by Peter Darman
‘If it is any consolation to your father, Malik, I am sure that he will still have to use his sword when the Romans decide that Palmyra is a prize worth fighting for.’
Byrd was right about the commencement of our journey. It took three hours to load the rafts with men, horses and supplies and it was hot and airless when we finally pushed off from the riverbank. Each raft was crewed by four men who were used to travelling on the Euphrates. They stood fore and aft on each raft, using their rudders to steer. In the upper reaches of the Euphrates there are many rapids where the water flows quickly through steep canyons and gorges, making travel by boat extremely hazardous. But in the Euphrates Valley the river is wide – between five hundred and sixteen hundred feet – and the current slower. The flow took us now as we drifted downstream. It appeared that we were hardly moving, the surface of the river calm and seemingly undisturbed by our passage. Only by studying features on the shore was I able to discern that we were indeed not stationary.
Ahead were the rafts carrying the legionaries and supplies, behind the vessels transporting the horse archers. I was in the company of Gallia, Vagharsh and seventeen Amazons. The horses had been tethered to the rails and were in the shade of the awnings, the sleep-inducing movement of the raft having a calming effect on them, for which I thanked Shamash. I smiled when I saw Vagharsh asleep with his head resting against his saddle, snoring loudly. As soon as the horses had been loaded and tethered they were relieved of their saddles and saddlecloths, and the Amazons had also taken off their mail shirts and helmets. They stacked their bows, quivers and sword belts by their saddles and either followed Vagharsh’s example or sat in groups talking. Two, however, were always on guard, one watching the eastern shore, one scanning the western riverbank. For what I did not know, since to the west was Duran territory and the east was Hatran lands. But they had been taught never to let their guards down, even in friendly territory.
I took off my armour and dumped it beside my saddle, then placed my helmet beside it. There would be little to do until we landed to make camp for the night, and that was still six hours away. Gallia was deep in conversation with two of her Amazons so I decided to take the opportunity to grab some sleep. But first I wanted to ensure that Remus was fine. I walked over to him and noticed that his tail was raised high, as was his head. His ears were also pointing forward. He was more than fine: he was extremely happy. I soon discovered why.
Standing beside him, stroking his neck and speaking softly to him, was Viper, the child-like wife of Surena. She saw me and stopped stroking my horse.
‘Apologies, majesty,’ she said in her girlish voice.
‘Please do not stop on my account. He likes it.’
She smiled and continued to stroke Remus’ neck.
‘He likes you,’ I said.
‘We all love Remus, majesty.’
‘I am sorry that Surena had to be sent to Mesene. I did not intend to separate you from your husband but only he can act as a liaison officer between King Nergal and the Ma’adan.’
‘I understand, majesty. We are both soldiers and know that duty comes before personal pleasure.’
I stifled a smile as I looked at her girlish figure. It was hard to believe that she was a woman let alone an expert killer. With her small breasts and short-cut brown hair she could have easily been mistaken for a novice of a religious order. Her large brown eyes opened wide as she smiled and whispered to Remus, who was basking in her attention. Like most of the Amazons I knew almost nothing about her, except that Gallia was very fond of her and Surena adored her. As I had plenty of time on my hands I decided to increase my knowledge of this child-like assassin.
‘Do you have any family, Viper?’
‘No, majesty. I was told that I was captured as a baby when the High King Sinatruces raided my parents’ village, somewhere in the east. I was taken to Ctesiphon and raised to be a slave in the palace. In truth it was not an arduous life. I was raised in the family of a kindly steward until I was thirteen summers. Then I had to leave his village and live in the palace. I worked in the kitchens where one of the cooks decided that I should share his bed after I had served the high king his meals.’
‘It is often the case,’ I lamented.
‘Well, I killed him with a cooking spit and fled the palace. I reached the Zagros Mountains and for a while lived in the wild, catching animals and eating berries and roots. But the winters in the mountains are cruel and I was forced to beg for shelter in one of the villages on the edge of the mountains.’
