Pacorus to you, boy.’
Surena mumbled something under his breath and followed Nergal. Two minutes later we were in a fenced-off area containing two- and four-wheeled wagons, the whole park being guarded by a ring of sentries positioned every ten paces. Mules were tethered together in another adjacent area, and further away, though judging by the smell not too far away, was the camel park. Nergal nodded to the guards and we walked up to a small hide-skin tent pitched near one of the wagons. Nergal stood in front of the tent.
‘Strabo. Come out, your king has need of you.’
Seconds later I heard a rustling noise and then a large man with long dark hair and a round face shuffled out on all fours.
‘Can’t a man get a few hours’ sleep without being troubled?’ He sniffed and then turned his head to me. He obviously knew who I was because he quickly got to his feet and dusted himself down. He wore a simple white shirt and dark leggings. His feet were bare. He squinted at me with piggy eyes.
‘Well. Apologies, your majesty, but I didn’t know you were coming. No one ever tells me anything, it’s always Strabo do this, Strabo do that. Well, one day we will have a proper set of procedures for dealing with things.’
‘Enough, Strabo. The king needs your assistance.’
‘Well, I will be happy to oblige if I can, though all my assistants are asleep. It’s late. Well, you are lucky that I was just closing my eyes.’
‘The sooner we can have what we came for,’ I said, ‘the sooner you will be able to return to your slumbers. I need a sword and a pair of boots for my squire here.’
He wiped his nose on a sleeve as he studied Surena. Then he ambled over to one of the carts, mumbling to himself as he did so.
‘Like all quartermasters, he is reluctant to part with his supplies. Isn’t that right, Strabo?’ Nergal called after him.
Strabo ignored the jibe as he lifted the canvas cover on the cart and rummaged underneath. He returned with a pair of boots and threw them at Surena.
‘They should fit you nicely. Nice and worn in, they are. Came off a dead one of that lot who fought with Porus last year.’
Surena held them with distaste.
‘Now don’t you get high and mighty,’ said Strabo, ‘they’re fine boots and the previous owner no longer has a use for them.’
‘He’s right,’ I added.
Strabo scuttled off and began rifling through another cart, then reappeared with a sword in a scabbard. He handed it to Surena, who this time was beaming with delight. He drew it slowly from its scabbard. It was a Roman spatha, exactly like the one I carried, though mine had been a gift from Spartacus himself. The blade was long and straight and finished in a point. Both edges were razor sharp and its hilt was made of dark-stained walnut. It was a beautiful piece.
‘Where did you obtain it from?’ I asked.
‘Malik and his Agraci brought in a load of captured weapons after they had butchered a few Roman horsemen on the road north of here. Seeing as you’ve got one, I thought it appropriate that your squire should have one as well.’
‘A fine sword, Surena,’ remarked Nergal, whose own spatha hung from his belt, ‘make sure your conduct is worthy of such a blade.’
‘My conduct?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Will you use it to further your honour or as a tool to butcher innocents? Will you wield it to defend your family and homeland, or to spread death and misery in furtherance of your own selfish goals?’
He looked at me with a blank expression on his face.
‘Well,’ I continued, ‘these things are for the future. But remember that a man’s sword is not just a lump of metal; it is an extension of him. However, it is late and we have troubled Strabo enough for one night.’