by Peter Darman
‘That man stands before you, a man I am proud to call brother, and the scout who rode with him that day,’ he pointed at Byrd, ‘is now one of my most trusted advisers.’
Malik slapped Byrd on the arm and Noora hugged him close.
‘And now my brother Pacorus,’ continued Haytham, ‘has brought his warriors to fight by my side and together we have destroyed a great army that was sent to enslave us. I therefore declare that Pacorus, King of Dura, is now officially my brother and may make decisions concerning the Agraci in my absence, so much do I value his judgement.’
I was taken aback. This was indeed a great honour and I was about to thank him when he yanked his dagger from its sheath, grabbed my right hand and drew the sharp blade across my palm. I winced in pain as he likewise cut his own palm, pressed it onto my bloody hand and then held it aloft. The crowd erupted into wild cheering.
Haytham waved forward two women who brought dressings to bind our wounds.
‘You do me a great honour, lord,’ I said to him, wondering how long it would be before I could shoot a bow or wield a sword again.
‘You are to call me brother from now on,’ he told me.
Once the women had finished applying the dressings Haytham raised his hands again and the commotion faded way, the only noise the spitting of burning logs behind us. Haytham searched out Spartacus standing next to Scarab and beckoned him forward. My nephew, who had probably drunk too much already, stepped forward, smiling at Rasha as he did so. Haytham’s daughter was beautiful tonight, dressed as she was in a flowing blue silk robe with jewel-embroidered wide sleeves. Her headscarf was also blue silk and from the centre parting of her hair was tied a silver teeka that rested on her forehead. She wore silver bracelets and anklets and around her neck hung a simple silver necklace holding an exquisite and priceless pear-shaped blue diamond. It had been brought from the lands east of the Indus and was called the ‘idol’s eye’ and must have cost Haytham a small fortune.
The Romans believed that diamonds were tears of the gods, others like Dobbai thought them useful talismans to ward off evil, while some wore them to attract others. Rasha held my nephew’s eyes with her own as he paced forward to her father and I could only think that she wore this rare precious stone to entrap his feelings.
Haytham raised the right arm of Spartacus.
‘This boy saved my life in battle and now I repay the debt I owe to him. Ask what you will of me, boy, and I will grant it.’
The crowd chanted his name and the hairs on the back on my neck stood up. I never thought that I would hear the name ‘Spartacus’ be acclaimed again but that night the air rang with the name of my dead friend and lord once more and I looked at Vagises and Vagharsh among the assembly and they smiled at me. Like me they had been transported back in time to another place when we had stood with Gauls, Dacians, Germans, Greeks, Thracians and Parthians and chanted the same name.
Haytham stilled the tumult. ‘Speak boy.’
I knew what he was going to say and closed my eyes as the brave young fool looked at his beloved.
‘I wish the hand of your daughter in marriage.’
His declaration was met by a deafening silence as Haytham’s lieutenants looked at each other in disbelief and then back at Spartacus who stood with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Rasha wore a smile of victory and stepped forward.
‘I accept.’
Haytham spun round and glared at her.
‘Stay where you are,’ he bellowed, causing her to jump.
He whipped his sword from its scabbard and held the point at Spartacus’ neck.
‘The debt is paid,’ he said menacingly.
My nephew looked at the blade and then at Haytham in confusion. ‘I do not understand, majesty.’
Malik was shaking his head and Byrd was frowning with disapproval as Haytham pressed the point of his sword into my nephew’s neck.
Haytham smiled savagely. ‘You saved my life and now I have saved yours by not cutting off your head for your insolence.’
Agraci laughter greeted this pronouncement though neither Spartacus nor Rasha were smiling.
‘We love each other,’ proclaimed Rasha forlornly.
‘It is not becoming for the daughter of a king to have feelings for a lowly squire.’
‘I am a prince,’ said Spartacus with difficulty, the point of Haytham’s sword still pressing into his neck.
‘It is true, lord, er, brother,’ I said, ‘he is a prince of Hatra.’
