The caravanserai were always vibrant places, filled with many different races carrying goods from the east and west. And as well as merchants and their guards and servants, caravans would also attract religious teachers, entertainers moving between cities, mystics and even escaped slaves. There was safety in numbers and the larger the caravan the more chance it would have of reaching its destination unmolested. That was the theory at least. And of course large caravans meant substantial customs duties for the kingdoms they passed through. I often wondered how the merchants made a profit from their commerce, what with being charged tolls when they entered every kingdom, but then I remembered that they were carrying silk from China, a material that was literally worth its weight in gold.
On the night we stopped at a caravanserai on the outskirts of Zeugma, Spartacus wandered off after we had eaten a meal of roasted mutton kebabs, rice and raisins. We had seen many Romans on the road in addition to civilian travellers: men on horseback and columns of legionaries making their way to the camps they had established around the city. This was where Crassus would be crossing the Euphrates to commence his campaign in Parthia and thus his forces were mustering here.
I leaned against my saddle and saw a horse taking a piss in its stall. Our horses were in the adjacent stalls and I had elected to camp on the ground in front of them. There were small rooms that we could have hired but I wanted to give the impression that we had little money and were therefore of no consequence.
‘How long before Crassus crosses the river?’ asked Vagises, picking a piece of meat from between his teeth.
‘Two weeks, perhaps longer. Andromachus confirmed that Artavasdes was visiting Antioch so he will be preoccupied with him for a few days at least.’
‘No doubt they will discuss dividing the spoils of their forthcoming campaign.’
‘No doubt,’ I said. ‘If what Marcus Roscius said was true, that the Armenians are already on the march, then Crassus must have promised Artavasdes the Kingdom of Hatra. If the Armenians take the city then Crassus will be free to march south along the Euphrates and strike at Babylon, Seleucia and Uruk.’
‘And Dura,’ added Vagises glumly.
‘If the Armenians manage to capture the city of Hatra then the empire is finished,’ I said to compound Vagises’ melancholy.
He was horrified. ‘It is that serious?’
I saw no reason to disguise the truth. ‘If Hatra falls then the Armenians will be free to strike west at Assur and then across the Tigris into Media and Atropaiene, while Crassus and his legions will easily crush any resistance in Babylon and Mesene. Then he will be able to cross the Tigris at Seleucia and invade the eastern half of the empire. And there will no army to stop him, not with Phriapatius already on his way north to aid Musa and Khosrou. It all hinges on us stopping the Armenians and Romans at Hatra.’
‘You have forgotten something,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘Surena and his army.’
I looked up at the myriad of stars in the clear night sky. ‘Surena goes his own way now, that much is certain from the meeting at Assur.’
‘Surely he will assist us?’
I spread my hands. ‘I have no idea. It appears that by unleashing Surena into Gordyene I created a monster that is uncontrollable.’
‘Surena may abandon the empire but he will not abandon you,’ Vagises stated with conviction.
Our conversation was interrupted by the return of Spartacus who was carrying something in his arms. As he got closer I saw a pair of small black eyes peering at me.
‘What is that?’ asked Vagises.
Spartacus carefully sat on the ground next to his saddle and showed us a puppy as black as night.
‘One of the merchants’ bitches had a litter a few weeks back and this was one of her puppies,’ he held out the dog, a bundle of black fluff. ‘I saw him and thought it an auspicious omen.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘How so?’
‘The other puppies were brown or white and brown but this one was pure black. I immediately thought of Scarab and knew I had to have him. The price was very reasonable.’
‘What are you going to call it?’ asked Vagises.
‘He will be called “Scarab” in honour of my dead friend,’ replied Spartacus who began petting the animal.
The next day the three of us plus the mongrel rode into Zeugma, crossed the Euphrates and headed east. Normally the river marked the western frontier of the Kingdom of Hatra but Crassus’ invasion of the previous year had resulted in the loss of Gafarn’s western towns and their occupation by Roman soldiers. On the road we saw more legionaries going to and from the towns of Nicephorium, Ichnae, Carrhae and Zenodotium. The latter place was where Gafarn’s governor of the west, Apollonius, had enticed a Roman delegation into the town and murdered them, resulting in Crassus storming the place and selling its citizens into slavery as a punishment for their treachery. Alas for Apollonius, he had no doubt been either killed in the assault or crucified in front of the city afterwards.
After twelve days of hard riding we at last came to Hatra and rode through the western gates of the city. Kogan’s guards stood sentry on the bridge over the moat, above the gates and in the towers that flanked them. The road was filled with traffic, the streets were heaving with citizens going about their daily business and everything appeared surreally normal. We entered the city and made our way to the walled royal quarter located in the north of Hatra where the palace and the houses of the kingdom’s richest lords were sited.
Our Agraci robes were filthy and stank, our faces were unshaven, black rings surrounded our eyes and we must have looked like a trio of bandits as our tired horses approached the imposing gates in the southern wall of the royal compound. Beyond them was the quiet, ordered wealth and power of Hatra’s rulers, a world usually forbidden to the city’s ordinary citizens. The gates were open to allow access to the paved road that went through the marbled mansions to end at the Great Square, to the north of which stood the palace.
Without thinking I let Remus continue walking up to the gates when he was brought to a halt by two guards armed with spears and carrying bronze-faced shields, an officer standing behind them.
‘Halt!’ barked their commander, a brawny, bearded man whose face was hidden by his bronze helmet. He wore greaves, had a white plume in his helmet and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
‘And where do you think you are going?’ he barked aggressively.
‘To see the king,’ I snapped, ‘now out of my way.’
One of his subordinates grabbed Remus’ reins and the other pointed his spear at my belly as Vagises and Spartacus drew level with me.
‘The king is busy today so piss off before I arrest you.’
‘I am King Pacorus, his brother, now for the last time get out of my way.’
With hindsight, considering my dishevelled appearance, it was the wrong thing to say as the guard commander burst into laughter.
‘Of course you are. I should have realised from your kingly attire.’ He bowed mockingly. ‘Would your majesty like me to bring you some refreshments?’
His two men grinned at each other but I was failing to see the funny side of the situation.
‘I will tell you one last time. Get out of the way.’
‘He is the king and you are only making trouble for yourself,’ announced Spartacus, whose dog peeked from his robes and began yapping at the gate commander.
‘Guards!’ shouted the officer, who pointed at me, ‘you are under arrest. Get off your horse.’
A dozen other soldiers exited the gatehouse, ringed us and levelled their spears. I dismounted and took off my headdress.
‘I tell you again, I am King Pacorus of Dura.’