by Peter Darman
We bid farewell to Zand in the foothills of the Zagros east of the River Dez and continued on to Susa alone. The chief said that he would send Gourlay to the city in two weeks’ time to see if the gold and horses were ready, and if not at two week intervals after that. He emphasised the importance of receiving the horses and gold before the autumn ended so he could raid the lands of his enemies to kill and steal their winter foodstuffs.
‘You pay a high price for his assistance,’ said Orodes as we relaxed in a small lounge in the private apartments of his royal palace at Susa.
‘Dura will reimburse your treasury for the gold and the horses,’ I told him.
‘You trust this man, this Zand?’ asked Axsen as she reclined on a couch opposite my own.
‘I trust his ambition and ruthlessness,’ I answered. ‘He wishes to attack the villages of his enemies and with his warriors mounted he can raid far and wide.’
‘Including Susa’s farms and villages,’ said Orodes with concern.
‘That’s just what I said,’ remarked Domitus casually.
‘It is a risk,’ I admitted, ‘but the other tribes are pressing on Zand’s borders, especially after his losses at Susa. He will be concentrating on expanding his power at the expense of the other tribes rather than attacking Susiana’s territories.’
‘These tribes need to be subdued,’ said Axsen.
‘Alas, lady,’ I replied, ‘thus far no one has succeeded, not even the great Alexander of Macedon. The Zagros Mountains are too expansive and the tribes too dispersed to make their subjugation possible. Far better to encourage them to kill each other.’
‘What is he like, this Zand?’ asked Orodes.
I thought for a moment. ‘Intelligent.’
‘For a savage,’ added Domitus.
‘We are all savages to someone, Domitus,’ I retorted, ‘but Zand is someone whom a high king might be able to deal with, if only to play off his enemies against each other.’
‘We will honour your agreement with him,’ said Orodes, ‘I will see to it that he receives his gold and horses. Having fought the Romans and the hill men, I do not think that the latter are capable of defeating the former.’
‘That is putting it mildly,’ said Domitus.
‘Then why are you purchasing hill men as mercenaries?’ asked a concerned Axsen.
I drained my cup of wine and held it out for a slave to refill it. ‘My desire is not for the hill men to defeat the Romans but to keep them and Crassus occupied in Judea. He will not invade Parthia until Judea is subdued and by the time he does we will be ready for him.’
‘And the Armenians?’ asked Orodes.
‘I still believe that if we defeat the Romans then the Armenians will be relatively easy to deal with,’ I replied.
Orodes stared at his cup. ‘Surena is still waging his private war against the Armenians, which at least distracts them. Have you had any word from him, Pacorus?’
I shook my head. ‘None. He may be dead for all I know, though I suspect that he still lives. He is a most resourceful individual.’
‘It was very sad that his wife died,’ said Axsen wistfully, ‘I liked her. It is very romantic that her death has spurred him on to battle the Armenians.’
Domitus looked askance at her and rolled his eyes.
‘You should bring him to heel,’ Domitus said to Orodes.
‘Alas, my friend,’ he replied, ‘the only way I could do so would be to march an army into Gordyene and conquer the kingdom, which I have neither the resources nor desire to do. Parthia is not Rome. The empire is made up of separate kingdoms whose rulers swear allegiance to the king of kings whom they have elected. In my grandfather’s time any disloyalty was severely punished but then Parthia was strong and was not threatened by powerful external enemies.’
‘Surena’s war serves our interests for the moment,’ I said, ‘in that it keeps the Armenians from marching south against Hatra. My main concern is that his depredations may enrage Artavasdes and goad him into launching an offensive at the same time as Crassus invades the empire.’
‘You could attack the Armenians first,’ suggested Domitus.
‘But then Crassus would surely cross the Euphrates while we were preoccupied in the north, swinging north to trap our army between him and the Armenians. I cannot risk that.’
‘The scales are finely balanced,’ said Axsen.
