‘We should have killed Mithridates at Susa,’ complained Vagharsh bitterly. ‘We march to deal with him instead of fighting the Armenians.’
‘Mithridates is the biggest immediate threat,’ I said. ‘His return to the empire may encourage the eastern kings to waver in their allegiance to Orodes.’
‘He may flee to the east anyway,’ remarked Vagises, ‘to be among his allies.’
‘He may,’ I agreed, ‘but I believe he will wish to stay close to the Romans and Armenians. If the Armenians and Romans defeat Orodes they will sweep into Hatra and Babylonia to link up with him. Then the Romans will have another client king and Parthia will be no more. No wonder they provided him with a substantial army. The costs of furnishing him with so many men are as nothing compared to the riches they will gain if they seize the empire.’
‘One thing I do not understand,’ said Vagises. ‘Why didn’t they wait until Crassus arrived with his army to improve their chances of victory?’
‘Roman vanity,’ I replied. ‘I remember Byrd telling me that the Roman governor of Syria, Aulus Gabinius, is an avaricious man. Therefore he wishes to achieve glory and riches before Crassus arrives.’
‘Scarab, did you ever see the Roman governor of Syria?’ I asked him in Greek.
‘He visited the king at Emesa a number of times, lord.’
At least he had stopped calling me ‘divinity’!
‘He is a man who likes rich living.’
‘Which is why he wants control of the Silk Road,’ I said. ‘I should thank him, really.’
Vagises and Vagharsh, who both understood Greek, looked at each other in confusion.
‘That’s right,’ I continued, ‘for if Aulus Gabinius was a rational and modest man he would have waited for Crassus to arrive so the Romans would have his troops in addition to his two legions.’
‘You will be visiting Antioch in person, then, to convey your thanks?’ joked Vagises.
On the fourth night we made camp eight miles north of the Euphrates. Though the men pitched their tents in neat rows we did not have any entrenching tools with us and so were unable to dig a surrounding ditch and build a rampart. Though we were in Hatran territory it felt odd not to be surrounded by a wall of earth and so every third man was always on guard duty. The squires and veterinaries attended to the horses and camels and Strabo’s small logistical corps allocated fodder for the beasts.
It had been another uneventful day and at the end of it I was sitting in my tent in the company of Vagises while Scarab was in a corner rubbing lanolin into my leather cuirass to preserve it. Though the climate of Mesopotamia is generally hot and dry, the sweat from my body and the dust in the air meant it had to be cleaned every night to stop it rotting.
‘I never thought we would be fighting Crassus again,’ mused Vagises, staring into his cup of water.
‘Nor me. But at least we will be fighting him on our own ground instead of in Italy.’
‘He’s a cruel bastard,’ spat Vagises. ‘He had six thousand crucified after Spartacus was killed.’
‘Afranius!’
He looked at me quizzically. ‘What?’
‘Afranius,’ I replied. ‘There’s a name that has come tumbling from the past. You must remember him, surely? A fierce Spaniard who dreamt of marching on Rome and took command of the remnants of the army after Spartacus’ death in the Silarus Valley.’
Vagises racked his brains for a few moments and then nodded. ‘I remember him — hair cropped, stocky, full of anger.’
‘I hope he died with a sword in his hand and not nailed to a cross.’
‘We all hope for that,’ said Vagises darkly.
Outside I heard hooves on the ground and horses snorting and then the guards opened the tent’s flap to allow two dust-covered individuals to enter. We stood up as they pulled aside the head cloths covering their faces and smiled.
‘You didn’t think we would let you fight Mithridates on your own, did you?’ smiled Malik.
I laughed and embraced him, then Byrd, and told Scarab to serve them water as they took the weight off their feet. They took off their headdresses and stretched out their limbs.
‘Hard ride?’ I enquired.
‘Byrd has some welcome news,’ said Malik.
Byrd took a gulp of water. ‘Romani not invade Parthia. Aulus Gabinius is heading for Egypt.’
I looked at him and then Malik in disbelief.
‘It is true,’ said Malik. ‘The Romans are invading Egypt instead of Parthia.’
I could not believe it. ‘Why?’ was all I could utter.
Byrd smiled. ‘Gold. Egyptian pharaoh offered Romani governor ten thousand talents to put him back on his throne. My sources in Antioch report Aulus Gabinius has forsaken Mithridates and hurries south.’
I slapped Vagises on the arm and then remembered Dobbai’s ritual at Dura. Pure coincidence I told myself. And yet…
‘What about the legion at Emesa?’ I asked.
‘Already marching towards Egypt,’ said Byrd. ‘Pharaoh Ptolemy friend of Pompey and Romani. A few years ago he was forced into exile in Rome after his people rebel. Now he bribe Aulus Gabinius to get back his throne.’
Ten thousand talents was a huge amount of gold. I had heard stories of the fabulous wealth of Egypt and how its rulers covered their pyramids with gold, but I thought they were myths. Clearly not. But whatever the truth, Egypt’s pharaoh had unwittingly done Parthia a great favour.
‘Dura already knows the news,’ reported Malik, ‘so Nergal and his army are also marching with Domitus.’
With the Roman threat to Palmyra and Dura removed there was no need for Nergal to remain in my city. His additional numbers would be welcome in the fight against Mithridates.
Four days later, having arrived at the Euphrates, we linked up with Domitus, the King of Mesene and the Amazons. Our combined forces now totalled twenty-four thousand fighting men as we struck west towards Seleucia. The army marched at a rate of twenty miles a day since we had Marcus’ machines with us in case we needed to storm the city. They were loaded on slow-moving wagons pulled by oxen. I prayed that Mardonius still held out.
I had tried to dismiss from my mind the notion that Dobbai’s ritual was responsible for the Roman withdrawal from Parthia but Domitus was having none of it. The day was hot and windless and in the early afternoon we had dismounted to save the horses’ stamina. We had made good progress during the morning but now our pace slowed as the sun beat down on us from a clear blue sky. As usual a pall of dust hung over our long column as we trudged towards Seleucia.
‘Looks like that old witch Dobbai has used her magic to good effect,’ said Domitus, sweating in his helmet.
‘You really think that, Domitus?’ I asked.
‘Of course, how else can you explain the Romans withdrawing?’
‘It is a coincidence,’ I assured him, ‘nothing more.’
‘A very convenient one,’ said Gallia.
‘What did Dobbai say about it?’ queried Domitus.
‘She said that the gods give but they also take and that we should have a care,’ replied Gallia.
‘Strange about those statues, though,’ reflected Kronos.
‘What statues?’ asked Nergal.
So an eager Domitus told him and Praxima about the night we carried the clay statues down to the banks of the Euphrates, the cold mist that appeared from nowhere and the mystery the next morning when the statues had disappeared.
‘They were probably stolen,’ I said. ‘Someone at the caravan park probably spotted us and waited until we had returned to the palace before taking them.’
‘And made all those scratch marks in the ground?’ retorted Domitus. ‘I don’t think so.’
I looked at him. ‘I thought Romans were a practical people and didn’t believe in myths and monsters.’
‘So we are,’ he said, ‘but like all peoples we like to have the gods on our side.’
‘How many gods do the Romans have?’ asked Kronos.
Domitus put a hand to his chin. ‘Let’s see. Around twenty major gods and fifty minor ones.’