Parthian Dawn

by Peter Darman

  ‘What is it?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘It is called a griffin if I am not mistaken.’ Assur re-entered the chamber with a small, portly man scurrying beside him, who walked over to stand beside me and peered at the banner. He smelt of old scrolls and leather.

  ‘Mm, yes indeed. A griffin. Head of an eagle and the body of a lion.’

  Assur handed him the scroll that came from Dobbai. ‘And this?’

  The archivist held it close to his face and started mumbling to himself.

  ‘You were right, holiness. It is ancient Scythian. I haven’t seen this language written in an age.’

  ‘Would you care to read it to us,’ requested my father.

  ‘Read it?’ The archivist looked up and realised where he was. He blushed. ‘Yes, of course, majesty.’ He bowed awkwardly, and then bowed again to my mother. My father waved his hand for him to continue.

  ‘Can we put it down?’ asked Gafarn.

  ‘Lay it down on the floor in front of me,’ said my father. As they did so the archivist read the letter. His voice was crisp and a little high pitched.

  To Pacorus, King of Dura Europos and son of Hatra, greetings.

  Just as you have ended one journey, so you and your bride are about to begin another. Those who are beloved of the gods do not know what path has been set for them, and those of us who are close to the gods are given only glimpses of what they have in store for you. So it is with you, son of Hatra. The gods have given you a great gift in the form of your new bride, and to prove that you were worthy of her you had to throw off your chains and defeat your enemy in the heart of his kingdom. You have fulfilled that part of your quest, but know that it is only one part.

  Behold your banner, which is the image of the Griffin, a creature that inhabited the land when the world was young, and when life and death were but a dream. I saw you riding upon this beast in a vision, and knew that it had been chosen for you. The Griffin makes his nest on the high peaks, overlooking his kingdom, safe from his enemies. He has the head and front talons of an eagle and this is appropriate, for your destiny is entwined with the eagles of Rome. You fight them but they are a part of you. The Griffin has the body of a lion, for you will be a lion of the desert when the time of troubles comes. The Griffin has wings to carry him far and wide, just as you will be called upon to go hither and thither to assist those who have need of you. Let the Griffin be your symbol to show the gods that you honour and respect them, so that you are allowed to keep your queen, who has been sent by them to be by your side.

  Know you this as well. The white of the background is a symbol of the purity of your cause, and the red of the Griffin will be the blood that will be spilt in your quest. Heed these words, son of Hatra, and obey the gods. For they are watching you.

  The archivist handed me back the parchment, then shuffled nervously on his feet. Assur waved him away, leaving us all in silence. All eyes were on me now. My mother looked alarmed, my father bemused, while Assur stared at the banner intently, almost as if he expected it to spring to life.

  My father spoke first.

  ‘It would appear that Sinatruces’ sorceress still takes an interest in you.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘You should send it back,’ urged my mother.

  ‘It’s just a piece of cloth, mother. Besides, I like it. I shall have Domitus inform the legion of its arrival.’

  Assur nodded in approval. ‘A wise choice, majesty.’

  ‘Soldiers are a superstitious lot,’ offered Vata, ‘they’ll see it as a symbol of luck.’

  ‘Then let us hope that it brings you luck, my son.’ My father stood up and held out his hand to my mother. ‘We are finished here, everyone is dismissed.’

  Afterwards I wrote a short letter to Domitus telling him of the banner and instructing him to pass on the information to his centurions, who would inform their men. Then I took it to the armouries to have it fastened to a lance, and afterwards it was rolled around the shaft and covered by a waxed canvas sleeve.

  As Gallia fell asleep in my arms I stared at the furled banner propped up in the corner of the bedroom.

  In the morning it and we would be marching to Dura.

