Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (25 page)

Domitus’ invitation arrived when I was relaxing on the terrace playing with Claudia. Dobbai was sleeping in her chair in the shade and Samahe was conspicuous by her absence. Gallia had no idea where she was. Claudia fell asleep in my arms as the messenger walked onto the terrace and gave me a crisp salute.

‘General Domitus sends his compliments, majesty, and requests your presence in his command tent.’

‘On what business?’ I asked.

‘I do not know, majesty.’

‘Very well, you may go.’

He gave another salute and departed. I stood with Claudia in my arms and handed her to Gallia.

‘She’s getting bigger,’ I said, kissing her forehead as I passed her to my wife. ‘Where is Samahe? I hope she is not wandering around the city causing trouble.’

‘She is in her room preparing for her journey, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai, ‘as you should be instead of showing off to your father’s soldiers.’

I rolled my eyes at Gallia, kissed her on the head and left the terrace. As Remus had already been ridden hard that morning I took another horse, a young mare, from the stables and rode her from the Citadel escorted by a dozen horse archers. There was much traffic on the city’s main thoroughfare and at the Palmyrene Gate there was a great congestion of carts, camels and donkeys, all loaded with wares for sale in the markets. The temperature was high and so were tempers as the guards at the gate tried to establish some order. Our presence only added to the chaos.

‘Make way for the king,’ shouted the commander of the horse archers.

His order was greeted with pleas and shouts as traders and their families threw up their arms and berated those in front of them. The centurion on duty at the gates blew his whistle and ordered his men to use their shields to clear a path for us. But moving a line of carts and camels loaded with goods is not an easy thing, and soon men and women were screaming and hurling abuse at the legionaries as they and their animals were shunted aside. I gave the order to dismount and lead our horses through the press as camels spat and grunted and legionaries cursed.

The centurion was trying hard to keep his temper in check as a small, rotund man in brown robes berated him, oblivious to the fact that he was facing a man nearly a foot taller and twice as broad.

‘Your soldiers dare to threaten me and my goods. I have to pay the city’s officials for the hire of my stall, for the collection of my rubbish and have a tax levied on the sale of my goods. And for what? So I can be abused in the street like a common criminal?’

‘Move your camels immediately,’ ordered the centurion, ‘they are blocking the street.’

‘They will not move while your soldiers are threatening them, son of a thousand desert warthogs. They are sensitive and do not respond to threats.’

The centurion’s grip tightened on his cane. ‘What did you call me?’

‘Centurion,’ I shouted.

I handed the reins of my horse to the commander of my escort and walked over to him. He saluted.

‘Majesty.’

The trader squinted up at me and then realised who I was. He placed his right hand on his chest and bowed to me.

‘Majesty, forgive me, I did not realise you were here.’

‘Your camels seem to be causing some congestion,’ I said.

‘They do not respond to threats, majesty,’ he said, his head still bowed. ‘I am just an honest trader trying to earn a living.’

The centurion eyed him suspiciously and placed the end of his cane on the man’s shoulder.

‘Move your camels or I will have you arrested.’

The trader looked at him with alarm and then at me, a pleading expression in his eyes.

‘I’m sure we can settle this without the need to arrest anyone,’ I told the centurion, ‘and can get this man’s camels moving without the recourse to violence.’

The trader smiled. ‘Darius, majesty, named after the Persian king.’

‘And what is on your camels, Darius?’

‘Pots, majesty,’ he replied, ‘all shapes and sizes and very popular with the women of the house.’

He saw a legionary jab the blunt end of his spear into the rump of one of his camels.

‘Don’t do that to my babies, you stupid heathen.’ He bowed his head to me and scuttled off to console the camel.

‘Try to get this mess sorted out,’ I told the centurion, ‘and do not beat or arrest anyone. That’s an order.’

‘Yes, majesty.’ He looked at Darius and shook his head. ‘A good flogging often works wonders, majesty.’

‘Men like Darius are the lifeblood of this kingdom, centurion. Their taxes pay for the army’s wages, weapons and equipment. We are all connected, you see, like a giant spider’s web.’

He looked at me in confusion. ‘Majesty?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Just do not flog or arrest anyone.’

We threaded our way through the press of people and animals and mounted our horses outside the Palmyrene Gate. I saluted the griffin and then we rode to the legionary camp, the vast complex of neatly arranged lines and rows of eight-man tents that could house up to ten thousand soldiers. In the centre of the camp stood the imposing structure of Domitus’ command tent, behind it the smaller tents that housed the golden griffin standard of the Durans and the silver lion standard of the Exiles. Sentries guarded them night and day for the totems were semi-religious icons, revered and loved by the soldiers.

The escort took my and their horses to the stabling area as I took off my helmet and went inside the command tent. I found Domitus in the main reception area in the company of Drenis and Arminius. All three stood as I placed my helmet on one of the side tables.

‘Here he is,’ said Domitus, ‘the champion of the arena.

I gave him a disapproving look but he raised his hands submissively.

‘Calm yourself. They both know of your new trade and have offered their services.’

‘Please be seated,’ I said, helping myself to a cup of water. Even though the ventilation flaps in the roof were open it was still hot inside the tent. Domitus walked to the flaps and tied them together to ensure our privacy. Soon it would become even hotter. Sweat was already running down the face of Arminius, the strapping German ex-gladiator who was one of those who had escaped from the
ludus
in Capua with Spartacus. One of those beside him had been Drenis, smaller in stature and his body covered in scars collected in the arena and on the battlefield. Like Spartacus he was a Thracian, his swarthy features indicating his race. And like Spartacus he had short-cropped hair whereas Arminius kept his light brown hair shoulder length.

