‘Did you think he would do it, lord?’ I asked Haytham.
‘I have to admit that I thought it unlikely, but he has proved that he is worthy to marry my daughter. His name is famous now, and yours more so after your triumph over the Romans. What does Pacorus of Dura ask of the Parthian Empire that he has saved from foreign conquest?’
‘What it cannot give,’ I replied, ‘the return of the friends who have fallen in its service.’
‘I heard about Domitus. He was a great warrior.’
That night there was a great feast in Haytham’s tent. Spartacus ate little, drank much, got very drunk and passed out. Malik and I carried him to his tent that was closely guarded to ensure he did not sneak over to where Rasha slept. Not that he would be going anywhere in his inebriated state. Gallia told Rasha that she and Spartacus could live in Dura after they were married, which Haytham insisted should take place within a month.
I sat with Haytham and Malik, who had been reunited with Jamal, and watched Spartacus take part in drinking competitions with the king’s warriors, who had taken to this strapping, brave young man who was going to marry their princess.
Haytham had been disappointed that Byrd had not stayed for the feast but his wound had flared up and Noora had insisted on taking him back to their tent.
‘How bad is the injury?’ asked the king, stuffing a handful of rice and raisins into his mouth.
‘Claudia has said he will not ride again,’ answered Gallia.
Haytham was perplexed. ‘Claudia?’
‘Our eldest daughter,’ I told him.
‘Yes, of course. She is a physician?’
‘She was tutored by Dobbai, lord,’ I said, ‘and has knowledge beyond her years.’
‘It is said that sorceresses choose a disciple to pass on the secrets of their craft. I often wondered why Dobbai went to Dura. Perhaps she saw in your daughter a suitable candidate to inherit her skills.’
I laughed off his suggestion but the more I thought about it the more likely it appeared to be. Dobbai had helped deliver Claudia into the world and had been by her side for the first twelve years of her life. I had never questioned why Dobbai had made Dura her home until now. She had fled Ctesiphon following Sinatruces’ death and made her way to Dura, but even before then she had taken an interest in my life, selecting the griffin to be my symbol and sending me the banner that followed me on campaign and hung in my palace. Had my victories and the prosperity of my kingdom been purchased at the expense of my eldest daughter’s soul? I prayed it was not so.
Haytham seemed pleased enough that Spartacus was to be his future son-in-law, pleased that he had captured a Roman eagle, which fanned the flames of his fame, and pleased that the heir to one of Parthia’s greatest kingdoms was going to marry his daughter. The day after we had arrived Haytham invited them both to share breakfast with us as we sat cross-legged in the king’s tent. My nephew was bleary eyed and slightly subdued as a consequence of his indulgence the night before but Rasha was bursting with excitement and happiness.
I broke off a piece of warm pancake from the large metal dish placed in front of us and dipped it into a pot of honey as the two love birds sat down beside each other, Rasha grinning at Gallia.
‘You are to be married as soon as possible,’ Haytham suddenly announced. ‘Rasha should be settled to curb her rebellious nature.’
I saw Gallia stiffen beside me but I politely nodded in agreement.
‘And you will be married here, at Palmyra.’
I nearly choked on my pancake, taking a gulp of water to wash it down.
‘You disapprove, Pacorus?’ queried Haytham.
Spartacus was now grinning like a simpleton, unaware that as a Parthian prince Gafarn would want his marriage to take place in the Great Temple at Hatra.
‘Not disapprove, lord,’ I replied, choosing my words carefully, ‘but Palmyra might present difficulties as a venue.’
‘I don’t see why,’ remarked Spartacus, his love for Rasha having blinded him to the obvious.
‘Well, for one thing,’ I said, ‘your parents will be expecting your marriage to take place at Hatra in front of the city’s nobility as befitting your status as the king’s son.’
‘The king of the Agraci would not be welcome at Hatra,’ stated Haytham, ‘and I will not be an exile to my own daughter’s wedding.’
‘Perhaps Gafarn and Diana could come to Palmyra,’ offered Malik.
‘The rulers of Hatra would not foul their feet by stepping on Agraci territory,’ said Haytham. ‘Is this not so, Pacorus?’
‘My brother and his wife treat people as they find them,’ I stated, ‘and your own daughter, Rasha, has been a guest in their palace at Hatra. But as Parthian rulers you are correct to say that they would not travel to Palmyra, though out of political necessity and not personal choice.’
‘They could marry at Dura,’ suggested Gallia.
It was an excellent idea. Haytham had visited the city many times and though his first visit had elicited widespread fear and alarm among the population, his subsequent trips to Dura had seen the city’s hostility steadily abate and now no one batted an eyelid at his stays. Rasha had her own bedroom in the palace and Malik was treated as one of the city’s own.
‘Not a bad idea, father,’ he remarked.
‘It is a place where Agraci and Parthian mix without animosity, father,’ added Rasha.
Haytham drew himself up and looked at the couple. ‘Very well, you shall be married at Dura. Once again the wisdom of its queen has triumphed.’
He nodded at Gallia and slapped me on the back.
Spartacus left with us the next day, Haytham standing beside his daughter holding the eagle as he bade us farewell. Before our departure we visited Byrd and Noora to ensure he was settled back in his home. Outside the spacious goat hair tent a great group of agents and officials waited to speak to the man whose business interests had spread as far as Egypt and Cilicia.
‘I am sorry about Byrd’s leg, Noora,’ I said.
‘I am not, lord, for it means that he will always be by my side now. Your wife told me that he will not ride again. I am sorry for you but rejoice that it is so.’
I embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘No wonder Byrd is so successful with such a wise woman by his side.’
‘And what of you, lord, what will you do now you are famous throughout the world for slaying Parthia’s enemies?’
I sighed. ‘Now, Noora, I would like to enjoy the thing that has so far eluded me in life.’
‘What is that?’
‘Peace.’
But the prospect of peace and quiet was a distant dream in the weeks following as Dura was filled with foreign guests. But before they arrived the legions returned to the city. I watched from outside the Palmyrene Gate as the cataphracts and horse archers stood on parade and Chrestus led the white-uniformed legionaries back to their camp. The horsemen had returned to their barracks and forts, having relieved the lords’ men, leaving the camp a great empty space. But now it was filled as the serried ranks of the Durans and Exiles, preceded by their golden griffin and silver lion standards, marched past their king and queen.
The ‘staff of victory’, now festooned with silver discs recording the army’s many triumphs, was carried immediately behind Chrestus, who now commanded both legions. I had a lump in my throat as I watched the men march past and searched in vain for a stocky, muscular man wearing a helmet with a white crest and clutching a cane in his hand.
Accompanying Chrestus and his legions were Peroz and his horse archers, now created an honorary prince of Hatra by Gafarn following his success at the Battle of Hatra and his participation in the subsequent campaign against Armenia. He had also been given a large amount of gold by Orodes, part of the reparations paid to the high king by Artavasdes, so that he returned to Dura not only garlanded by honours but also a rich young man. He galloped up to where I was sitting on Remus beside Gallia and could not stop smiling, largely because I had asked Roxanne to be present when her love returned. Peroz manoeuvred his horse beside hers as his standard bearer rode forward with the flag bearing the golden peacock and took up position immediately behind him, next to Zenobia carrying my griffin banner.