  Chapter 4

  We rose before dawn and said our goodbyes on the steps of the palace. The legion would already be packing up its tents and workshops and marshalling into its centuries and cohorts, Domitus barking curses and issuing orders as his subordinates organised their men into their ranks. Gallia was dressed in her war gear of mail shirt, leggings and boots, her spatha in its scabbard hanging from her belt, with her dagger tucked into the top of her right boot. Her bow was safe in its case hanging from her saddle, quiver at her hip. Her Amazons, similarly attired, were mounted behind her as she said farewell to my parents, sisters, Gafarn and Diana. The latter was in floods of tears as she hugged her friend. They had been together since the gladiator school in Capua and were now to be apart for the first time in years. Gallia embraced her friend tightly, kissed her on the cheek, put on her helmet and then vaulted onto Epona, her mare that she had brought with her from Italy. If there were tears in her eyes I did not see them, though I noticed that she quickly closed her helmet’s cheekguards, then dug her knees into Epona’s sides and trotted from the square without looking back, followed by her Amazons. My Parthian horsemen, Nergal at their head and my new banner carried behind him, waited on the far side of the square. A guard held Remus’ reins.

  My father, dressed in a simple white tunic, sandals and beige trousers, had his arm around my mother’s waist. ‘Try not to get yourself killed down there.’

  ‘I will try.’

  Tears streamed down my mother’s face as I embraced her. ‘May God protect you, Pacorus.’

  ‘Don’t be sad, mother, I’m only going to Dura not the end of the world.’

  My words did not convince her. I kissed Diana and embraced Gafarn.

  ‘Keep your eye on our parents,’ I told him, ‘see that mother doesn’t get too morose.’

  ‘I will, and you look after yourself and keep Gallia safe.’

  ‘Always.’

  Vata suddenly appeared, running down the steps as he buckled on his sword belt.

  ‘Apologies, too much to drink last night.’ He belched loudly, causing my mother to cast a disapproving look at him. He locked me in a bear hug.

  ‘Farewell, my friend. Keep safe.’

  ‘You too, Vata, and come to Dura soon.’

  He released me and looked round. ‘Where’s Gallia?’

  ‘You missed her.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I was going to persuade her to come to Nisibus with me and leave you on your own.’

  ‘Same old Vata.’

  We clasped each other’s forearms. I turned, mounted Remus and rode from the square and the palace of Hatra. We rode out of the city via the northern gates and then wheeled left to meet up with the legion as it marched southwest, towards Dura. It was not hard to find — five thousand men plus dozens of carts and mules moving across baked ground kicked up a big dust cloud. The men marched six abreast along the road that snaked south towards the Euphrates. Unlike Roman roads it was little more than a dirt track, seldom used by the trade caravans that headed west or east to and from Hatra. The day was bright and warm, with a slight easterly breeze that failed to blow away the dust kicked up by the horses.

  We joined the long column of foot soldiers a short distance from the city. At the front marched Lucius Domitus, his helmet topped by a large transverse white crest, as usual his vine cane in his hand. He raised it in salute when he saw me and I reined in Remus beside him.

  ‘All is well, Domitus?’

  ‘All is well. It’s good to be on the move at last. Gives the boys a purpose.’

  Gallia and her Amazons rode a hundred paces or so in front of Domitus, with my Parthians ahead of them. Galloping up with Nergal, Godarz fell in beside me looking up at the sun.

  ‘It is going to be a hot day. The nearest oasis is sixty miles
away. Three days’ march. I hope you and your men can cover such a distance, Domitus.’

  ‘Have no fear of that. They can march that distance and fight a battle at the end of it.’

  ‘Hopefully they won’t be fighting any battles in the next few days,’ I said.

  Domitus pointed at the griffin standard fluttering up the road.

  ‘Is that the banner that the witch sent you?’

  ‘She’s a sorceress, Domitus,’ I said.

  ‘Mmm. I think the boys would appreciate a look at it.’

  I agreed. ‘Good idea. Nergal, ride ahead and have it shown to the men.’

  At that moment I heard shouts behind me. Turning, I saw a figure on a horse riding towards the head of the column. As he drew nearer I could see that the horse was a mangy beast, dark brown in colour with a long mane and tail, and on its back was an equally dishevelled figure — Byrd.

