She smiled at Claudia. ‘Tell your father what happened to the smoke from the fire near the stables.’
Claudia looked very serious. ‘The smoke did not disappear, father. It hung over the flames. It should have risen straight towards the heavens. But it did not. A bad omen.’
‘What nonsense is this?’ I asked Dobbai irritably.
‘No nonsense, son of Hatra. It is an old Scythian ritual that can determine whether evil spirits are near.’
I pointed at Claudia. ‘You should not fill her head with such foolishness.’
Then I turned to Gallia. ‘This is just the sort of thing I was talking about.’
‘What about that Jew you brought back with you from the desert?’ asked Dobbai.
‘Aaron? What about him?’
‘He is an assassin,’ she replied, ‘I have seen his eyes. They are full of hate.’
‘He will be arrested,’ announced Gallia. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘If Aaron is an assassin as you say, then he had plenty of opportunities to kill me on the journey from Palmyra.’
‘You should kill him,’ said Dobbai, ‘just to make sure.’
‘Kill him, kill him,’ shouted Isabella, not knowing what it meant, or at least I hoped that she did not. Poor Aaron, Haytham was thinking of having him killed and now Dobbai wanted his head.
‘Quiet!’ I shouted. Isabella fell silent and then began to cry. Gallia walked over and picked her up.
‘Now look what you have done.’
I held my head in my hands. ‘Aaron is under my protection,’ I said, looking at Gallia and then Dobbai. ‘No harm shall come to him.’
‘Let us hope the same can be said of you, son of Hatra,’ quipped Dobbai.
I had suddenly lost my appetite, so I rose and walked from the terrace. The rigours of the training fields beckoned and were a welcome relief from the wittering of an old woman.
‘You can turn a deaf ear to me if you wish, son of Hatra,’ remarked Dobbai as I left them, ‘but you are foolish not to heed the warning signs that the gods are sending you.’
Chapter 2
Gods! How they tormented us mortals! I worshipped and feared Shamash, God of the Sun, and respected the other deities that dwelt in heaven, but I sometimes despaired of their intrigues. It was well known throughout the empire that Dobbai was sent visions by the gods, but they were often so vague and shrouded in mystery as to be almost impossible to decipher. The movement of smoke over a fire did not bother me but the appearance of an owl perched on the Citadel’s walls was not to be dismissed lightly. We had already increased the number of guards in and around the palace and there had been no new arrivals among the palace servants, most of whom had been with us for years, so I did not fear danger from that quarter. But then, any one of my soldiers could stick an arrow or blade into me at any time should they so wish. It all came down to trust. Did I trust them? Dura was different from many kingdoms in the empire in that it had a standing army. The Silk Road that passed through it paid for their weapons, equipment and wages. Each man was paid monthly for his services. The levels of pay were dictated by rank and length of service, with records diligently maintained and held in the headquarters building in the Citadel. Each man, and every woman in the Amazons, irrespective of rank or race received equality of treatment when it came to rewards and punishments. In return I demanded loyalty. In all the time I had been King of Dura I had experienced no mutinies or disloyalties. My soldiers had always obeyed orders unquestioningly. In the end that is all any commander can hope for.
A welcome diversion came with an invitation from Godarz for Gallia and me to dine with him and Nadira at the governor’s mansion. It had probably been a mistake that the latter’s first meeting with us had been at the Companions’ feast, but what was done was done. At least this time there would be no raucous Germans present to humiliate me.
‘Try to keep your eyes in their sockets this time, Pacorus.’
Gallia looked stunning on the evening we made the short journey from the Citadel to Godarz’s residence, a score of legionaries acting as our escort.
My queen wore a blue, sleeveless dress with a gold belt around her waist, gold armlets and gold bracelets. Her long, thick blonde hair hung freely around her shoulders and over her breasts. Even among her curls were thin slivers of gold. She looked every bit the queen she was. I wore a simple white silk shirt, baggy brown leggings and red leather boots. As usual my Roman spatha, the gift from Spartacus, was worn at my hip. On the opposite hip was my dagger, a weapon taken from a dead Roman centurion.