‘That was fortunate,’ I said.
She shook her head. ‘Not really, majesty, because after the village headman had raped me he sold me as a slave to the commander of a passing caravan. He raped me too, as did his men.’
I was horrified and possessed of a seething anger against the wretches who had committed these acts. But Viper told her story in a matter-of-fact fashion. The experience had obviously hardened her.
‘But the gods smiled on me,’ she continued, ‘because the caravan was carrying silk and was heading for Egypt. In between abusing me and forcing me to cook their meals the men told stories of the King of Dura, his warrior wife and her band of fighters called Amazons. And I made myself a promise that I would become an Amazon. So when the caravan reached Dura I disappeared among the throng in the caravan park and fled to the Citadel. My luck changed that day because as I reached the Citadel’s gates Praxima, that is Queen Praxima, was riding out leading a party of Amazons. I did not know who she was but I threw myself to the ground in front of her horse and begged her to take pity on me and let me join the Amazons.’
She looked at me and smiled.
‘Praxima must have recognised a kindred spirit because she jumped down from her horse, lifted me up and embraced me. I have been in the embrace of the Amazons ever since.’
‘It comforts me that you are a member of my wife’s bodyguard, Viper,’ I said. ‘But tell me, what is your given name, for surely you cannot have been named Viper at birth?’
I thought I detected sadness in her eyes.
‘I do not know the name my parents gave me, majesty, because they were killed when I was a baby. But I was told later that there was a horned viper near me when the soldiers found me. They were amazed that it had not killed me but the commander of the raiding party said that it showed that I had the favour of the gods and so they took me to Ctesiphon. The high king’s sorceress thought it very auspicious that I was a slave in the palace.’
She shrugged. ‘That is what I was told.’
‘You knew Dobbai?’
‘No, majesty. She was the high king’s confidante and counsellor and I was just a lowly slave. I cannot even remember seeing her at Ctesiphon.’
Remus turned his head and grunted, indicating that she should continue stroking his neck. She giggled girlishly.
‘Remus is like a high king among horses, majesty.’
I smiled as she stroked his neck once more.
‘Don’t tire yourself out, Viper,’ I told her. ‘He will let you do that all day long.’
I returned to where Gallia was now sitting alone on the deck, her back resting against her saddle, and a floppy hat over her face.
I squatted down beside her.
‘Are you asleep?’
She lifted up the brim of her hat. ‘Apparently not.’
‘I have just been talking to Viper. Did you know that she was a slave at Ctesiphon during the time that Dobbai was the sorceress of Sinatruces?’
She sighed. ‘Of course.’
‘And she is named thus because she was found as a baby with a coiled horned viper nearby, seemingly guarding her?’
Gallia let the brim of the hat fall over her face. ‘I know.’
I was perturbed. ‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘To what end?’
‘Does Dobbai know Viper’s history?’
She lifted the brim of her hat once more and gave me a sly smile. ‘Oh, yes. She is very pleased that Viper is a
n Amazon, as am I. She was very aware of Viper’s history and believes her coming to Dura is a favourable omen. Now please let me get some rest. This heat is intolerable.’
By now most of the Amazons were either resting or asleep but I was restless, eager to get to Uruk. I walked to the rear of the raft where two men with skin turned dark brown by the Mesopotamian sun were holding the long rudders. They bowed their heads when they saw me.
‘It seems as though we are hardly moving,’ I said.
The nearest individual, a tall man with sinewy arms and gold rings on his bony fingers, turned and looked at the river.
‘It may appear so, majesty, but the current is strong.’
‘You are a fisherman?’
He nodded. ‘As was my father and his father before him. The gods bless the Euphrates and fill it with fish.’
‘You will be away from your nets for many days,’ I said.