‘Indeed,’ I replied, ‘which is why we need to buy as much time as possible.’
‘And what of the eastern kings,’ probed Axsen, ‘will they assist you?’
‘Phriapatius is loyal,’ I replied, ‘but if the western kingdoms fall I doubt those in the east of the empire will mobilise their forces to fight a war west of the Tigris. They will prefer to wait for the Romans to come to them, thinking they will be stronger on home ground, which will be their undoing.’
‘But you have fought and defeated the Romans before, Pacorus,’ said Axsen, ‘and you have your sorceress on your side.’
I smiled at her. ‘Perhaps I should send her to fight Crassus.’
‘It will take more than sorcery to defeat the Romans,’ said Orodes glumly.
I looked at Domitus who caught my eye but remained stony faced. He had been at Dobbai’s ceremony and had witnessed the strange mist, the ghostly howling and seen the empty places where the clay hounds had been. Did he believe? Did I believe? I wanted to and was thankful when Tigranes had died and Aulus Gabinius had turned back from invading Parthia, but were these events miracles or just coincidences? I wanted to see more miracles to convince me that the gods were truly on our side, but would thinking these things anger them and stop them from assisting us further? I tortured myself with such thoughts as I rode back to Dura from Susa with my horse archers, Domitus and two squires. The latter were in high spirits, Spartacus because he was going back to Dura and so would be nearer to Rasha, Scarab because I had told him that he would be my permanent squire when Spartacus became a cataphract. Scarab would never make it into the ranks of the heavy horsemen. He could shoot a bow with a reasonable degree of accuracy but his sword skills were almost non-existent and his horsemanship left a lot to be desired. Spartacus, like most Parthian males, had been in the saddle almost before he could walk and had learned to shoot a bow and wield a sword and lance from the saddle at an early age. These skills he took for granted because they had been part of his upbringing, but years of experience and learning could not be condensed into months. Some had been surprised that Surena, being from the southern marshlands, had adapted so well to Dura’s horse archers and cataphracts, but he too had been fighting and riding from an early age, albeit horses stolen from the enemy.
So Scarab would remain my squire and servant, but as a free man.
‘There are no slaves in Dura’s palace,’ I told him as we rode along the eastern bank of the Euphrates on the way back to Dura, ‘you know this.’
‘That means you can leave Dura at any time,’ Domitus told him,’ ‘if you get tired of washing Pacorus’ shirts.’
‘The king saved me,’ said Scarab, ‘therefore I am forever in his debt and will only leave him if he dismisses me.’
He really did not understand the concept of freedom.
‘Being free means taking your own decisions, Scarab,’ I said, ‘not being told what to do. To forge your own destiny and live your life in freedom and not in chains.’
‘My destiny is to serve you, majesty. That is what the gods have decreed and it is unwise to ignore their wishes. Therefore I pledge my life to your service.’
‘Sounds like slavery to me,’ grinned Domitus, who then eyed Spartacus, ‘a bit like marriage.’
‘What about your family, Scarab?’ I asked, ‘would you not like to search for them. Being free means that you can travel back to Egypt and find them.
He shook his head. ‘I was sold into slavery when I was an infant and do not know the location of the market where I was sold. I have no knowledge of my family.’
‘I am sorry,�
�� I said.
‘It is the will of the gods,’ he replied casually. ‘You have known your family, majesty, and Spartacus his, a great blessing. And you, lord general,’ he asked Domitus, ‘do you have knowledge of your parents?’
I smiled knowingly. Scarab might as well ask a stone by the side of the road to explain its ancestry for Lucius Domitus never spoke of his past.
‘My mother was a kitchen slave, a cook, in the villa of a Roman patrician in Capena, near Rome. The man was very rich and had been a commander of a legion, a legate, and had been richly rewarded for his services by a grateful Senate. My mother was the daughter and granddaughter of slaves so she told me and had been purchased in the slave market by her master, a white-haired man named Quintus Sergius.
