Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (9 page)

We said our farewells to Orodes, Rsan and Godarz on the palace steps. The courtyard was filled with mounted Amazons in their full war gear. In front of them Vagharsh, my Parthian standard bearer, sat on his horse, the griffin banner wrapped in a waxed canvas sleeve to keep it safe from the elements. Already the thousand Durans and thousand Exiles would be marching to the river where the rafts waited. Rsan was as punctilious as ever, bowing his head to me first and then to Gallia. Godarz embraced me and kissed Gallia on the cheek, while Orodes clasped my forearm.

‘If Dobbai is right then while we are fighting the soldiers of Charax Narses might try a strike against Dura,’ I said.

‘Do not worry, my friend,’ said Orodes, ‘I will deal with any threat to your city. Though I doubt that there will be any attack. As far as my dear step-brother and Narses are concerned, you are still at Dura.’

He leaned in closer. ‘I do not wish to poor cold water on the visions of your sorceress, but what will you do if no threat to Uruk materialises?’

I slapped him on the arm. ‘Then we will have a great feast in Nergal’s palace and afterwards return home.’

A stable hand brought Remus to the foot of the steps, another holding the reins of Epona, Gallia’s mare. I walked down the steps and slipped my bow into the leather case attached to the four-horned padded saddle, my quiver holding thirty arrows slung over my shoulder, another two attached to my saddle. I took the reins of my white stallion and vaulted into the saddle. It was early but already warm, the sky blue and cloudless. It would be a hot day. Remus flicked his tail impatiently as I adjusted my helmet and Gallia mounted Epona behind me. I might have fooled the citizens of Dura into believing that I was going on exercise but Remus sensed otherwise. He was a veteran of many campaigns and knew the difference between exercises and the real thing. I patted his neck.

‘Easy boy.’

He snorted and scraped at the stone flagstones, eager to be away.

‘Your horse appreciates the urgency of the situation.’

I recognised the voice of Dobbai who walked from behind Remus.

‘I leave my daughter in your care,’ I said to her.

‘Your daughter is in the care of the gods, son of Hatra, but rest assured that she is perfectly safe in this stronghold.’

I nodded at her and tugged on Remus’ reins, wheeling him to the left. Gallia rode Epona to my side and together we trotted from the Citadel, a guard of honour from the Durans standing to attention as we passed them and rode through the gates. Immediately behind us came Vagharsh and then a hundred Amazons riding two abreast. We rode down the city’s main street towards the Palmyrene Gate. Already the streets were beginning to fill with citizens going about their business as well as those who crewed the trade caravans wishing to visit the markets, eating and drinking places or the city’s brothels. Everyone on the road parted as our column of riders approached, many raising their arms to cheer as we passed.

Even with my Roman officer’s helmet covering my face everyone recognised Remus, the white stallion who had travelled back with me from Italy. Some said that he flew across the ocean with wings given to him by the gods, which were invisible to mortal eyes. I drew my
spatha
, the Roman two-edged sword that was a gift from Spartacus, and saluted the stone griffin as I passed beneath it and exited the city. Gallia did the same, as did the Amazons, for everyone knew that no army would take Dura Europos while the griffin remained above the gates of the city. I slid the sword back in its scabbard and regarded my armour. It too was Roman, a gift from an old friend I had fought beside it Italy, a gruff German named Castus who sadly was no longer with me. Dura’s army wore white to symbolise the purity of its cause but my armour was black. It was a two-piece leather cuirass that was muscled and embossed on the upper front with a golden sun motif, with two golden winged lions immediately beneath. Over the thighs and shoulders were fringed strips of black leather adorned with golden bees. Though the Amazons and cataphracts wore armour the nineteen hundred horse archers that waited outside the city wore no metal protection on their heads or bodies.

It always filled me with pride and awe when I saw large formations of Parthian horsemen, the physical manifestation of the empire’s strength. Of all the things that Parthia possessed it was its herds of horses that were the most precious. Without the horse there would be no cataphracts to shatter enemy formations or horse archers to rain down volleys of arrows on opponents. And not just any horse. The hundreds of horses that now stood in line in their companies were Akhal-Tekes, or Turkomans, horses descended from the animals ridden by the Turkmen tribe hundreds of years ago. Raised in the inhospitable terrain of the deserts in the east, they had long backs, shallow ribcages and long croups. Their coat is exceptionally fine and their tails silky. With their fine and elegant heads and long legs they had a regal appearance, which was entirely apt as they were treated like kings.