There would be no way to get the rafts back to Dura, aside from hitching them to horses on the riverbank and towing them back upstream. But that would be time consuming and in any case even if they were taken back to Dura they would most likely be left to rot on the riverbanks. Far better to burn them after we had finished with them. The crews would have to walk back to Dura with the army.
‘How will your family survive without the money from the sale of the fish you sell in the markets?’
He looked at his companion and they both smiled. He flashed a set of white teeth at me.
‘Lord Marcus has paid us well for our services, majesty.’
‘War is much more profitable than fishing, majesty,’ added his shorter companion.
How wrong he was. War was not only ruinously expensive but also damaging to the empire, which relied on the Silk Road for its wealth. Without trade there would be no revenues for the various royal treasuries, and thus no standing armies of horse archers and cataphracts. Even Mithridates recognised the importance of trade, which is why he did not interfere with the trade caravans travelling to Dura on their way to Palmyra and Egypt. To do so would incur the wrath of the Chinese emperor whose merchants transported silk from the east, and not even a king of kings would dare to do that.
We travelled forty miles the first day.
There were still three hours of daylight left when the lead raft, on which Domitus was travelling, drifted to the western bank, having signalled by means of the sun’s rays reflecting off hand-held pieces of shiny steel plates that those following should do the same. Steel spikes hammered into the bank provided moorings for the rafts as the horse archers led their mounts off the vessels to exercise them, leading them on foot at first before riding them a short distance inland. The legionaries, meanwhile, began constructing the camp in which everyone would shelter for the night.
The sword of every legionary, as in the Roman Army, was a gladius: a two-foot length of the finest steel with a double edge and sharp point. In battle the Durans and Exiles armed with these short swords turned into two irresistible saws, reducing anything in front of them into mangled flesh and bone. But the gladius was not the item most used in a legionary’s arsenal. That honour lay with the entrenching tool. The Romans called it dolabra – a wooden handle with an iron head that had a broad cutting edge at one end and a sharp point at the other. It saw more action than the gladius, javelin and shield combined, being used every day when on campaign to erect the ditch and rampart that surrounded a camp.
When the horse archers had finished exercising their mounts they were issued with entrenching tools and joined the legionaries in digging the ditch that would surround the camp. The earth removed from the ditch was used to erect a rampart behind it, upon which wooden stakes were planted to form a palisade. It took around three hours to erect the camp’s defences and the tents inside, all arranged in neat rows and blocks with the command tent in the centre. While the camp was being established the Amazons and Byrd’s scouts reconnoitred the surrounding terrain, which was actually still Duran territory. Curious villagers stood and stared at the mail-clad warriors that trotted into their settlements, then cheered and gathered round Gallia as she announced her presence to the headman. Most of these villages were newly established after the peace treaty with Haytham and my wife reported back to me that they appeared to be prospering.
Of course the building of the earth defences around the camp and the scouting patrols were unnecessary as we were still in friendly territory, but when on campaign the army followed protocol irrespective of its location.
The next day the army struck camp before dawn, legionaries packing up their eight-man tents and horse archers grooming and feeding their horses before exercising them briefly so they could empty their bowels and bladders before they were loaded on the rafts. Each day had up to fourteen hours of daylight and under a blazing sun and little wind the last thing the riders wanted were rafts awash with horse urine and dung.
We covered over fifty miles on the second day and nearly sixty on the third. The threat of war seemed far away as we passed fishermen on the river casting their nets into the calm blue water. We shouted to them that we were allies of King Vardan for now the eastern bank of the Euphrates was Babylonian territory. The appearance of a hundred and fifty rafts loaded with soldiers and horses would have been reported to Babylon and Hatra, of that I had no doubt, but my father and Vardan could only guess at our intentions. For all they knew we could have been travelling south to take part in exercises with the Agraci.
‘You haven’t got a hope in Hades of your father and Vardan thinking that,’ remarked Domitus, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peered at the riverbank lined with curious Babylonian villagers. ‘They are not stupid.’