The night was still and warm, the only noise the crunching sound made by the legionaries’ hobnailed sandals as they marched beside us on the stone slabs. The road that led from the Citadel to the Palmyrene Gate was paved, though most of the streets in the city were dirt. I had instructed Rsan to embark on a programme to pave all the main roads inside the city to save us from the permanent cloud of dust that hung over Dura in the hottest months, especially over the tallest part — the Citadel — and the work was continuing apace. The Greeks had originally built the city and its roads and buildings were arranged like a giant grid with streets perpendicular to each other, the whole surrounded by a thick, strong circuit wall.
I held Gallia’s hand as we walked to the governor’s mansion. The odd citizen still abroad bowed to us as we passed. Dura had no curfew except in an emergency, though the city gates were shut two hours before midnight every evening and were not opened again until dawn the next morning. There was no danger of an Agraci attack against us, but Dura had always been a frontier city and its inhabitants slept sounder knowing that they were in a secure stronghold.
We arrived at the mansion within minutes, the guards either side of the gates snapping to attention as we walked past them into the courtyard. More guards flanked the stone path that ran from the gates to the foot of the steps leading to the mansion’s entrance. We walked across the courtyard as Godarz and Nadira descended the steps to greet us. Nadira was wearing a yellow, figure-hugging dress with a diadem in her hair.
‘Remember,’ said Gallia in a whisper, smiling at our hosts, ‘when you speak to Nadira, her eyes are in her head and not her chest!’
Godarz may have been the city governor but he always dressed modestly. It was the same tonight. The years spent as a slave in Italy had left their mark on him. In truth though, he had never been badly treated yet he had still been a slave. Tonight he was dressed in a simple long-sleeved beige shirt, white leggings and sandals. Though Parthian men wore their hair long, Godarz had had his hair shorn in Italy and had never let it grow back. As he and his new love bowed their heads to us he appeared truly happy, wearing the look of a man who had finally found contentment after years of loneliness.
‘Welcome,’ said Godarz, ‘you are both most welcome.’
‘We are glad to be here,’ I replied.
Gallia smiled politely at Nadira and then embraced Godarz. She linked her arm in Nadira’s and they walked up the steps together into the mansion. I embraced Godarz and slapped him on the back.
‘Nadira is a beautiful woman. I am pleased for you, my old friend.’
His eyes were moist as he stepped back to face me.
‘I never thought that I could be this happy, Pacorus. The gods have truly blessed me.’
We followed our women up the steps, Polemo bowing his head to us as we passed him at the top.
‘You deserve to be happy, Godarz. We are truly happy for you.’
Godarz looked at Gallia and Nadira disappearing into the reception hall. ‘Even Gallia?’
‘Of course. Her nose has been put out of joint that is all. You know how it is with women, they get jealous.’
The meal was a most excellent feast. Though the mansion had a banqueting hall we ate in a smaller room just off the reception hall so as not to be dwarfed by our surroundings. I sat next to Gallia across from Godarz and Nadira. Servants brought us yoghurt, Parthian beans, fennel cooked with pine nuts and spices, roasted lamb, goat and chicken, steamed rice, crusty rice with cinnamon and pistachios, and meat balls. Other servants served us wine and water. As the wine flowed Gallia’s suspicion of Nadira lessened somewhat. The latter was charm itself, engaging my wife in conversation and appearing interested in everything she said, especially the Amazons. Gallia was delighted to talk about her female warriors, which made Godarz overjoyed. I had been dreading any friction between my wife and Nadira, but Godarz’s woman was adept at conversation and charm. She hardly spoke to me, knowing that the attitude of Gallia was the key to the success of the evening, and truth be told it was turning into a highly enjoyable occasion. I relaxed in my high-backed wooden chair and smiled at Godarz. He nodded and then stared lovingly at his gorgeous woman. He was truly blessed.