‘You are probably thinking that I was born to slave parents but you would be wrong. My father, if you can call him that, was the son of Quintus Sergius, a tribune who took a fancy to the good-looking slave girl in the kitchens and raped her, though others might say he seduced her. I believed my mother in the matter. He returned to Spain where he was killed soon afterwards but his father knew the truth and when she gave birth to me he treated her kindly, giving her light duties in his household and ensuring that her son prospered. She was still a slave of course and he would never admit that the slave baby she bore was his grandchild, but the guilt he felt over his son’s actions compelled him to attempt to atone for the great affront done to my mother, and I think that in me he saw a memory of his son. He was quite old when I was born and his wife was older and so they would never have any more children.
‘I grew up a kitchen slave but one who was taught to read and write. Quintus Sergius also told me stories of Rome’s wars and life in the legions and was delighted when I said that I wanted to join the army. And so, on my seventeenth birthday, he gave me a formal manumission, which meant I was free and became a Roman citizen. As a citizen I could join the army and with my former master’s letter of recommendation my acceptance was assured. My mother did not wish me to leave, of course, but he had filled my head with notions of glory and adventure and I could not wait to wield a sword and kill Rome’s enemies.
‘I can still see her, standing near the villa’s entrance in her apron with the other slaves as I rode with Quintus Sergius to the nearby legionary barracks. It was a bright spring day and the air was full of the aroma of pine and I thought myself very special riding next to a war hero to follow in his footsteps.
‘I never saw my mother again though she wrote to me often. Two years later Quintus Sergius himself wrote to me saying that she had died of a fever. So you see, Nubian, like you I have no family except those I call family who live in Dura.’
I nearly fell off my horse. In all the time that I had known Domitus I had never heard him divulge this information.
‘I am glad that Quintus Sergius died before I was condemned to the silver mine,’ Domitus continued. ‘It would have upset him greatly and I did not desire that. He was always good to my mother and me and I owed him a great deal. If he is watching me now I hope that he is pleased with the army I have helped to create.’
‘He will be,’ I assured him, ‘for you have created the finest army that Parthia has ever known and its reputation and history will be lauded by generations of Parthians to come.’
Domitus looked at Scarab and then nodded towards me. ‘The king is such a dreamer.’
It took a month for the hill men to reach Dura – two thousand scruffy, poorly dressed and equipped men, many of whom had no footwear. They were led by Gourlay and escorted by five hundred of Orodes’ horse archers to ensure they did not indulge in rape and pillage on their journey. Most of them were armed with a variety of axes, spears and long knives and only Gourlay rode a horse, the same pitiful beast that he had ridden when he had escorted me to Zand’s village. It looked as though it was about to collapse and expire but it must have been hardier that I thought because it had survived the journey to Dura.
It stood next to Remus with Gourlay on its back as I inspected his ragged band the day after they had arrived at Dura. Domitus had insisted that the hill men be quartered in a tented compound erected ten miles south of the city. He did not want them in the city or the legionary camp but in their own enclosure where they could be more easily confined. He was mounted on my other side and wore an expression akin to a father who has just found out that his youngest daughter was pregnant by a travelling salesman. Nevertheless, Gourlay informed me that they were all single men in their late teens or early twenties who were eager to fight and kill so they could return to their tribe as great warriors. I kept silent regarding the fact that most of them would probably meet their deaths at the hands of Roman soldiers.
‘Miserable bunch,’ mumbled Domitus contemptuously, fortunately out of earshot of Gourlay.
‘You have done well, Gourlay,’ I said. ‘They are a fine group of young men.’
Domitus suppressed a laugh.
‘Thank you, majesty,’ said Gourlay. ‘All of them are eager to slit a few throats to show their keenness.’
‘I can believe that,’ muttered Domitus.