Just like Remus the Teke has a high opinion of himself as well as being vigorous and restless in nature. He responds to gentle training but becomes stubborn and resentful if treated rudely. Parthians soon discovered this and found that if they lavished care and attention on them, they would be rewarded with having the finest warhorses in the world. So, just as in other kingdoms in the empire, Dura had a small army of farriers, veterinaries, stable hands and
seises
– trainers skilled in raising Tekes. The horses even had a specialised diet comprising dry alfalfa, pellets of mutton fat, eggs, barley and
quatlame
, a fried dough cake.

And what was the result of all this expensive care and attention? A horse that had extraordinary speed and stamina, and which could tolerate heat and hunger and do without water longer than any other breed. Truly a gift from the gods.

The company commanders saluted then followed the Amazons as we continued our journey to the rafts. I had originally commanded that two dragons – two thousand – of horse archers would travel south, but this had been reduced by one hundred when Gallia had decided that she and the Amazons would be accompanying me. Marcus had worked out the exact number of men and horses, plus supplies together with the fifty horsemen still due to arrive, that could be transported on the rafts. When we arrived at the river he was busy organising their loading. They looked like a long line of pagodas in the morning sunlight, each one covered with canvas awnings. When we dismounted the company commanders came forward to receive instructions from Marcus’ men regarding which rafts their men would board.

‘All have been marked with a number, in addition to the colours that your sorceress insisted be painted on each one, majesty,’ Marcus told me.

I looked at the line of rafts disappearing south along the river.

‘You have done an excellent job, Marcus. My congratulations.’

He looked at the first group of horses was being led towards a raft.

‘We have also scattered earth over the decking to facilitate the smooth loading of the horses, as you ordered.’

He frowned and shook his head as one of the horses started snorting as its owner tried to lead it on to a raft.

‘It would have been better, majesty, to have taken foot soldiers only.’

‘Then I would have no missile support, Marcus,’ I told him. ‘And I am without your ballista, don’t forget.’

A column of wagons pulled by mules trundles past, each one loaded with supplies: spare canvas, tents, weapons, quivers full of arrows, javelins, swords, armour and helmets. I was suddenly worried that a hundred and fifty rafts would not be enough.

‘I hope we have enough room for the men, horses and supplies, Marcus.’

He looked at me aghast. ‘I can assure you that my calculations are correct, majesty, down to the last spare mail shirt.’

The thundering of hooves interrupted our conversation as Byrd, Malik and the scouts arrived: fifty black-clad men with unshaven faces riding sleek Arabian horses. Malik jumped from his horse and handed the reins to a startled clerk. He walked up and embraced me as Byrd also dismounted and scanned what appeared to be the apparent chaos of carts, men, horses and rafts.

‘I was wondering when you would arrive,’ I said to him.

Byrd ambled over and nodded.

‘You nearly missed the trip, Byrd,’ I said.

‘You not leave for hours yet,’ he sniffed.

I had sent a message to Byrd and Malik requesting their presence. I had informed them of the true purpose of the journey because I needed Malik to send a message to Haytham’s lords that Duran troops would be making camp on their territory as we headed to Uruk. Halting on the western side of the Euphrates would save having to land on Babylonian territory and would thus keep King Vardan ignorant of the whole expedition. Vardan was an ally and friend of my father and if he found out about my aiding Mesene then so would my father. There would then follow a stern Hatran lecture about not embroiling the empire in another civil war and that I could do without.

‘My father approves of your actions,’ Malik told me, ‘but rebukes you for not inviting him along. He is finding the transition from warlord to merchant difficult.’

I laughed. ‘You mean rich merchant, Malik.’

The peace agreed between myself and Haytham had made Palmyra the destination of the trade caravans taking silk to Egypt, which was making the Agraci king extremely wealthy.

‘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.’