It was the seventh day and we were nearing the northern extent of Mesene territory. The eastern side of the river did not change in appearance, being covered with date palm groves. Well-tended irrigated fields and fishing boats littered the riverbank. But on the western side there was only scrub and desert. That was Agraci territory and they were herders and raiders, not farmers.
‘It was clever of you to think of using rafts to transport your men, Pacorus,’ said Malik.
I had asked him, Domitus and Byrd to join me on my raft, mainly because I wanted someone to speak to during the journey. We put into shore for two hours at midday to water the horses and let them and everyone else stretch their legs and relieve themselves. And also give the crews an opportunity to rest. But the days were still long and tedious.
‘He didn’t think of it,’ scoffed Domitus. ‘It was Marcus Sutonius who came up with the idea. You can’t beat a Roman mind when it comes to practical matters.’
‘Do I detect a wistful tone in your voice, Domitus?’ I teased him. ‘A longing for the homeland?’
‘I would rather be the slave of Mithridates than go back to Rome,’ he spat. ‘Being condemned to the mines banished any affection for the homeland I might have had.’
‘You do not mind killing your own kind?’ Malik asked him.
Domitus shrugged. ‘Why should I? Pacorus pays my wages and I kill anyone who threatens his kingdom.’
‘You see, Malik,’ I said, ‘Romans are practical in all things.’
‘I like to think that part of your heart belongs to Dura, Domitus,’ said Gallia.
He winked at her. ‘I’ve lived in worse places. The people are agreeable enough and you and Orodes are good company.’ He jerked his head at me. ‘He can be a bit naive at times but all in all Dura is a tidy little city.’
‘You forgot to mention being the commander of Dura’s army,’ I said, ‘with all the attendant glories, honours and wealth that the position brings with it.’
‘I thought Domitus lives in a tent outside the city,’ remarked Malik.
‘He does,’ I answered, ‘but only because he chooses to. He could have a mansion in the city if he so desired.’
Domitus screwed up his face. ‘Living in mansions and palaces makes you soft. I prefer to live an uncomplicated life. Just like fighting: keep it simp
le.’
‘Just like the Roman worldview,’ I remarked. ‘Everything belongs to Rome and if anyone disagrees, kill them.’
‘Such an outlook has its merits,’ offered Domitus. ‘Pacorus has yet to learn that it is better to kill your enemies rather than let them live.’
‘You speak of Narses and Mithridates?’ said Byrd.
Domitus nodded.
‘Perhaps one of them will be at Uruk,’ said Malik.
Domitus scratched his nose. ‘I doubt it. They will send others to do their dirty work.’
‘Like Tiraios,’ said Gallia.
Malik turned his tattooed face towards her. ‘Who?’
‘The King of Charax, a city near where the Tigris and Euphrates enter the Persian Gulf,’ I told him. ‘Dobbai believes that he and his army are the ones who will attack Uruk.’
‘I remain to be convinced,’ sniffed Domitus. ‘When we get to Uruk I suspect we will find Nergal and Praxima residing in their palace, untroubled by this Tiraios.’
The following day was as uneventful as the preceding ones as the current took the rafts further downstream. The Euphrates narrows to around five hundred feet as it approaches Uruk and the flow increases. This meant that we had would reach the city by midday, which meant spending only a few more hours on this accursed raft. I had come to realise what a caged animal must feel like: pacing up and down for hours in an attempt to relieve the boredom. Our line of rafts covered a distance of three miles on the river but the individuals on every one would have seen the thin pillars of black smoke in the sky that appeared to be many miles away.
There was a flurry of signals between the rafts as one by one the crews were instructed to head for the eastern riverbank. I looked at Gallia and we both knew that Dobbai’s prophecy appeared to have become a terrifying reality. She barked an order to the Amazons to saddle their horses and ready themselves. There was no panic, just an ordered haste as they put on their mail shirts and helmets, fitted the bowstrings to their recurve bows, strapped on their sword belts and checked their quivers.