Marcus supplied their tents and cooking utensils and sent daily food deliveries to the new camp to bulk up the hill men, many of whom looked as though they had not eaten in weeks. And to prevent boredom setting in while I waited for Alexander to arrive from Judea, each morning they were taken out into the desert on a long route march. This caused an immense amount of grumbling among them at first, but their resentment was assuaged by what awaited them on their return. Domitus complained that I was indulging them but I believed that if they at least looked like soldiers then they might act like them and not a bunch of bandits. So they first received new tunics to replace the flea-infested rags they wore – which was another reason Domitus did not want them mixing with the rest of the army. Next they were issued with two thousand pairs of sandals, which they would need when they were in the barren, rocky hills of Judea.
Dura was fortunate in that its armouries not only produced weapons and armour but also contained equipment that had been captured from the enemy during the army’s campaigns. Thus I was able to issue the hill men with an assortment of helmets, spears and swords that gave them a more martial appearance. In addition, Gourlay selected a hundred of them who had experience of archery to be issued with bows and full quivers. An archery field was built near their camp and each day the bowmen practised shooting arrows at straw targets. A month after the hill men had arrived Alexander came to Dura.
Before I had left for Susa I had asked Aaron to write to Alexander to invite him to Dura where he would receive reinforcements. I gambled that as a Jewish patriot he would be eager to acquire reinforcements for the fight to free his homeland. I did not tell him that I was sending fighters to Judea purely for my own interests, but then Alexander would probably have guessed the motive behind my offer. But he came anyway.
Aaron rode with a party of horse archers to Palmyra to bring him back to Dura and when the party returned I had the army drawn up in front of the city in salute. Alexander Maccabeus may have been a fugitive living in the hills but he was still a prince of Judea and an enemy of Rome and that made him my friend and ally. The cataphracts wore their scale armour with pennants fluttering from every kontus; the colour parties of the Durans and Exiles stood to attention grouped round their sacred emblems; the legionaries had white plumes in their helmets and the mounted horse archers of Vagises and Peroz clutched their bows. Gallia was beside me with the Amazons behind in their full war gear as Aaron and Alexander rode up to us in front of the Palmyrene Gate.
The prince was riding a well-groomed brown mare and was wearing a rich white tunic edged with blue, blue leggings and leather boots. But as he halted his horse a few paces before me I was shocked by how he had aged. His shoulder-length hair was thinning and streaked with grey and there was grey in his beard. His cheeks were sunken and his brown eyes had a world-weary, haunted look about them – clearly the years of fighting the R
omans and living in the hills had taken a great toll. When I had first met him I estimated his age to be similar to my own but now he looked like an old man.
‘Greetings, King Pacorus,’ he said. ‘Your army is a most impressive sight.’
‘Welcome to Dura, Prince Alexander,’ I replied, holding out a hand to Gallia. ‘This is my wife, Queen Gallia.’
He bowed his head to her solemnly and she returned the compliment.
‘You must be tired after your journey,’ I said to him, ‘but before we retire to the city I have something to show you.’
I raised my right arm and Gourlay and his hill men, who had been positioned behind the Exiles, marched forward towards the city gates. Alexander turned in his saddle as the fully armed hill men, organised into hundred-man companies, advanced and then halted two hundred paces from us. I had to admit that they looked very different from the threadbare wretches who had marched from the Zagros Mountains. Each warrior now wore a new tunic, a helmet on his head and sandals on his feet. A regular supply of wholesome food had bulked them up so they presented a threatening appearance. Alexander looked at them in confusion.
‘A gift from the Kingdom of Dura to the Jewish people,’ I said. ‘Soldiers for you to take back to Judea to continue the fight against the Roman occupiers.’
A broad grin spread over his face as he admired his new army.
‘You are most generous, majesty,’ he said.
‘Judea’s enemies are our enemies, Alexander, and Dura will never abandon its allies. These men will reinforce your own troops to allow you to take the fight to the enemy.’
He turned back to face me. ‘They will be most welcome for I have few soldiers of my own left.’
His careworn demeanour returned.