‘We have done nothing wrong,’ insisted Vagises.
Andromachus pointed at the corpse of Marcus Roscius. ‘Killing a legate is a grave offence in Roman eyes. You must all come with me!’
His two companions were looking down the road towards Antioch, from where any patrols would come from, and so I told Spartacus to assist me in getting Scarab onto the back of the horse Vagises was holding. We used a rope to secure him in place and then I regained my saddle.
‘Follow me,’ said Andromachus.
We doubled back down the road past wild-eyed and frightened travellers who huddled by their animals as we thundered by them. After a few hundred paces Andromachus led us into the trees and onto a track that rose up into the hills. We were heading south, climbing slowly as we threaded our way through walnut, myrtle, fig and mulberry trees. Andromachus led the way and his two companions brought up the rear as we moved at speed through the trees, Spartacus riding by the side of the wounded Scarab to ensure he did not topple from his saddle or was struck by a low branch.
Andromachus called a halt after we had been in the trees for ten minutes or so and cocked his head to discern if we were being followed. His two companions also looked back and strained their ears but shook their heads and so we continued our journey. We rode beneath hanging rocks, across shallow streams of gushing waters and saw waterfalls foaming and roaring from the cliff face above. This was certainly a place of life and beauty though we had no time to enjoy the scenery as our horses traversed the dozens of fast-flowing rivulets that sprang from the rocks above.
After a while we descended into an area of lush grooves of laurel, cypresses and bay trees and gently rippling streams, before coming unexpectedly upon a great walled villa among the trees. Andromachus led us to the entrance — two closed wooden gates — in front of which stood a pair of black-robed guards armed with spears and swords. One of them banged on the gates and after a few seconds they opened to allow us to enter the villa. The main building in front of us consisted of two wings that were connected by a columned frontage accessed by stone steps.
‘This is your home?’ I said to Andromachus, marvelling at its size.
‘Do not be too surprised, lord,’ he said, sliding from his saddle. ‘Byrd and Noora choose to live in a tent; I do not.’
I assisted Spartacus and Vagises in getting Scarab down from his saddle and then we carried him into the villa. The chief steward, an old man with black tattoos on his face, led us to a small sleeping room off the large central courtyard, where Scarab was laid on a bed. Two women wearing black headdresses began stripping him of his mail shirt and clothes so we left him in the care of the steward who Andromachus informed me had some knowledge of medicine. We retired to the large study that looked out onto the courtyard.
I flopped down into a chair as Spartacus, his tunic smeared with Scarab’s blood, perched on a couch and Vagises did the same.
‘I hope your slaves are trustworthy,’ I said to Andromachus who had seated himself behind a large desk with intricately carved wooden legs.
‘They are not slaves they are Agraci,’ he replied, ‘and they are totally trustworthy. They will not betray your presence here.’
‘And where are we?’ asked Vagises as a woman served us cool fruit juice from a silver platter.
‘Six miles south of Antioch,’ said Andromachus. ‘This area is named Daphne and is home to the city’s wealthiest and most influential citizens. There are many villas here among the groves and fountains. The Greeks built a temple here dedicated to their gods Apollo and Diana and many believe that the waters have healing properties.’
‘Let us hope they help my squire,’ I said.
Andromachus raised an eyebrow. ‘It is only a belief, lord.’
‘I have to get back to Dura,’ I said. ‘The Armenians are marching on Hatra.’
‘There will be Roman patrols out looking for you, lord,’ said Andromachus, ‘so your escape from Syria must be carefully planned. But in the interim I have the means by which you may get a message to your city.’
Andromachus took me to the aviary that formed part of the villa’s outbuildings and which contained at least a score of pigeons. He told me that I could send a message to Byrd at Palmyra that could be couriered to Dura, which would be safer and faster than a rider on horseback running the gauntlet of Roman patrols.
Our horses were quartered in the stables and Spartacus and Vagises were given rooms adjacent to where Scarab lay, though I was give a large bedroom away from theirs. Everything about the villa was large, from the shingle-covered roof to the library, dining room and Andromachus’ study. The sprawling building also contained storerooms, kitchen, servants’ quarters, cellar and a bathhouse. The exterior walls were covered with white plaster and the interior with colourful paintings depicting mythical creatures and floral scenes.
After I had ensured that Remus was settled into his stall I sat down in my room and penned a note to Gallia on a small piece of papyrus:
‘The Romans have rejected peace. Armenians are marching south. Get the army to Hatra with all speed. I will join you there. Inform Orodes that Crassus will cross the Euphrates soon. He must rally all available forces at Hatra. Shamash protect you.
Pacorus.’
The message was tied to the leg of Andromachus’ swiftest pigeon and then the bird was sent on its way. He informed me that his pigeons made regular trips to and from Palmyra and was confident that Byrd would be reading the message well before nightfall. That provided some comfort but my spirits sank when the villa’s steward knocked on my door with news that Scarab’s condition was hopeless.
‘The wound is too severe and he has lost too much blood, majesty. There is nothing to be done.’
I went at once to where Scarab lay on a bed surrounded by Vagises and Spartacus. His head was resting on a cushion and he smiled weakly at me when I entered the room. Vagises looked thoughtful — he had seen death too many times to let his emotions get the better of him — but Spartacus was distraught. From initially disliking the big Nubian Spartacus had grown to like his fellow squire and now he was angry that he was slipping away. I rested a hand on my nephew’s shoulder and then sat on the stool beside Scarab’s bed. His wound had been bandaged but blood was still seeping through the material. The room was so quiet that I could hear Scarab’s laboured breathing.
‘Is there anything I can do for you, Scarab?’ I asked softly.
His eyes turned to me. ‘No, majesty, thank you.’
He looked at Spartacus. ‘Farewell, my friend, I will speak with the great god Amun and ask that he grant you your wish to be with Rasha.’
Spartacus smiled and nodded, desperately fighting back tears.
He once again looked at me. ‘Thank you, majesty.’
‘For what?’
He smiled weakly. ‘I have lived a life as a slave, a low-born no better than an animal, but because of you I die a free man.’
‘Not only that,’ I said, ‘but a friend and loyal soldier of Dura.’
He looked at the ceiling and smiled one last time and then Scarab passed from this life and joined his ancestors in the afterlife. I closed his eyes and then stood and bowed my head as Spartacus angrily wiped away a solitary tear that ran down his cheek.
We cremated Scarab that evening in the presence of Andromachus and all his workers and servants. I stood in silence watching the flames devour the Nubian’s cadaver and then heard Spartacus talking angrily with our host a few paces away. I walked over to them as my nephew began jabbing a finger in Andromachus’ face.
‘What is going on?’ I enquired.
Spartacus, his face a mask of frustration, turned to me. ‘Scarab’s killer is but two miles away.’