I laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I did not cross the Euphrates lightly, my friend, but the dagger thrust that killed Godarz began a course of events that can only have one end — my death or that of Mithridates.’
Orodes’ black mood did not lessen my sense of satisfaction that we were about to fight Mithridates. I had disliked him ever since our first meeting at the city of Esfahan years ago, a loathing that had been instantly reciprocated. And now I had him. He may be king of kings but Mithridates was also a liar and a coward, and tomorrow all would be settled.
I rarely slept much before a battle and this night was no different. Domitus, Byrd and Malik wiled away the rest of the evening talking of past battles, Domitus as ever sharpening his gladius with a stone. Orodes retired to get some sleep and wrestle with his morality. He was probably the most upright individual in the empire. I excused myself and walked among neatly arranged rows of tents that each accommodated eight sleeping legionaries or a similar number of horsemen. Sentries stood guard and centurions stalked around with their trusty vine canes. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of leather, cooking fires, horses, mules, camels and animal dung. I stood for a moment and closed my eyes and was transported back more than ten years to when I was in Italy with Spartacus. After all this time I still missed him. I reached inside my shirt to touch the lock of Gallia’s hair hanging on a chain round my neck. Together for all eternity.
I continued my tour of the camp, exchanging pleasantries with Companions and talking to other soldiers who were veterans of more recent campaigns. The horsemen were quartered with their animals in the northwest corner of the camp. Many of the Parthians in their ranks thought it most odd that they and their horses should be confined so. The camps of Parthian armies comprised an assortment of different-sized tents arranged in a random fashion. As it was the Parthian custom not to fight at night the notion of surrounding a camp with defences appeared a waste of time and effort. That may be, but no adversary of Dura would ever catch its army unawares by launching a night assault.
When I arrived at the quarters of the armoured horsemen their squires were still busy checking scale armour and helmets. If they were lucky they would get four or five hours sleep before they had to rise to get their masters ready for battle. I also found Surena with a group of his subordinates clustered round a brazier. They stopped their conversation when they saw me and bowed their heads.
‘As you were,’ I said. ‘Surena, walk with me.’
We ambled among other groups of men gathered round fires, indulging in the idle chatter and boasting that most men partake of on the eve of battle. Tomorrow each one would fight secure in the knowledge that they trusted one another and that the man on either side of him in the battle line could be relied on not to desert him. It was no accident of speech that men were organised into companies, for at the end of the day men did not fight for causes, politics or gods; they fought for each other, their companions. And they preferred to fight and die among their friends.
‘I want you to take care tomorrow, Surena. No recklessness on the battlefield, remember your training.’
He beamed at me. ‘Of course, lord.’
His strong frame filled his white shirt and his well-groomed shoulder-length black hair gave him the appearance of a noble Parthian officer, but his eyes flashed with mischief. Despite all the training and education there was still a part of him that was that wild boy of the marshes I had first met years ago.
‘I don’t want you getting yourself killed and wasting all that expensive education I have lavished on you.’
He nodded solemnly. ‘No, lord.’
We walked on in silence for a few moments, men rising to their feet as we passed them and bowing their heads, a few clasping Surena’s forearm. He was a popular figure in the army, not least for saving my life in battle. He had also married an Amazon, one of the few men who had. That earned him much respect, though I never did tell him how close he had come to being hanged on the orders of Gallia for his pursuit of Viper.
‘I was sorry about Godarz, lord, we all were. He was a good man.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, he was.’
He cast me a sideways glance. ‘The queen must miss him terribly.’
Gallia thought Surena cocky and arrogant, though grudgingly accepted that he was brave. Viper must have told him how much Godarz’s death had affected the queen.
‘She does, as do I.’
‘I know what it is like to lose parents. The passing of time heals the wounds but the scars remain.’
He was speaking with a maturity that I did not know he possessed. He was talking of his own parents who had been murdered by the soldiers of Chosroes when he was a boy.
His visage hardened and he grasped the hilt of his sword, a spatha like my own. ‘Mithridates deserves to die for what he has done.’
‘Just make sure you don’t die as well.’
As usual I slept for barely three hours that night and before the dawn announced the new day I was up and preparing for battle. I always slept with my dagger under my pillow. A most ridiculous habit considering I was in the middle of an armed camp and at Dura my bed was in a guarded palace surrounded by thick walls. It infuriated Gallia that our marriage bed had to accommodate a weapon, but as I reminded her she always secreted her own dagger under our bed. Like most of my military equipment, my dagger came from Italy and had once belonged to a Roman centurion I had killed on the night that Spartacus had rescued me. My scale armour hung on a frame at the foot of the bed. It was bulky and heavy but the metal scales and thick rawhide underneath became as light as a feather when the frenzy of combat gripped me. All Dura’s cataphracts wore full-face helmets that covered all of their heads and necks, but I always wore my Roman helmet on the battlefield. It sat on the stool beside the scale armour.
I rose and knelt by the side of the bed, closed my eyes and prayed to Shamash that He would give me the courage to fight well this day. I held the lock of Gallia’s hair in my hand. In that moment I felt a sense of supreme serenity. I opened my eyes and stood up. It was time to fight.
Though each cataphract had two squires to attend him I never bothered with servants, being content to enlist the assistance of anyone to hand. I had been raised a prince in the great palace at Hatra but during my time in Italy with Spartacus I had had no slaves or servants to attend to my every whim. I had become used to preparing my horse and equipment myself and the habit had stayed with me. First I put on my silk vest that felt cool next to my skin, then my leggings and boots. Finally I pulled on my long-sleeved white shirt and stepped out of the sleeping compartment and into the main section of the command tent. Domitus was already sitting at the table munching on some biscuits and salted meat. Did he ever sleep on campaign? The early morning was cool so his cloak was wrapped around him. Outside I could hear the blare of trumpets and officers hurling orders at their men.
Sentries brought us hot porridge from the field kitchens and after acknowledging each other we sat in silence as we devoured the thick, appetising stodge. There was nothing to say. Domitus was not one for idle chatter and on the morning of battle I always liked to mull over the coming clash in my mind.
Some ten minutes later Orodes, Byrd and Malik joined us. Byrd and Malik had already ridden out to reconnoitre the enemy’s positions. I indicated for them all to join us at the table as more hot food was brought from the kitchens. The oil lamps hanging from the tent poles still burned to illuminate the tent’s interior but outside the first rays of the sun were now lancing the eastern sky.
Domitus finished his food and pushed his metal plate aside. ‘Well, what is your plan for today?’