‘Retrieve the body of Lord Vagises,’ I ordered their commander.
I rode past a smirking Gallia. ‘Satisfied?’
‘Immeasurably,’ she purred.
Malik was helping Byrd back into his saddle. ‘Ankle broken,’ winced Byrd.
‘Get him back to camp,’ I instructed Malik. ‘Everyone, fall back,’ I ordered.
I left Surena and rode with the others back to our waiting soldiers and then withdrew through the ranks of the horse archers of Gordyene. I turned to see their king actually riding forward up the slope to be nearer the Romans but for what reason I knew not. I found out later when he and his horsemen returned to camp with two thousand Roman prisoners. Now we had around ten thousand captives to take back to Dura, from where they would be sent to Seleucia.
‘Orodes can deal with them,’ I said to Gallia as we stood watching flames consume the body of Vagises. ‘He can have the Roman eagles and all the other standards we have taken. I have fulfilled my duty and now I am going home.’
I felt her hand in mine. ‘We are going home.’
I glanced at Surena on the other side of me. ‘Was there any need for that?’
‘What, lord?’
‘Cutting off Crassus’ head,’ I answered.
‘I will send it to Orodes so he can show it to the Armenians. His right hand too.’
‘His hand?’
He smiled triumphantly. ‘I had his right hand cut off as well, the common punishment for thieves.’
The next day we began the march back to Dura. I sent couriers to Hatra with the news that Crassus was dead and his army defeated and that troops should be sent west to secure those towns in the west of the kingdom that I knew would now be abandoned by their Roman garrisons. Surena despatched Exathres north with a company of horsemen to take his grisly gifts to Orodes so I gave him a note for the high king informing him of our victory and hoping that he had met with similar success. Surena was eager for more battle and declared his intention of joining Orodes prior to returning to Gordyene. So I gave him all the captured eagles, except the one that never left the side of Spartacus, the booty from the Roman camp and all the enemy prisoners and bade him farewell at the Khabur River, before the King of Gordyene journeyed on east. We went south to join the Euphrates to follow the river back to Dura.
We retained one of the captured Roman wagons to transport Byrd back to the city as his leg wound was worse than we first thought and it was impossible for him to ride in the saddle. I continued to let Zenobia carry my banner now that Vagharsh was dead, which led to great excitement among the Amazons. Gallia was in high spirits at the prospect of seeing our daughters again. We rode along the northern bank of the Euphrates past well-tended fields, peaceful and prosperous villages before crossing over the stone bridge north of Dura.
Fishermen manoeuvred boats on the river and cast their nets in the water. Near the bank naked children splashed in its cool waters and waved to the cataphracts in their white tunics and floppy hats as they passed. War and death seemed a million miles away as the aroma of camels wafted into our nostrils when we rode by the park that accommodated the animals of the trade caravans. The road leading to the pontoon bridges over the Euphrates and west to Palmyra was filled with traffic as the commercial life of the city continued undimmed and untroubled by Romans or Armenians.
The imposing sight of Dura’s strong yellow walls and the squat edifice of the Citadel always filled me with reassurance and pride. My spirits began to rise as the cataphracts, their squires, Byrd’s scouts and the horse archers peeled away to pitch their tents in the legionary camp west of the Palmyrene Gate. I rode with Gallia, Spartacus still clutching his eagle, Byrd in the wagon, Malik and the Amazons through the city to the Citadel. I bowed my head to the stone griffin above the gates as a guard of honour from the replacement cohort hastily formed up by the gatehouse. Our progress from the Palmyrene Gate to the Citadel was slow as word spread that the king and queen had returned to the city and the main street began to fill with cheering crowds. Spartacus held his eagle proudly aloft, the queen touched outstretched hands and young women begged Malik for kisses. And on a barren hillside north of Carrhae, crows picked at the headless body of Marcus Licinius Crassus.
Chapter 19
In the days following our arrival back at Dura couriers brought happy news from Orodes. His march north had turned into a victory procession as the Armenians abandoned Nisibus and Gafarn took possession of the city and all the surrounding villages that had been previously under enemy occupation. Then Orodes had crossed the border into Armenia and advanced to the gates of the Armenian capital, Armavir, deploying his army around the walls and showing Marcus’ great siege engines to the garrison. Rather than seeing his city reduced to rubble and the population butchered, and more importantly to save his own skin, Artavasdes sent a delegation to Orodes offering a peace treaty. The high king agreed, though the conditions to guarantee Parthian friendship were harsh and Armenia became a client state of the empire and was forced to pay huge reparations to Hatra for the previous occupation of its territory.
‘So Armenia becomes the slave of Parthia rather than Rome,’ observed Gallia as she read Orodes’ voluminous correspondence on the palace terrace.
I had little sympathy for the Armenians. ‘I have no pity for Artavasdes. He is lucky to escape with his head. If I had been before the walls of Armavir he would not have been so lucky.’
She gave me back the letter. ‘So the legions suffered no further casualties?’
I looked at the empty chair of Dobbai near the balustrade. ‘It would appear so, though the casualties of this campaign have been grievous indeed. I wonder when my turn will come?’
Gallia looked at me and then at the chair. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I am the last survivor of those who took part in Dobbai’s ritual. She, along with Domitus, Kronos, Vagises, Thumelicus, Vagharsh and Drenis, are all dead. I alone live. For the moment.’
‘Perhaps the gods have spared you,’ she said, more in hope than certainty.
I smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Did you notice in Orodes’ letter that Gafarn had agreed to his youngest son marrying the daughter of Artavasdes?’ she said, changing the subject.
‘Yes. Young Pacorus is to be a future ruler of Armenia, it would seem.’
She screwed up her face. ‘I do not approve of such things and am surprised that Gafarn would be a willing accomplice to condemning his son so.’
I laughed. ‘Condemning? If you mean he has condemned Pacorus to a life of privilege, of being fed on the finest foods and sleeping in silk sheets and being waited on hand and foot by an army of courtiers, slaves and having a whole kingdom fawn at his feet, then I suppose you are right.’
‘Don’t be clever, it does not suit you.’
I saw Claudia come from the palace onto the terrace. ‘Talking of which, we should start thinking of a husband for our eldest daughter.’
Claudia heard my remark. ‘I will not be marrying anyone, father. It is not my destiny.’
‘I will decide your destiny,’ I teased her.
Her brown eyes flashed annoyance. ‘Is that what you really believe?’
She had inherited her mother’s cheekbones and shapely figure and was turning into a great beauty, but her custom of wearing black robes and maintaining an aloof air made her severe and unapproachable. Too many years spent in the company of Dobbai had robbed her of her childhood and now the old woman’s influence was threatening to deprive her of her womanhood.
‘How is Byrd?’ asked Gallia.
He had been placed in one of the palace’s bedrooms so his broken leg could be attended to, which Claudia informed me would not heal properly.