  Those men who had fought in Italy and who now marched behind us recognised him instantly, the man who had been their eyes and ears and the chief scout of Spartacus. Some shouted his name and others banged their javelins on their shields in salute, those that had them. He rode up and halted beside me, nodding his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘I’m glad you decided to come with us, Byrd. Welcome back.’

  ‘Thank you, lord. Where is Gallia?’

  ‘Up ahead.’ I looked at his horse. Its hoofs needed filing and its whole body needed a good brush.

  ‘Was not the money I gave you sufficient to buy a decent mount?’

  He reached into his tunic and pulled out a pouch, then threw it to me.

  ‘No need money, lord. I sell my pots and buy beast with what I had.’

  Godarz halted on the other side of Byrd. ‘That horse looks disgusting.’ Then he reached over and placed his hand on Byrd’s shoulder.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, old friend.’

  I thought I detected a glint of happiness in Byrd’s eyes, but he just nodded.

  ‘You too.’

  Everyone was delighted to see him, none more so then me, and word quickly spread through the legion of his arrival, which raised morale even higher. Very soon the men were singing as they marched, mostly ballads about seducing young girls and slaughtering their enemies, but I was happy that they were in good spirits as it made the burden they had to carry lighter. Each man carried around fifty pounds in weight on his back — food, water bottle, cloak, spare clothing, a spade and eating utensils — all strapped to a furca as the Romans call it. This is a wooden pole with a crossbar at the top, to which the pack is strapped.

  Among the loads carried by the legion’s mules were wooden stakes. These stakes became part of the palisade around the camp that was created each night for both men and beasts, a place of safety and a stronghold, not that we would face any enemies in Hatran territory. Three hours before dark each day the vanguard laid out the camp with poles, and as each cohort reached the site its members would fall out to dig the ditch that would surround the whole camp. The earth that was dug was used to create the rampart upon which the stakes were planted to form a palisade. Thus were our tents, wagons, mules, camels and horses surrounded by a ditch, rampart and wooden wall. And in the morning the stakes were removed and loaded onto mules until the evening, when the laborious process would begin again.

  Every night I walked among the campfires to sit with as many of the men as I could, and every night they wanted to hear the same stories, of how I had been a slave, had fought with Spartacus and had found Gallia. How we had fought and defeated the Romans. And all the time they asked me about Dobbai’s prophecies. Had she foretold my enslavement? Yes. Did she predict my meeting with Gallia? Yes. Was my becoming a king her doing? Yes. All these things they knew already, but they listened in awed silence as I told them the tale again. One night I happened upon a group of Thracians, now all centurions, who were Companions and formerly soldiers under Spartacus. That night they did the talking and I listened. The glow of the brazier cast us all in a red light as we wrapped our cloaks around us, for the desert nights were cool.

  ‘That night when we attacked the Roman camp at the foot of Vesuvius, that was the first time I saw you.’ The speaker was big and solid, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. ‘You and the rest were in chains.’

  ‘I remember,’ I said.

  ‘That was good sport that night. We slaughtered them all. At the end I was standing behind Spartacus as he watched you killing some Roman. You were hacking at his corpse like a mad man. Then you stopped and we all thought you were going to have a go at Spartacus.’

  ‘You looked like a wild-haired demon, Pacorus,’ remarked another. I might have been a king, but all the Companions were allowed such familiarity.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued the big one, ‘next thing you passed out and we had to carry you back to camp.’

  ‘You carried me?’ I asked.

  ‘Me and another one. Though we had to break your manacles first.’

  ‘I’ve still got the scars on my back from when that bastard centurion flogged me,’ I spat.

  Before I knew it they were all showing off their battles scars with pride. One showed me a nasty white line that ran across his chest.

  ‘One of Crixus’ Gauls gave me that when he ran his dagger across my skin for saying something that upset him. Can’t remember what it was now.’

  Another man looked up. ‘That’s the thing about Gauls, you don’t need a valid argument to get into a fight with them.’ He suddenly realised that I had married one. ‘No offence, sir.’

  ‘None taken, and I agree, they are a testy race.’

  ‘Good fighters, though,’ said the big Thracian.

