I looked at Andromachus. ‘The lad mistook my words. What I actually said was that the person who probably organised the attack on your men lives in a nearby villa.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Queen Aruna,’ answered Andromachus, ‘the mother of Mithridates.’
I clenched a fist. ‘Yes, I know who she is.’
‘All I said was that as she and that Roman legate were lovers, and I have heard that she is a mistress of intrigue, it seems highly unlikely that she knows nothing about the attack against you.’
Before I could answer Spartacus stomped away towards the stables. Andromachus shrugged and Vagises rolled his eyes as I followed. The stables, lit by oil lamps dangling from the walls, smelt reassuringly of horses, wax and leather. I caught sight of Spartacus taking his saddle off a wall hook.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked him.
‘Going to avenge Scarab,’ he snarled.
I laid a hand on his arm. ‘It is dark, you have no knowledge of this area and the queen’s villa will undoubtedly be heavily guarded.’
‘One of Andromachus’ men can guide me,’ he replied defiantly.
‘And what will you do if you manage to find your way there and get past the guards?’
‘Kill the bitch,’ he replied.
‘Well, she is a bitch and she does deserve to die, but not tonight and not by your hand. So put the saddle back on the wall and come back to the villa.’
He stood, rock-like, before me.
‘That was an order,’ I told him, ‘not a request.’
‘She deserves to die.’
‘That is probably what she is saying right at this moment to whatever Roman officer she has decided will replace Marcus Roscius. My first duty is to get back to Parthia to meet the Armenian and Roman threat, or do you think that the life of one squire outweighs that of every citizen of the empire?’
He appeared confused. ‘You will not seek to avenge Scarab’s death?’
‘Grow up, Spartacus. This is not some childhood game. We were lucky to escape with our lives today and still have to get out of Syria alive. My first duty is to the empire. So put the saddle back on the wall and get some food and rest.’
He slammed his saddle back on the peg and walked away without saying anything. I followed him as the embers of Scarab’s funeral pyre crackled in the warm night air.
The next morning we gathered in Andromachus’ office once more to ascertain how we would escape Syria. Vagises suggested journeying south towards Emesa and then striking for Palmyra. I rejected the idea.
‘There is no point in going to Palmyra,’ I said, ‘because by the time we get there Dura’s army will hopefully be on its way to Hatra, which is where we must reach as quickly as possible. Therefore I need to get across the border at the same spot where we entered Syria.’
‘That will be heavily guarded, lord, I would advise against it,’ said Andromachus. ‘You will also have to be disguised.’
Unfortunately we spent the rest of that day in enforced idleness while Andromachus sent his servants on a trawl of the area surrounding the villa to collect walnut husks. When they returned the husks were chopped into small pieces and tipped into a large metal cauldron containing water that was heated over a fire until it boiled. It was left to simmer for an hour. The resultant dark brown liquid was allowed to cool and then Andromachus asked me to bring Remus from the stables.
I was confused. ‘Why?’
‘Because, lord, it is known throughout the world that King Pacorus of Dura rides a white horse, and even the most unintelligent Roman soldier will know to be on the lookout for anyone riding a white horse. Since we cannot hide your horse we must disguise him.’
Remus stood mortified as his gleaming white coat was turned a dark brown by the dye.
‘Don’t forget the tail,’ Andromachus shouted at the two women who were applying the liquid.
‘Don’t worry, lord,’ he said to me, ‘it won’t harm him and will brush out.’
‘When?’ I asked.
He rubbed his chin. ‘Not sure, but no longer than a month.’
Afterwards a bay coloured Remus was returned to the stables to let the dye dry and we prepared to make our escape from Syria the next morning.
Chapter 15
The quickest way to Hatra was to ride directly east towards the border of my own Kingdom of Dura and then cross the Euphrates before striking northeast across the desert to Gafarn’s city, but Andromachus suggested a different route. He advised travelling northeast to the city of Zeugma, crossing the river there and then riding east along the Euphrates before striking for Hatra.
‘Zeugma will be crawling with Romans,’ said an unimpressed Vagises.
‘And so will the Syrian border,’ replied Andromachus. ‘The difference being that the Romans in Syria are looking for you whereas those at Zeugma are not.’
I was convinced, and so the next morning we loaded food and fodder on two spare horses that Andromachus gave us, on which we also hid our helmets, armour, bows and quivers so as not to draw attention to ourselves. We wore black Agraci robes over our tunics and leggings and donned black headdresses to hides our faces.
‘Be sure to cover your face, lord,’ he told me, ‘it is well known that the face of the King of Dura carries a battle scar.’
We wore our swords under our robes, as it was unwise for even the most poor-looking traveller not to have a weapon to hand — despite the best efforts of Romans, Parthians and Agraci there were still bandits in the hills and among the woods of Syria, Arabia and Parthia. I thanked Andromachus warmly for his help and hospitality but was concerned about his safety.
Servants brought our horses into the courtyard of his villa and we vaulted into our saddles. ‘If the Romans find out that you have assisted me they will crucify you,’ I said to him.
He looked up at me and smiled. ‘They probably won’t find out, but if they do I shall say that you took me hostage and forced me to assist you. I have too many of Antioch’s senators in my pay to believe that I will receive anything more serious than a rebuke.’
I looked at the large villa in its luxuriant surroundings. ‘Do the authorities know that Byrd is my chief scout?’
He looked surprised. ‘Of course. They also know that he is your friend and the friend of King Haytham and High King Orodes and that makes them want to be his friend. Better that than him being a powerful enemy. And every rich merchant in Cilicia, Cappadocia, Syria and Judea knows that his goods are safe when they are transported on one of Byrd’s caravans.’
‘One day I think he will rule over all of us,’ I said, offering my hand to him. ‘Farewell Andromachus, Shamash keep you safe.’
‘Farewell, lord. Safe journey.’ He pulled something from his robe. ‘And take this.’
‘What is it?’
‘A pouch full of drachmas. You may need it on your journey, especially as you are impersonating poor travellers.’
He was right. Journeying via Zeugma meant that our route covered four hundred and fifty miles and at the end of every day, during which we covered at least forty miles, we stopped at one of the many halting places that had been established on the numerous lanes and tracks that made up the Silk Road. Called caravanserai, they were usually roadside inns that had a rectangular walled enclosure abutting them that gave protection from attack as well as from the elements. Accessed by a single gate that was wide and high enough to allow fully laden camels to enter, inside there were washing facilities, cooked food and fodder for animals. Most caravans, especially the larger ones, had their own guards as well as fearsome caravan dogs that were used to drive off predatory wildlife and also warn of approaching bandits. But both Parthia and the Romans realised that trade was the lifeblood of their empires and so they devoted significant resources to protecting the Silk Road. In Parthia small mud-brick forts, such as existed in my own kingdom, were built along major roads to maintain security, while the Romans also built strongpoints from where road patrols were launched to keep road traffic safe.