‘Gallia, I would never…’
Her tone got sharper. ‘Shut up! I grow weary of your voice.’
We walked on in silence for another few minutes, the only sound being the jangling of the horses’ bits and the tramp of our boots on the ground. At length Gallia spoke once more, her voice calmer and more measured.
‘As I have told you, Pacorus, before we left Dura Dobbai told me to send Surena across the Tigris. She said that if I did do so he would reap a rich harvest.’
I mumbled an acknowledgement of her words but said no more. I was still annoyed that she had sent a third of my horse archers to God knows where. That said, the visions and advice of Dobbai were not to be dismissed lightly so I let the matter rest. I still believed Surena to be dead, though.
That night the armies of the kings camped inland from the Euphrates. The logistics of watering over forty thousand horses and ten thousand camels were huge, and so bad-tempered quartermasters scurried around like demented wildcats as they allocated companies to the dozens of small reservoirs that dotted the landscape. Fed by canals that extended inland from the Euphrates, these reservoirs in turn fed a myriad of irrigation channels that delivered water to the fields. In this way crops were irrigated, the bellies of the villagers were filled when they were harvested and the surpluses were sent to Babylon as taxes. The canals, dams and irrigation ditches were so crucial to the life of the kingdom that each village was charged with the responsibility for the upkeep of the irrigation system surrounding it. Each village’s headman was paid by the treasury in Babylon to ensure that the system functioned smoothly, on pain of death. This appeared harsh, but the lives of the villagers depended on the fields being irrigated. If the crops failed, they starved.
The weather had not broken and so the early evening was still humid as the squires put up our tents. The horses were quartered in stables made from wooden poles and linen sheets and the camels were confined to corrals. I had sent Byrd and his scouts south the day before. He returned two hours before sundown with his black-clad companions. His horse and those of his men stood sweating with their heads bowed as he slid off his mount in front of my tent. Gallia was standing beside me.
‘You men take your horses to the stables to be watered and fed,’ I ordered, ‘then get some food inside you.’
I pointed at a waiting squire who walked over and took the reins of Byrd’s horse from him. I grabbed Byrd’s elbow.
‘Come inside and take the weight off your feet.’
Inside he slumped into a chair and stretched out his legs. Orodes handed him a cup of water then sat beside him. Gallia and I likewise seated ourselves.
Byrd drained his cup and unwrapped the turban from his head. His swarthy features matched the black shadows under his eyes.
‘Babylon still under siege,’ he said at last.
‘You rode all the way to the city?’ asked Orodes. No wonder his horse and those of his scouts looked done-in.
Byrd shook his head. ‘No need. Many enemy tents pitched all round city. No smoke or fire coming from Babylon, so it holds out.’
‘We had better get word to Vardan,’ said Orodes, ‘to let him know that his daughter is safe, at least for the present.’
He stood up and shook Byrd’s hand, much to the amusement of my chief scout.
‘I will ride to Vardan’s camp myself.’ Orodes bowed his head to Gallia, then me and left.
Gallia smiled. ‘You would think that after all these years Orodes would be less formal in our company.’
‘Manners and protocol are important to him,’ I said. ‘Perhaps more so now he no longer has a kingdom to go back to.’
‘If ever there was a man who would make a just and great king, it is Orodes,’ she mused.
‘He will be a king one day,’ I said. ‘That I promise.’
‘We see many people fleeing north on road,’ said Byrd. ‘Men, women, children, some driving goats and cattle before them. They flee from enemy. Tell of much killing.’ He glanced at Gallia. ‘And raping.’
‘And if ever there was a king that deserved to be deposed,’ said Gallia dryly, ‘it is Mithridates.’
I stood and slapped Byrd on the shoulder.
‘Well done, my friend. Get some food inside you.’
Later, after we had groomed our horses, Gallia and I led Remus and Epona out of camp to one of the reservoirs allocated to Dura’s army by the Babylonian commissariat. We walked them out of camp and across the arid ground that led to the large high-banked, stone-lined irrigator that was full to the brim with water. Sluiceways extended out from the reservoir across the fields, but men were leading their horses up the banks to allow the animals to drink directly from the reservoir itself. On the western side of the reservoir was a wide canal that brought water directly from the Euphrates, some two miles distant. As we neared the reservoir, the Amazons leading their horses behind us, I caught sight of a figure standing on the top of the bank gesticulating with his arms. As we neared the eastern side of the reservoir I heard his voice.
‘You’re at the wrong waterhole, you sons of whores. Second company of cataphracts is allocated to the reservoir in the next village. So bugger off and take your horses with you. What’s the point of having a system if you ignore it.’
He was a large man with a round face and long dark hair, his leggings and shirt dirty and torn. He could have been mistaken for a local beggar but he happened to be one of my best quartermasters.
‘Strabo,’ I called out. ‘That’s no way to address the best horsemen in the empire.’
He squinted in my direction with his piggy eyes and then they bulged wide.
He turned to the men who were causing him much anxiety.
‘Here’s the king and queen, so you’d better clear off quick otherwise they’ll have your balls on the end of a spear.’
Gallia frowned and I laughed as the men of the second company bowed their heads to me and my queen, led their horses down the bank and then rode to where they should have been watering their horses.
Gallia and I led our horses up the bank and let them drink from the cool water, the Amazons doing the same. Next to Strabo was a tall, wiry man in his fifties with thinning hair and sinewy arms. He wore a simple linen tunic, frayed knee-length leggings and sandals on his feet. He bowed deeply to me.
Strabo wiped his nose on his sleeve and belched. ‘This is Teres, majesty. Headman of the village whose little lake this is.’
‘Welcome, highness,’ said Teres, who was staring in amazement at Gallia’s long blonde hair. Parthian women have olive complexions and dark hair; he had probably never seen a light-skinned, blue-eyed woman in his life. And he stood transfixed as the mail-clad women warriors beyond us stood and watched as their horses drank the water.
‘Well, Strabo,’ I said, ‘is everything going according to plan?’
He shrugged. ‘Mostly, although your cataphracts think they are God’s gift and do as they like. They need their arses tanning if you ask me.’
‘I didn’t, but I’m sure you have everything in hand.’
Strabo grinned at Gallia. ‘I trust the queen is well.’
Gallia observed him as an eagle would a field mouse, curling up her lip at him. Strabo jabbed a finger into Teres’ ribs.
‘My queen is from a land far away from here, from a place called Gaul. Never heard of that, have you?’
Teres, still transfixed by Gallia’s looks, shook his head.
‘Well,’ continued Strabo, his eyes walking all over my wife’s body, ‘it’s a place that breeds fierce women warriors.’
He nodded at the Amazons standing beside their horses taking water from the reservoir.
‘Pretty to look at, aren’t they? And about as friendly as a nest of cobras. They’ll slice off your balls as soon as look at you.’
But Teres was not looking at the Amazons but Remus, nodding his head slightly while Strabo continued to admire the contours of my wife’s body.