  I thought of Gallia in her war gear sat on Epona’s back shooting down her enemies without mercy. ‘Good fighters, yes.’

  ‘Hopefully,’ I said, ‘we won’t be doing much fighting from now on.’

  They looked at each other and then burst into laughter.

  ‘What is so amusing?’ I asked.

  The big one spat into the brazier.

  ‘The gods have a purpose for you, and it isn’t to sit on a throne growing old in the middle of the desert. All we know is fighting and war, just like you. It is our destiny.’

  ‘Can a man not change his destiny?’ I enquired.

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  The trip to Dura was uneventful. The legion maintained a steady pace each day and the cavalry walked beside their horses along the dusty road. Byrd, as was his wont, disappeared for hours on end, riding ahead of the column to scout. I told him there was no need, as we were in Hatran territory and my father had established small strongholds throughout his kingdom — forts with a garrison of twenty or thirty cavalry — to both keep the peace and alert him to any threats. It was over two hundred miles from Hatra to Dura, and we had passed two of these forts already on our journey, half a dozen men plus their commander riding out to present his compliments, and to take a look at my new bride no doubt. But Byrd would have none of it, every day leaving camp before dawn to return again just before nightfall. The first thing he did was to report to me, and declare that he had seen nothing untoward.

  ‘I could have told you that, Byrd. Now go and get yourself something to eat, and get your horse seen to.’

  The state of Byrd’s horse had been a constant cause of friction between him and Godarz when we had all been in Italy, but now Godarz did not bother to confront my chief scout over the neglect of his mount. Instead, he made sure that there was a groom waiting when Byrd rode into camp, who was instructed to take his horse to the temporary stables where it was watered, groomed and fed. All this happened while Byrd was reporting to me, and I made sure that he stayed long enough in my tent to allow the horse to be properly attended to after its long day.

  At the end of the ninth day, as the sun dropped into the west and red and purple hues filled the sky, Byrd appeared at the entrance to my tent. As usual, he was covered in dust and grime, his hair lank around his shoulders. It h
ad been a hot day, and both Gallia and I had taken off our boots, armour and helmets and were stretched out in chairs.

  Seeing him I pointed to a jug of water on the table. ‘Help yourself, you must be thirsty.’

  Gallia raised her hand in recognition, and then closed her eyes. It had been a long, tiring day.

  ‘Your kingdom about to break out in revolt, lord.’

  I jumped up. ‘What did you say?’

  He walked over the table and poured himself a cup of water, then drank it down.

  ‘The lords in your new kingdom very angry, lord.’

  Twenty minutes later Godarz, Domitus, Nergal and Byrd were gathered in my tent, their faces illuminated by two oil lamps that hung from the centre poles. Gallia stood beside me. Byrd then proceeded to tell them what he had learned that day. He had ridden to the eastern bank of the Euphrates and had crossed the river forty miles upstream from Dura. There was a bridge there, which was held by Hatran troops, giving access to the western side of the river. A toll was imposed on every traveller wishing to cross the bridge, though in truth there were few, as the bridge had originally been built by Sinatruces to facilitate troop movements across the river. My new kingdom had only been a Parthian province for a short time, having been conquered to create a shield for the western edge of the empire and, according to my father, to be a dumping ground for malcontents. Byrd crossed the river and learned from farmers on the far side that the kingdom was seething with resentment.

  ‘Why?’ asked Godarz.

  Byrd shrugged. ‘They say Prince Mithridates is a tyrant.’

  ‘Who’s Prince Mithridates?’ said Domitus, yawning.

  ‘He’s the eldest son of King Phraates of Susiana, who in turn is the son of the King of Kings,’ I replied.

  I could see that this meant little to Domitus, who looked at me blankly. ‘The point is,’ I continued, ‘that he has been ruling Dura and its lands, not very well by the sound of it.’

  ‘Will he not present himself to you at the river tomorrow, Pacorus?’ asked Nergal.

  Protocol demanded that the prince should present himself to me in person, though as yet I had received no word from him. In any case if what Byrd said was true, then I decided that etiquette would have to take second place to realities.