Orodes looked most alarmed. ‘Joke, Pacorus? I hardly think the corruption of the commander of the army is a joke.’
At that moment I saw Drenis striding across the parade square adjacent to the headquarters tent. He saluted when he saw me.
‘Drenis,’ I said, ‘have you seen Domitus?’
Orodes and Surena both smiled at him but he ignored them.
‘I saw him go in the griffin’s tent a few moments ago.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied, relieved.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Of course, thank you. How are the men?’
He winked. ‘Lean and mean and itching for a bit of revenge. They’ve never fought Armenians before.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘let us hope that it won’t come to fighting.’
‘If that is all, Pacorus?’ Drenis was not one for small talk.
I nodded. He saluted and then went about his business as we strolled over to the tent that housed the golden griffin standard of the Duran Legion. Guards ringed it and there were more guards inside to watch over what had become the religious totem of the Durans. The Exiles had their own emblem, a silver lion that also had its own guarded tent nearby. The legionaries at the entrance snapped to attention as we removed our headgear and went inside.
There, positioned in the middle of the tent and held in place by a stand, was the griffin that had been cast in gold sitting on its metal plate, bold, defiant and seemingly about to fly. The atmosphere inside the tent was still and dripping with reverence, as though the griffin was holding court. This was as it should be for it was the symbol of Dura and, like the statue at the Palmyrene Gate, as long as it existed no harm would come to the city. And there, standing before it, helmet in the crook of his arm, straight as the shaft of an arrow, was Domitus. And beside him was standing a woman dressed in a long blue robe and with a white head cloth descending down her back. He was speaking to her slowly in Latin.
‘And ever since it was presented to them my soldiers believe that it has magic powers, and that as long as it remains unharmed they and the kingdom are safe.’
‘They worship it?’ asked the woman, whose voice I recognised.
‘Some do, believing it to be sacred object; others look upon it as a good luck charm. But they would all die to protect it.’
‘My religion teaches that it is wrong to worship idols.’
‘Each to his own, I say,’ replied Domitus whose instincts told him that there were others in the tent behind him. He turned round to see the three of us standing in a row like legionaries waiting to be disciplined. The woman also turned and I saw that it was Miriam, the mother of Aaron’s future wife.
Domitus was dressed in his full parade uniform. Though he was now a general he had never abandoned the uniform of a centurion that he now wore: mail shirt adorned with silver discs, silver-edged greaves and helmet with a white transverse crest, the colour of Dura’s army. His gladius was in its scabbard at his left hip, dagger at his right and his trusty vine cane in his right hand. He looked at us all suspiciously.
‘Come to pay your respects, have you?’
I cleared my throat. ‘Yes, sort of.’ I smiled at Miriam and spoke to her in Latin. ‘How are you, Miriam?’
She bowed her head. ‘I am well, majesty.’
‘I hope Domitus is treating you well.’
She smiled at my general. ‘He has great civility, majesty.’
Orodes cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. Like Surena he had been wearing a dumb smile.
‘Are you not going to introduce me, Domitus?’
Domitus looked most uncomfortable, sighing deeply.
‘Miriam, this is Prince Orodes of Susiana, a land to the east of the River Tigris and…’
Orodes stepped forward, took Miriam’s hand and kissed it, much to her surprise and slight shock.
‘And I am delighted to meet you. Domitus has been remiss in keeping you from my presence.’
Like all Parthian nobility he could speak Latin, Greek and of course Parthian, but he now proceeded to converse with Miriam in Aramaic, which clearly delighted her. Before she was stiff and formal but now she smiled and was relaxed. Orodes could charm the birds from the trees when he had a mind to. Domitus was not amused and stood in sullen silence as the two of them chatted away.
‘I think we have taken up too much of Miriam’s time,’ I said at last.
‘You certainly have,’ growled Domitus. ‘Don’t you three have any stables to muck out?’
I was slightly embarrassed about our intrusion into their company. ‘Apologies, Domitus, we did not mean to disturb you.’ I turned to Miriam. ‘I hope Dura is agreeable to you and your daughter, lady. Know that you are both very welcome here.’
‘Thank you, majesty.’
Orodes insisted that he kiss the hand of Miriam once again as we took our leave of her and Domitus. Surena had moved towards the griffin and stretched out his hand to touch it. He stopped and looked at Domitus. The last time he had been this near to the treasured icon he had been an ill-kempt boy from the marshlands and his dirty hand had been brushed away from the standard before he could touch it. That was over five years ago and in that time the boy had become a man and a leader of other men. He had saved my life on the battlefield and had risen to become the commander of all my horse archers. And yet he still hesitated to lay his hand upon the golden creature.
‘You’ve earned it,’ said Domitus.
Surena grinned in triumph and gently laid his hand on the griffin’s head, then turned and walked from the tent. Miriam looked at him leaving and then back at the griffin sitting on its metal plate. She did not understand, much less when both Orodes and I bowed our heads to it before we also departed.
During the days following wagons were loaded with food, tools, tents, spare javelins, swords, mail shirts and helmets, clothing and shields. The wagons we had lost during our battles with Mithridates and Narses had been replaced at considerable cost, and mule numbers had been brought up to strength from the royal estates. Even the stakes that were used to surround the camp each night had had to be made afresh, to be once again carried on the backs of mules.
Strabo had been at the warehouses on the royal estates every day to ensure that the mounts of the cataphracts, horse archers and the camels had sufficient fodder to sustain them during the coming campaign, and stables echoed with the sound of red-hot iron being beaten on anvils to re-shoe horses.
A week before we departed Gallia and I were invited to a pleasant diversion: the wedding between Aaron and Rachel. The ceremony took place in Rsan’s mansion a short distance from the Citadel and near to the former residence of Godarz. This had remained empty since that dreadful night when our friend had been murdered. I had broached the subject of it being used again but Gallia would not hear of it and so, aside from a few gardeners to maintain the grounds and a small number of cleaners who went in each week, Godarz’s mansion remained empty, a shrine to the man who had been like a father to her.
Rsan’s mansion was similar to that of Godarz’s with a courtyard fronting the main residence and a wall surrounding both. There were stables, a small barracks and a gatehouse. The actual wedding ceremony took place in a garden complete with fountains and fish-filled ponds positioned to the rear of the main reception hall. As well as Greeks, Parthians, Agraci and Syrians, Dura also contained a small Jewish community, and so Gallia had requested its leaders attend the Citadel to acquaint her with the wedding ritual we had been invited to.
We walked to Rsan’s mansion as the sun was descending in the west and casting long shadows amid the buildings. Gallia was dressed in a simple long-sleeved blue dress and had her hair gathered on top of her head and held in place by a gold diadem.
‘Guests are expected to dress modestly, Pacorus, and keep their flesh covered.’