Haytham looked at me and slowly lowered his sword. ‘It makes no difference. I will never permit my daughter to marry a Parthian. You may be my brother, Pacorus, but there is too much hatred between our two peoples to allow the blood of each to be mixed. A child of such a match would be an outcast from both races.’
Rasha’s head dropped and she visibly wilted at her father’s refusal to countenance their union. I sometimes forgot that most Parthians hated the Agraci and vice versa. Poor Rasha.
‘But I am not Parthian,’ declared Spartacus.
Haytham regarded him warily. ‘What trickery is this?’
‘No trickery, majesty,’ he replied, his cockiness quickly returning and declaring. ‘I am a Thracian.’
Haytham’s face was blank. He looked at me as his men shrugged their shoulders in indifference.
‘It is true, brother,’ I said. ‘He was born in Italy to Thracian parents. I was one of those who brought him to Parthia to be raised as a prince of Hatra. But he is the son of the general I fought under against the Romans.’
Rasha, given fresh hope, now looked at her father imploringly. Haytham slid his sword back into its scabbard and looked thoughtfully at Spartacus and Rasha, then smiled slyly.
‘It is not enough.’
Rasha’s eyes misted with tears and Spartacus’ shoulders sank, but to his credit he did not give up on his love.
‘Name the conditions which will win me the hand of your daughter, majesty, and I will fulfil them.’
Haytham, momentarily taken aback by his fresh impertinence, glared at him and I was about to step between them to prevent him lopping off my nephew’s head, when Haytham smiled cruelly.
‘You’re brave, boy, I will give you that, and so, in light of your valour in battle and your strange pursuit of lost causes, I make you this offer.
‘Years ago, word reached me of a battle between the Romans and Parthians and the tale of how a young prince from the city of Hatra had taken a silver eagle standard from the enemy single-handedly. I have heard that these silver eagles are sacred to Roman soldiers and that they would lay down their lives to protect them.’
Haytham pointed at me. ‘My brother was the man who stole that eagle from under the noses of thousands of Roman soldiers and it now sits in the temple of his forefathers in Hatra.’
He looked at Spartacus. ‘You have seen this thing?’
‘I have, majesty.’
‘And now the Romans once again threaten our borders and King Pacorus once again marches against the eagles.’
He stood before his assembled lords and warriors and raised his arms.
‘I, Haytham, King of the Agraci, hereby make this offer to the boy who saved my life in battle. If he wants my daughter then he will bring me one of these Roman eagles that he has taken in battle to lay it on the ground before me. This offer stands for one full year, after which I will give my daughter to the son of one of my lords.’
He spun round and pointed at Spartacus. ‘You have one year, boy. One year in which to do this thing. But know that when you leave Palmyra after this night and return to Dura you are prohibited from entering my kingdom, on pain of death, unless you bring a silver eagle with you for company.’
The Agraci cheered and laughed at Haytham’s words and Rasha looked most concerned, with good reason. To capture a Roman eagle was all but impossible, notwithstanding that I had done so in my youth, and then only due to a combination of sheer luck and youthful folly. Spartacus had enough of the latter but the gods
alone would decide if he would have any of the former.
Haytham was both clever and cruel. He dangled the prospect of a union between Rasha and Spartacus knowing full well that Spartacus would probably die attempting to win the one thing that would give him Rasha. Haytham laughed along with his warriors as my nephew considered what he had agreed to.
The next day, as we rode back to Dura, he was unusually quiet.
‘It was brave of you to declare your love for Rasha in front of Haytham and his lords,’ I told him. ‘I was most impressed.’
‘It did me little good,’ he mumbled.
‘There are many fine young women among the nobility of Hatra,’ I said, ‘when you return there it might be best to look to them for your future happiness.’
‘Why should I?’ he snapped.
‘Because if you venture into Agraci territory,’ said Vagharsh behind him, ‘your head will be on a pole outside Haytham’s tent.’
‘Unless I win an eagle,’ he replied defiantly.
‘You have more chance of sprouting a pair of wings,’ scoffed Vagharsh.
