The next few days saw more horror as we were marched under a merciless sun towards the sea. The centurion maintained a cruel pace, which caused many captives to collapse from exhaustion, starvation and dehydration. We were given little to eat and not enough water. My limbs began to ache and blisters broke out on my feet. But at least we still had our boots; those who trudged in front were barefoot, and I could see that the manacles on their ankles were chafing flesh and their feet were bruised and bloody. Some were hobbling now, while others were limping badly and had to be helped by their neighbour.
At night we lay exhausted on the ground, trying to keep our spirits up through hushed conversations. One of my officers, Nergal, a man in his mid-twenties who had a thick black mane of hair, a round face and a long nose, was a great help. He had been with the army when we took the Roman eagle and had fought well during our raid into Cappadocia. His ability to always see something positive in adversity was infectious. He had tramped for four days beside Gafarn without complaining, though he was badly sunburned on his neck. I think he was slightly in awe of me, mainly due to my capture of the Roman eagle. He appeared to have forgotten that it was my poor leadership that had contributed to our capture, for which I was grateful.
‘I saw it, highness,’ he said as I was trying to find the paradise of slumber.
‘Mmm?’
‘The eagle you took. I saw it in the temple after it was laid there. I prayed to Shamash that he would also grant me the privilege of one day taking an enemy standard.’
‘It could have been anyone,’ I replied. ‘I was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.’
He was indignant. ‘Oh no, highness, it was your destiny. You are destined for greatness, and that is why I am untroubled by our present circumstances.’
‘Really?’ I was taken aback somewhat by his confidence.
‘The gods protect those whom they love, highness.’
‘You think the gods love me, Nergal?’
‘Yes, highness.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because they gave you the eagle, no one else. I have heard that to the Romans each eagle is sacred. So only a god could grant you the power to steal it from under their noses.’
‘And what of our present situation?’ I asked him.
‘The gods are saving you for great things, highness, of that I am sure.’
‘Get some sleep, Nergal. It’s going to be hot tomorrow.’
The night was cool and during the hours of darkness we lost five of our men. They had been wounded in the battle with the Romans and their injuries, plus the hard usage they had been subjected to, was more than their bodies could endure. The first rays of the sun revealed their ashen faces. We said a prayer to Shamash and tried to bury them, but the guards hurried us along after a sparse meal of hard biscuit and a mouthful of water. They left our comrades beside the road, carrion for crows and wild animals. The nights were always the worst, not only out of fear that we would lose more comrades, but also because at night the Romans raped the women prisoners. We heard their screams and could do nothing. Some of my men wept tears of rage at their impotence. All we could do was hold our hands over our ears to try to shut out the cries of pain and misery.
In the morning we were given a meager meal and a few mouthfuls of water and then we were on the road again. This day was different, though. Four of my men had decided that they had had enough. As they shuffled along in their chains, they passed a group of legionaries who were laughing and joking with each other. They didn’t give my men a second glance as they passed by, but then my men lunged at the guards, wrapping their wrist chains around necks while other made a grab for spears and swords. One Parthian, a large man with long arms and legs, choked a guard with his right forearm and with his left hand pulled the Roman’s sword from his scabbard and rammed it through his back, the point bursting out of his chest. We stopped and hollered encouragement, but within seconds other guards stood around us, brandishing spears at our bellies and sword points at our throats. A notable feat given that his wrists were chained. Those who had attacked the guards were swiftly killed as more Romans rushed up, the big man going down only after being literally hacked to pieces by four Romans, their swords and arms wet with his blood. But five Romans were also dead.
The centurion was beside himself with rage, and would have killed us all there and then had it not have been for another soldier, who must have been of the same rank, reminding him that he was responsible for delivering us to the legate’s estates. At first denied his revenge, he nevertheless ordered that the dead Parthians be beheaded, their severed heads were then hung around the necks of the front rank, which included me. Thus we marched, it taking all my efforts not to throw up in disgust at the gore that was dangling from my neck. The centurion decided to amuse himself by trying to goad me, though I had to smile internally at the fact that, as far as I knew, he still did not know that I understood Latin.
‘Do you like your new necklace, pretty boy?’
I stared ahead with a stony gaze.
‘You son of a whore,’ he hit me hard on the arm with his vine stick, the blow made me grimace and I looked down to see that he had cut my flesh. He saw that I was looking at the wound.
‘Your flesh cuts easy, little girl. You won’t last long in the fields. Your girly locks and baby flesh will be food for crows before the year is out. My only regret is that I will not be there to see it.’
He wacked me again with his cane, this time across the back, but the one-way conversation was clearly boring him and he took himself off, bellowing at the guards to move us along at a faster pace. The first column of civilian captives was clearly incapable of doing so, and the plethora of blows and insults delivered at them resulted only in several men and women collapsing. In the end, the centurion had to order a halt to allow his beaten, half-starved victims time to recuperate. Even his tiny brain must have realised that if he continued his thuggery, all his captives would be dead before they reached the sea.
As we rested beside the road I tore off a piece of my tunic to fashion a makeshift bandage. By now all our trousers and tunics were frayed, cut and dirty. We were not allowed to leave the column to relieve ourselves, so had to perform our bodily functions where we stood or lay. This meant that we stank to high heaven, though as we all emitted a foetid odour I suspect that our guards were more repulsed than we were. I had to remind myself that I was a prince of Parthia, for our filthy, stinking, unshaven column barely resembled humanity. I certainly didn’t feel like a prince, or even a man.
On the sixth night of our nightmare journey we received more rations than we had since we had been captured, and the guards then came and took the rotting heads that we had been forced to wear away. We were also given ample quantities of water to drink.