‘You are making a mistake, Pacorus,’ said Drenis bluntly. ‘Burebista is dead.’

I went to one of the chairs placed opposite Domitus’ desk and sat in it.

‘You are wrong, Drenis. Burebista lives.’

‘What he meant, Pacorus,’ said Arminius, ‘is that though he might be alive at the moment Burebista is certain to die sooner rather than later.’

‘He is a Companion,’ I said, ‘and as such I will not abandon him.’

Drenis sighed. ‘So you plan to impersonate a gladiator and then what?’

‘And then I will gain access to him and we can work out a plan to free him.’

‘Not if you are fighting him,’ said Arminius.

‘I do not intend to fight him, Arminius,’ I replied.

‘So you have decided on what type of gladiator you shall be?’ queried Drenis.

This was turning into an interrogation. ‘What type?’

‘If you choose to be an
Eques
then you will be fighting Burebista,’ said Arminius.

‘What types of gladiator are there?’ I asked. ‘As I have no wish to fight my former subordinate I will not be an
Eques
.’

‘Then you have a choice between Thracian,
Provocator
, Samnite,
Murmillo
,
Retiarius
,
Secutor
or
Hoplomachus
,’ said Drenis.

I was totally perplexed but he and Arminius spent the next few moments explaining to me the difference between the categories of gladiator. There was the Thracian who fought with a short sword and small rectangular shield; the
Secutor
whose shield was larger, as was that of the
Provocator
; the
Murmillo
, the ‘fish man’, who usually fought a
Retiarius
, the ‘net man’ who was armed with a trident and net.

‘What about this
Hoplomachus
, the “hoplite fighter”?’ I asked.

‘He is based on the old Greek hoplite warriors,’ said Drenis. ‘Armed with a thrusting spear, short sword, dagger and carries a small, round bronze shield. He fights a
Murmillo
or Thracian.’

‘This is madness,’ Arminius said suddenly. ‘You may be a great warlord and king, Pacorus, but you have no knowledge of the arena and what is involved to be a part of it. I commend your loyalty to Burebista but I have to tell you that your scheme will end badly.’

‘You waste your words, Arminius,’ said Domitus, ‘because he is determined to go. Is that not correct, Pacorus?’

I nodded gravely.

Domitus leaned back in his chair. ‘You see. Hopeless.’

‘Do you believe in destiny, Arminius?’ I said. ‘Do you believe that a man’s life is mapped out by the gods?’

‘Not really,’ replied Arminius. ‘I don’t believe in the gods.’

I ignored his blasphemy. ‘Consider this. Fate took me to Italy where I fought beside Spartacus. The gods decreed that I should live when thousands of others died, not only live but escape back to Parthia where I became King of Dura. I believe that it was no accident that I met Spartacus.’

‘We can all say that,’ said Domitus.

‘You have been spending too much time with your witch,’ stated Arminius bluntly.

‘I believe that it is my destiny to go to Ephesus,’ I said firmly, ‘where I will free Burebista from slavery. I do not think it was an accident that Athineos came here to tell me that Burebista is still alive and inform me of the forthcoming gladiatorial games.’

‘Which brings me neatly to another matter,’ interrupted Drenis. ‘Athineos.’

I was at a loss as to what he was implying. ‘What about him?’

‘You say that it was divine intervention that brought him here, which may or may not be true. But I suggest another, more human, reason: greed. Have you considered that it might be a ruse to lure you away from Parthia where you can be captured?’

‘Captured, by whom?’ I asked.

‘The Romans,’ said Arminius. ‘I am sure that your head commands a high price in Rome, not least because you are a living survivor of the slave uprising and also defeated and killed one of Crassus’ protégés not so long ago.’

‘It would be a way to make a lot of money,’ added Drenis.

I discounted the notion. ‘Any assassin can attempt to kill me, be it one sent by Crassus or Mithridates. In addition, I could have been killed recently at Uruk or in any battle. I do not suspect Athineos of treachery and neither did Dobbai and she has a nose for such things.’

I looked at them. ‘All I ask is that you assist me in preparing for the games at Ephesus. I do not ask any of you to come with me.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ said Drenis. ‘We are all coming with you, whether you like it or not.’

Domitus informed me that as a number of gladiatorial schools would be sending their fighters to Ephesus, he had come up with the idea that we would be masquerading as representatives of the
Ludus
Palmyra.

‘Palmyra is not under Roman rule,’ I told him.

Domitus tapped his nose with a finger. ‘Neither is Egypt, at least not directly, but the Egyptians will be sending fighters to Ephesus.’

‘Why don’t we call ourselves the
Ludus
Dura?’ I queried.

‘Because we don’t want to draw attention to Dura or its king,’ answered Drenis.

It all seemed unnecessary but as they had given the matter some thought and I had not I went along with their plan. At least they had a plan. I left the tent feeling confident that I could snatch Burebista from the Romans and now had seven members of our little band. As I intended to speak to Surena about him accompanying us that left only one more to speak to. I was certain that my former squire would wish to be a part of the venture.

Chapter 6

Surena’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, lord.’

I held up a hand. ‘Wait, before you say yes you should hear what it entails.’

The day after the gathering in Domitus’ tent I had visited my former squire in his quarters just beyond the Citadel’s walls. As he was married to Viper they had rented two small rooms a short walk from the gates, though as both of them were on duty most of the time and had very little spare time they were rarely used. However, I insisted that they spend at least one evening each week alone in each other’s company. I knew that as the Amazons were quartered permanently in the Citadel they saw each other often, but fleeting moments and embraces were no substitute for periods of privacy that every newly married couple should enjoy.