‘He is also the king of kings,’ remarked Gallia.
Dobbai cupped Gallia’s cheek with her right hand. ‘Yes, princess, he is, and he desired to make you his queen of queens, to rule as such when he had left this life. You hear that, son of Hatra? Had it been so, you would have been kneeling before her err long. But, my child, your destiny lies elsewhere. And now we come to it, for I have a message for you both.’
I had had enough. ‘If it’s from Sinatruces, then you can tell him…’
Dobbia let go of Gallia’s hand, turned and glared at me, her eyes suddenly filled with rage and her face a visage of cold fury. ‘Do not bandy words with me, boy. I have not come here to be lectured to, but to convey a message. So you will be quiet!’
I stood frozen to the spot, slightly alarmed that a frail old women had suddenly turned into a fierce demon. Then the anger in her eyes abated somewhat.
‘Stand before me, both of you.’
Gallia moved to be beside me and I held her hand. Suddenly it felt as though we were the only two people left in the whole world, for our attention was fixed wholly on Dobbai, who now spoke to us in a calm, authoritative voice.
‘She came to me last night in a dream. She said that she is pleased with you both, especially you, Pacorus. She told me that she is happy and you are not to worry about her, and that you must tell all your friends that this is so. She watched over you during your voyage to Parthia, and now that you are both safe she can go and join her husband with a happy heart.’
I felt Gallia’s grip on my hand tighten.
‘Her husband?’ I enquired.
Dobbia smiled. ‘Yes, son of Hatra, her husband; your lord and friend. For Claudia told me that you had fulfilled your oath to her by bringing her son to this land.’
I saw that Gallia had tears running down her cheeks. ‘And she is happy, lady?’
‘Yes, child,’ replied Dobbai, ‘for now she does not have to linger but can join her husband. You know his name, don’t you, son of Hatra?’
I nodded and felt my mouth speak the name of my lord, my general and my friend.
‘Spartacus.’
Epilogue
The villa of Marcus Licinius Crassus was bathed in autumn sunlight as Lucius Furius made his way up the Palatine Hill and entered the abode of his lord. Crassus had risen high since he had crushed the slave rebellion. He had come to Rome’s aid when others had failed her, and had raised armies from his own pocket that had crushed Spartacus. The common people did grumble, though, about the smell caused by the crucified slaves, whose bodies along the Appian Way had been left to fester and rot for weeks, on the express orders of Crassus himself. Most had been picked clean by fat crows, but the sight and smell were unpleasant and there were frequent protests. In recognition of his achievements Crassus had been made consul, a post he shared with his rival General Pompey. The two men disliked each other intensely, but had seen fit to enter into an alliance to keep an eye on each other, as well as to ensure that Rome would not be weakened by civil strife. During the triumphs that had followed the crushing of the slave rebellion, Crassus had paid for ten thousand tables for the common people to feast off, and had also given them each a free gift of three months’ supply of corn to fill their bellies. Such largesse made him very popular among the masses.
Lucius was shown into Crassus’ study where he was seated opposite the consul and served wine. Crassus smiled at his young protégé, who still walked with a limp.
‘How are you, Lucius?’
‘Well, thank you consul.’
Crassus picked up a scroll that had been lying on his desk and passed it to the younger man.
‘I thought you might be interested to see this. It arrived early today.’
Lucius took the parchment and unrolled it. The words were Latin.
‘To Marcus Licinius Crassus.
Greetings.
It has been some time since our last meeting, and I thought out of politeness that I would update you on the state of affairs since I left Italy. The son of Spartacus is a fine young boy and continues to thrive in Parthia, where those who journeyed with me also enjoy a life of freedom and prosperity. I have heard that you have also prospered since our game of cat-and-mouse that we played in Italy. I am pleased for you and salute your fame. I trust that your high position among the people of Rome will satisfy your ambition and not tempt you to cast your eyes to the east, where a mighty army stands ready to defend the Parthian Empire. Should this not be the case, I cannot promise that the same courtesy you extended me in allowing me to depart Italy unmolested will be extended to you and your legions should you be tempted to cross the Euphrates.
I wish you long life and happiness. May Shamash smile on you.
Your friend.
King Pacorus of Dura Europus.’
Lucius Furius threw the letter on the table. ‘This is an outrage. What is Parthia but a collection of mud huts, bandits and renegades? They must be punished. He especially must be punished.’
Crassus sat back in his chair and observed Furius. He was fond of the young tribune; after all, his father had been a loyal supporter in the Senate. But his son had cost him a lot of money, not least the hundreds of horsemen he had lost during the slave rebellion.
‘Lucius, your bravery and valour are undoubted. But a wise head is called for at this moment. It took us three years to crush Spartacus and his army, and in the last battle I lost nearly ten thousand dead and you lost all of your cavalry, if my memory serves me right. And now Pacorus, King Pacorus, has returned to his homeland where there are tens of thousands of horsemen who fight like him.’
Furius looked aghast. ‘Then we do nothing?’
Crassus stood up and walked over to his balcony that overlooked the Tiber. ‘No, Lucius. We take our time and make thorough preparations for our campaign to conquer the Parthian Empire.’
‘And Pacorus?’
Crassus smiled to himself. ‘I will bring him back to Rome in an iron cage.’