The merchant pocketed his money, shook Byrd’s hand once more, gave Orodes and me a curious look and then departed.
I walked up to Byrd and embraced him. ‘Selling camels now, Byrd?’
Orodes likewise greeted him warmly.
‘Just dabbling,’ he replied. ‘Always good to talk to those who pass through here. Pick up much useful information.’
He gestured to a youth, a boy of no more than twelve years in age, who gathered up the reins of the camels and led the beasts into a fenced-off area behind Byrd’s large goatskin tent.
‘And what is the latest gossip?’ I enquired.
‘I hear that three men rule Rome, two of them you have met: Crassus and Pompey.’
‘Hopefully they will stay in Rome,’ said Orodes.
‘Who’s the third?’ I asked.
‘A man called Caesar. This Romani general has won many victories, I have heard.’
Orodes slapped me on the arm. ‘Not as many as Pacorus, I’ll hazard.’
I laughed and then we went inside to share a meal with Byrd and his wife. Noora was a hardy woman who had been married before, though her husband had died many years before in an Agraci raid against my kingdom. That was in the time when there was open war between us. Noora had no children and the Romans had killed Byrd’s family in Cappadocia, and now she was probably too old to give birth, but they were content with each other’s company and for that I was glad. Once more I conveyed a request from Gallia for them to make their home in Dura and once more they politely refused.
‘But we will all be together soon enough, lord,’ Byrd said, ‘when the Companions gather.’
Two weeks later he and Noora and the rest of those who had fought in Italy under Spartacus were gathered in the Citadel’s banqueting hall. We called ourselves Companions because that is what we were; a band of warriors and survivors from many races and lands that had made the journey from Italy to Parthia. A motley collection of Greeks, Dacians, Spaniards, Germans, Thracians, Parthians and a woman from Gaul, my wife Gallia. Among the Companions there were no ranks, no hierarchy and no grades of social status. Just as Spartacus would have wanted we were all equal, free to call each other by our first names and to speak openly and without fear of recrimination.
The night was warm as the guests took their places at the tables arranged in parallel rows. There was no top table in the assembly of the Companions. I took my place next to Gallia, and beside her was Diana. Next to Diana was her husband Gafarn, by adoption a prince of the Kingdom of Hatra. Indeed Gafarn was now second in line to Hatra’s throne and was also one of the finest archers in the Parthian Empire. Opposite us sat Nergal, a fellow Parthian from the Kingdom of Hatra. Tall, gangly, always optimistic and a fine leader on the battlefield, he was now a king himself, the ruler of Mesene, a land to the south that bordered the Persian Gulf. Mesene was not a rich kingdom and the people who lived in the marshlands to the south of Uruk, the Ma’adan, had been in open rebellion against Chosroes for many years. I had worried that they would continue their revolt against Uruk’s new king but those fears had proved ungrounded for Nergal and his wife Praxima had proved to be good rulers.
Dobbai never attended the annual feast of the Companions, viewing it as too loud, boisterous and the venue for ‘ruffians and boasters who should have grown up by now’. It was all those things but so much more — a reunion of old friends and the opportunity to forge new ties, for each Companion was allowed to bring his or her beloved, whether married or not. This year all eyes were on the guest Godarz brought, the mysterious woman from the east whom he had fallen in love with. I have to confess that I too was intrigued. Gallia, though, still smarting from not being taken into Godarz’s confidence concerning this affair of the heart, professed no interest in the woman. But even her eyes were on the hall’s entrance when the city governor entered. If he was intent on making a memorable entrance he succeeded, for the woman on his arm was truly stunning. Tall and slim, she wore a white low-cut dress that displayed her ample, perfect breasts. The sleeveless dress accentuated her toned arms. She had a narrow face, full lips, shaped eyebrows, long, dark eyelashes and high cheekbones. Gold hung from her ears and adorned her fingers. Her dark brown hair had been gathered behind her head and held in place by gold hairpins inlaid with jewels. Godarz walked over as I rose and held out my hand to him.
‘Pacorus, may I present the Lady Nadira?’
Nadira means ‘rare’ and it was well chosen for she was indeed a rare beauty. She fixed me with her brown, almond-shaped eyes then averted her gaze and knelt before me. Any chatter that had been taking place when Godarz had entered the hall stopped as everyone stood up to observe the scene.
‘Highness,’ said Nadira, ‘it is a great honour to meet you at last.’
I reached down, placed my hands on her arms and gently lifted her to her feet.
‘Please, call me Pacorus, for we are all friends here.’
She dazzled me with a smile.
‘You are most generous, highness. Lord Godarz told me that the greatest warrior in Parthia has a generous heart.’
She turned to Gallia standing beside me and bowed her head.
‘And you must be Queen Gallia, whose name is known throughout the civilised world for beauty, courage and wisdom.’
Nadira knew how to flatter, that much was certain.
Gallia regarded her with a pronounced aloofness, though I could tell that she had been flattered by her words. ‘You are too kind.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Nadira, you must sit beside me and tell me more about how an old warrior such as Godarz managed to win the heart of such a beautiful woman.’
I led Nadira by the hand to her seat and embraced Godarz as he took his place beside his beloved. Domitus came over and bowed his head to Nadira and then slapped Godarz on the arm.
‘You old ram.’
Nadira smiled politely at the muscular, crop haired barbarian standing beside her. The volume of noise in the hall increased again. The wine flowed freely and food was ferried from the kitchens.
Once everyone had been seated Godarz rose and held out his hands. The hubbub died again as all caught sight of the man of who had become the Companions’ father figure, the sixty-year-old former slave who was now governor of Dura. He lowered his arms and as one we all rose to our feet and bowed our heads. The Companions had originally numbered one hundred and twenty but in the intervening years since our return to Parthia ten had died, all of them on the battlefield in my service. With great solemnity Godarz recited their names to the now silent assembly. In the courtyard outside each name was carved in granite on a memorial wall next to the gates of the Citadel so they would be remembered. He ended by asking the gods to care for their souls.
‘We will see them again, for the bond between us can never be broken, not even by death.’
He picked up his cup and held it aloft.
‘To Spartacus!’
We raised our own cups and toasted the man who had brought us all together, then returned to our drinking, talking and eating.
Gallia loved these occasions where she could reminisce about the old times in Italy and share jokes and tall tales with the surviving original Amazons. In my eyes she would always be the stunning blonde beauty I had first clapped eyes on in the camp of Spartacus on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. But that was over ten years ago. Since then she had become a queen and had borne me three beautiful daughters. We both now had great responsibilities, to our children and to our subjects, but for at least one night Gallia could again be that carefree girl I had fallen in love with. She always had courage, but the years had hardened her to the greed and treachery of kings and I noticed that as the time passed she laughed and joked less and less. But tonight her blue eyes shone with excitement and she giggled and was happy among her friends.