They cheered and slapped each other on the back and left in high spirits. When they had all filed out into the night Orodes came to my side.
‘That was not what was agreed earlier in Vardan’s pavilion,’ he said.
I smiled at him. ‘I am aware of that, my friend. But you know as well as I do that your stepbrother will not rest until I and my family are dead. He probably wishes your death as well. That being the case, I would rather the vultures were picking at his bones than mine.’
The day of battle is like any other for the army of Dura. The men rise, dress, eat breakfast and then form up in their companies or centuries. Roll calls are taken and inspections carried out. For the horsemen the morning routine also includes mucking out, watering, feeding and grooming their horses, before saddling them to ride out to battle. The squires help to dress and arm their masters but they also have their own horses to attend to, plus the two camels allotted to each cataphract, and so even my heavy cavalrymen can be found in the early morning light shovelling horse dung. I knew that in the army of Hatra the cataphracts were spared such duties, the city’s aristocrats and their sons considering such tasks beneath them. Indeed, in the city’s royal barracks even the squires were saved such tasks, an army of slaves being used for menial duties. In Dura’s army there were no slaves and I considered it good practice for every man to acquaint himself with physical labour. On campaign the legionaries dug ditches and ramparts and the horsemen shovelled dung and groomed horses. It was a most satisfactory arrangement.
I went through the usual routine on the eve of battle. I had no squire of my own now that Surena had risen in the ranks but it mattered not. Orodes was always haranguing me about the necessity of maintaining appearances in having at least two squires, especially as I was a king, but I did not see the need. On campaign there was always someone to assist me, be it Gallia, the Amazons or Orodes himself after he had been dressed in his scale armour.
Gallia usually stayed with her Amazons the night before battle and last night had been no different. I myself rarely slept for more than two hours before a fight, rising before dawn to kneel by my bed to pray to Shamash. The prayers were always the same — that He would give me courage in the coming fight, that Gallia’s life would be preserved, even if the price was the end of my own life, and that my conduct on this day would make my friends and family proud of me. As I closed my eyes and said the words I clutched the lock of my wife’s hair that I always wore on a chain round my neck. Then I put on my silk vest, white long-sleeved shirt, leggings, boots and strapped on my sword belt. The scabbard was on my left hip and on the right I slipped my dagger into its sheath. It had formerly belonged to a Roman centurion who had been my jailer and tormentor. I had killed the centurion on the night Spartacus had freed me on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Gafarn had retrieved the dagger and had given it to me afterwards as a present. I had carried it ever since, as I had the Roman spatha that had been a gift from Spartacus himself. Even my helmet and leather cuirass were Roman. Today, though, I would be wearing the suit of scale armour that hung on a wooden frame beside my bed.
After attending to Remus’ needs I ate with Gallia and Orodes. We shared a light breakfast of fruit, dried apricots and dates, bread and cheese, washed down with water. Outside the tent the air smelt of camel and horse dung, leather and campfires. Gallia sat at the table in her mail shirt, her helmet and sword resting on the surface. Orodes was dressed in a rich blue shirt, white leggings and red leather boots, his hair immaculately groomed and his beard neatly trimmed.
‘Seems strange not having Domitus here with us,’ he said, nibbling on a piece of cheese.
‘I would rather he were here than the Babylonians,’ I mused.
‘You do not like King Vardan’s soldiers, Pacorus?’ asked Orodes.
‘I like them well enough, I just don’t like the idea of them on my flank. If today’s fight is a hard one they might give way.’
‘Not with your father’s army on their other flank they won’t,’ said Gallia.
I smiled at her. ‘Let’s hope not, my sweet, let’s hope not. It all depends on what the enemy does and how many of them there are.’
Those two questions were answered half an hour later when Byrd and his scouts rode into camp and he made his report in my tent. He looked tired and his robes were covered in dust. He flopped into a chair and drank greedily from a cup filled with water offered to him by Orodes.
Byrd looked at me. ‘Mithridates not with enemy army. We saw no eagle banners.’
The banner of Susiana was well known to Byrd and his scouts for it was the same standard carried by Orodes, who was the rightful prince and heir to the throne of the kingdom.
I could not hide my disappointment. ‘This is grave news indeed. You are sure, Byrd?’
I knew the answer before he nodded his head.
‘The enemy host still very large, though,’ he added. ‘Their campfires filled the night.’
I slapped Byrd on the arm. ‘Numbers aren’t what count, Byrd. You should know that by now.’
At that moment a sentry opened the tent flap, stepped inside and saluted.
‘Messenger from your father, majesty.’
I indicated for him to let the man enter. By his appearance — cuirass made of leather on which were fastened overlapping steel and bronze scales — I knew he was a member of Hatra’s royal bodyguard. He held his burnished helmet in the crook of his right arm, a white horsehair plume fitted to its top ring, his white shirt edged with silver and his sword belt and scabbard also decorated with silver. He was obviously Hatran nobility.
He held out a wax-sealed parchment to me with his left hand.
‘I send greetings from the king, your father, majesty. These are your battle orders.’
I looked at Gallia and then Orodes. ‘My what?’
‘King Vardan has appointed King Varaz as general-in-chief for the day and these are his orders. I am also to instruct you that the march south will commence in two hours.’
I snatched the letter from his hand and broke the seal. Another courier would have been nervous in our company but this one merely stood and waited for any message I might have for my father. Hatra’s royal bodyguard was lavished with the best horses, the finest weapons that money could buy and stabling and quarters that would not shame kings and princes. Their reputation as great warriors was known throughout the empire, but looking at this fine young man standing before me I realised that arrogance and haughtiness were also part of their nature. I began to wonder how good they actually were.
I read the letter and then handed it to Orodes.
‘My father obviously intends to fight the battle his way. He forgets that I too am a king.’
‘This is merely confirmation of the dispositions that we discussed yesterday in King Vardan’s pavilion,’ said Orodes, trying to be the diplomat as usual.
‘You mean the orders that we were given.’
‘Don’t start all that again, Pacorus,’ said Gallia. ‘You are like a dog with a bone, constantly gnawing away.’
‘Perhaps we should go home, seeing as my father has obviously reduced us to bit-part players in his grand drama.’
‘We must relieve Babylon,’ said Orodes severely.
Gallia smiled at him. ‘Ignore Pacorus, Orodes, he is aggrieved that it is his father and not he who is chief general for the day.’
The courier cleared his throat.
‘Well?’ I snapped.
‘Is there any message you wish to convey to your father, majesty?’
I grinned at him mischievously. ‘There is, but he would have your head if you spoke those words to him. So no, there is no message. You may go.’