When we reached Dura Spartacus’ spirits had sunk lower with the realisation that he could no longer enter Agraci territory unless he had a Roman eagle with him. A year was a long time and if he failed to get his trophy he would probably never see Rasha again, at least as an unmarried woman. My own humour was troubled when I saw the legionary camp was full of soldiers, wagons and horses – the rest of the army had returned to Dura.
I left Vagises and Peroz to organise the quartering of their men in the camp and rode immediately with my squires and Vagharsh to the Citadel, the guards at the western gates of the camp having informed me that Domitus and Chrestus were waiting for me at the palace. As I galloped past the camp and through the Palmyrene Gate into the city the knot in my stomach tightened. Something was very wrong.
The guards at the gates of the Citadel had seen us riding up the main street and so, as we trotted into the courtyard, Gallia, Domitus and Chrestus were waiting for me. I slid off Remus’ back and told Spartacus and Scarab to take him and their own horses to the stables. I embraced Gallia and then looked at my two commanders.
‘I assume there is a good reason why the army is back at Dura.’
‘We were sent back,’ replied Domitus.
‘Sent back by whom?’
‘By your brother,’ he answered.
‘Gafarn?’
‘Just tell him, Domitus,’ sighed Gallia.
Domitus looked at her and then me. ‘Crassus and his army arrived in Syria, crossed the Euphrates at Zeugma and attacked the towns in western Hatra before Orodes had chance to organise a response. Crassus then garrisoned the towns and withdrew back into Syria. It would appear that the Egyptian army sent against Palmyra was a decoy to mask the main enemy attack.’
Chapter 11
An hour later, after I had washed and changed, I sat in the headquarters building as Domitus told the sorry tale of what had happened after I had left Hatra. Byrd’s spies had alerted Gafarn that Crassus had arrived in Syria and was preparing to strike across the Euphrates, but then news reached Hatra that once more a large Armenian force had left Nisibus and was heading straight for the city. Orodes, in consultation with the kings, decided to march north and engage the Armenians prior to advancing to the border to meet Crassus.
‘We spent two weeks chasing the Armenians in the desert before realising that we had been deceived,’ he reported. ‘Our scouts caught up with one group of Armenian horsemen who had tied branches to the tails of their horses.’
‘Why?’ asked Gallia.
‘So they kicked up a lot of dust to give the impression that there was a multitude of horsemen on the horizon,’ he replied.
Dobbai burst into laughter. ‘They well and truly duped you, didn’t they Roman? And all the while Crassus was sneaking across the border.’
Domitus did not rise to the bait but continued to recall how, upon realising that there was no Armenian army north of Hatra, and receiving messages that Crassus had crossed the Euphrates, Orodes despatched Silaces and his seven thousand horsemen to reinforce Apollonius.
I raised my hand. ‘Silaces? I thought I had ordered that he and his men should be sent back to Assur.’
Domitus looked apologetic. ‘They never left Hatra. Your brother is obsessed by the notion that the Armenians will capture Hatra and refuses to release any troops from under his control.’
‘Then Assur is defenceless,’ I said with alarm.
Domitus shook his head. ‘Fortunately King Aschek was tardy in his advance to Hatra.’
‘No change there,’ sniggered Dobbai, ‘he was ever reluctant to draw his sword.’
‘He is at Assur with just over fifteen thousand men,’ continued Domitus.
‘You still have not explained how you came to be back at Dura,’ I said to him.
‘After we had wasted our time chasing a non-existent enemy in the desert we heard that Crassus had captured the towns of Ichnae, Nicephorium, Carrhae and Zenodotium,’ he stated. ‘At the last place Apollonius lured a Roman delegation into the town and had them killed in the marketplace.’
‘The idiot,’ I said.
‘It cost him his life when the Romans stormed the place,’ Domitus continued, ‘and we learned that they sold the population into slavery as a lesson to other towns that are thinking of resisting them.
‘Silaces arrived too late to save Zenodotium but managed to get himself wounded and lost a sizeable number of men to enemy arrows from the walls.’
‘Was he badly injured?’ I enquired.
Domitus shook his head. ‘Just a flesh wound in his arm, or so I heard.’
‘Talking of which,’ said Gallia, nodding at my bandaged hand, ‘what happened to your hand?’
‘Another battle wound?’ suggested Chrestus.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘After his victory Haytham insisted that we become blood brother so he cut his palm and mine and then we clasped hands to mix our blood.’
‘A great honour,’ said Chrestus.
‘A great honour?’ scoffed Dobbai. ‘You should fetch that Greek doctor of yours and get him to cut off your hand before the Agraci poison infects the other parts of your body.’
‘I agree with Chrestus,’ I said defiantly. ‘It is a great honour to be called “brother” by the king of the Agraci.’
She waved a hand at me. ‘Desert thieves and murderers, that is what the Agraci are, though I admit you have been clever to enlist them as your allies.’
‘They are valued friends,’ I replied.
‘To you, perhaps,’ she said. ‘But Parthians and Agraci will never live in peace with one another; there is too much bad blood between them. You must have a care, son of Hatra, that you are not seen as being more Agraci than Parthian.’
‘You like Malik and Rasha, do you not?’ Gallia asked her.
‘Of course, child,’ she smiled, ‘but you must understand that Parthians do not regard the Agraci as you do, as you all do, here in Dura.’
‘We won’t be seeing Rasha in Dura for a while,’ I said sadly.
Gallia was most concerned. ‘Why? Is she ill, or hurt?’
‘Worse,’ I said, ‘she is in love.’
My wife looked at me quizzically. ‘Haytham has found her a husband?’
‘Not quite,’ I replied. ‘Young Spartacus saved Haytham’s life in the battle and afterwards Haytham asked Spartacus what he would like as a reward. He requested Rasha’s hand in marriage.’
Domitus rolled his eyes and Dobbai laughed again.
‘What did Haytham say?’ asked Gallia.
‘He was not pleased but managed to stop himself from cutting off Spartacus’ head there and then. He told him that if he brought a captured Roman eagle to him at Palmyra then he could marry Rasha, but that until he did so he was banished from Agraci territory on pain of death. He has a year to fulfil this condition, after which Haytham will give Rasha to an Agraci lord.’
‘There are man
y daughters of nobles in Hatra who can be a wife to the little prince,’ sneered Domitus, ‘because he has more chance of taking an eagle than that stone griffin at the gates has of flying away.’
‘Poor Rasha,’ was all Gallia could say. ‘I will visit her.’
‘You underestimate the son of the slave general,’ said Dobbai. ‘The gods have chosen a path for him, just as they have for you, son of Hatra. He will wear a crown one day.’
‘Of course he will,’ I said irritably. ‘He is the heir to Hatra’s throne.’
Dobbai looked smug. ‘I did not say that he would wear Hatra’s crown for that is reserved for the one who was born in the city and who carries your name.’
‘Pacorus?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Then what crown will Spartacus wear?’ asked Domitus.
Dobbai glowered at him. ‘Do I ask you about your daily duties, Roman, about how many men you have flogged or hanged each month, or give advice to you regarding how to fight your battles? No! Then kindly do not pester me with your infantile questions. But seeing as you are here, why were you banished from the Kingdom of Hatra?’
She smiled at him while he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘Banished?’ I said, shocked.
‘I was not banished,’ he snapped. ‘After we had returned to Hatra your brother wished to march west to retake the towns that had been captured by the Romans, using our siege engines. But Byrd’s spies in Syria continued to send us messages that informed us that Crassus had garrisoned each town and had placed his army near the border, on the western side of the Euphrates. I therefore said that we should wait for your return until anything further was decided. He grew angry at this and demanded that I obey his orders. I declined to do so whereupon he ordered me to depart his city. So here we are.’
Poor Gafarn. The plight of his kingdom was obviously affecting his judgement. In his eagerness to achieve any sort of victory he was making rash decisions.
‘What did Orodes say on the matter?’ I asked.
‘Privately he supported me,’ said Domitus, ‘but publicly he could not be seen contradicting the decision of another king lest it fatally undermine Gafarn.’
