‘It is not becoming for the daughter of a king to have feelings for a lowly squire.’
‘I am a prince,’ said Spartacus with difficulty, the point of Haytham’s sword still pressing into his neck.
‘It is true, lord, er, brother,’ I said, ‘he is a prince of Hatra.’
Haytham looked at me and slowly lowered his sword. ‘It makes no difference. I will never permit my daughter to marry a Parthian. You may be my brother, Pacorus, but there is too much hatred between our two peoples to allow the blood of each to be mixed. A child of such a match would be an outcast from both races.’
Rasha’s head dropped and she visibly wilted at her father’s refusal to countenance their union. I sometimes forgot that most Parthians hated the Agraci and vice versa. Poor Rasha.
‘But I am not Parthian,’ declared Spartacus.
Haytham regarded him warily. ‘What trickery is this?’
‘No trickery, majesty,’ he replied, his cockiness quickly returning and declaring. ‘I am a Thracian.’
Haytham’s face was blank. He looked at me as his men shrugged their shoulders in indifference.
‘It is true, brother,’ I said. ‘He was born in Italy to Thracian parents. I was one of those who brought him to Parthia to be raised as a prince of Hatra. But he is the son of the general I fought under against the Romans.’
Rasha, given fresh hope, now looked at her father imploringly. Haytham slid his sword back into its scabbard and looked thoughtfully at Spartacus and Rasha, then smiled slyly.
‘It is not enough.’
Rasha’s eyes misted with tears and Spartacus’ shoulders sank, but to his credit he did not give up on his love.
‘Name the conditions which will win me the hand of your daughter, majesty, and I will fulfil them.’
Haytham, momentarily taken aback by his fresh impertinence, glared at him and I was about to step between them to prevent him lopping off my nephew’s head, when Haytham smiled cruelly.
‘You’re brave, boy, I will give you that, and so, in light of your valour in battle and your strange pursuit of lost causes, I make you this offer.
‘Years ago, word reached me of a battle between the Romans and Parthians and the tale of how a young prince from the city of Hatra had taken a silver eagle standard from the enemy single-handedly. I have heard that these silver eagles are sacred to Roman soldiers and that they would lay down their lives to protect them.’
Haytham pointed at me. ‘My brother was the man who stole that eagle from under the noses of thousands of Roman soldiers and it now sits in the temple of his forefathers in Hatra.’
He looked at Spartacus. ‘You have seen this thing?’
‘I have, majesty.’
‘And now the Romans once again threaten our borders and King Pacorus once again marches against the eagles.’
He stood before his assembled lords and warriors and raised his arms.
‘I, Haytham, King of the Agraci, hereby make this offer to the boy who saved my life in battle. If he wants my daughter then he will bring me one of these Roman eagles that he has taken in battle to lay it on the ground before me. This offer stands for one full year, after which I will give my daughter to the son of one of my lords.’
He spun round and pointed at Spartacus. ‘You have one year, boy. One year in which to do this thing. But know that when you leave Palmyra after this night and return to Dura you are prohibited from entering my kingdom, on pain of death, unless you bring a silver eagle with you for company.’
The Agraci cheered and laughed at Haytham’s words and Rasha looked most concerned, with good reason. To capture a Roman eagle was all but impossible, notwithstanding that I had done so in my youth, and then only due to a combination of sheer luck and youthful folly. Spartacus had enough of the latter but the gods alone would decide if he would have any of the former.
Haytham was both clever and cruel. He dangled the prospect of a union between Rasha and Spartacus knowing full well that Spartacus would probably die attempting to win the one thing that would give him Rasha. Haytham laughed along with his warriors as my nephew considered what he had agreed to.
The next day, as we rode back to Dura, he was unusually quiet.
‘It was brave of you to declare your love for Rasha in front of Haytham and his lords,’ I told him. ‘I was most impressed.’
‘It did me little good,’ he mumbled.
‘There are many fine young women among the nobility of Hatra,’ I said, ‘when you return there it might be best to look to them for your future happiness.’
‘Why should I?’ he snapped.
‘Because if you venture into Agraci territory,’ said Vagharsh behind him, ‘your head will be on a pole outside Haytham’s tent.’
‘Unless I win an eagle,’ he replied defiantly.
‘You have more chance of sprouting a pair of wings,’ scoffed Vagharsh.
When we reached Dura Spartacus’ spirits had sunk lower with the realisation that he could no longer enter Agraci territory unless he had a Roman eagle with him. A year was a long time and if he failed to get his trophy he would probably never see Rasha again, at least as an unmarried woman. My own humour was troubled when I saw the legionary camp was full of soldiers, wagons and horses — the rest of the army had returned to Dura.
I left Vagises and Peroz to organise the quartering of their men in the camp and rode immediately with my squires and Vagharsh to the Citadel, the guards at the western gates of the camp having informed me that Domitus and Chrestus were waiting for me at the palace. As I galloped past the camp and through the Palmyrene Gate into the city the knot in my stomach tightened. Something was very wrong.
The guards at the gates of the Citadel had seen us riding up the main street and so, as we trotted into the courtyard, Gallia, Domitus and Chrestus were waiting for me. I slid off Remus’ back and told Spartacus and Scarab to take him and their own horses to the stables. I embraced Gallia and then looked at my two commanders.
‘I assume there is a good reason why the army is back at Dura.’
‘We were sent back,’ replied Domitus.
‘Sent back by whom?’
‘By your brother,’ he answered.
‘Gafarn?’
‘Just tell him, Domitus,’ sighed Gallia.
Domitus looked at her and then me. ‘Crassus and his army arrived in Syria, crossed the Euphrates at Zeugma and attacked the towns in western Hatra before Orodes had chance to organise a response. Crassus then garrisoned the towns and withdrew back into Syria. It would appear that the Egyptian army sent against Palmyra was a decoy to mask the main enemy attack.’
Chapter 11
An hour later, after I had washed and changed, I sat in the headquarters building as Domitus told the sorry tale of what had happened after I had left Hatra. Byrd’s spies had alerted Gafarn that Crassus had arrived in Syria and was preparing to strike across the Euphrates, but then news reached Hatra that once more a large Armenian force had left Nisibus and was heading straight for the city. Orodes, in consultation with the kings, decided to march north and engage the Armenians prior to advancing to the border to meet Crassus.
‘We spent two weeks chasing the Armenians in the desert before realising that we had been deceived,’ he reported. ‘Our scouts caught up with one group of Armenian horsemen who had tied branches to the tails of their horses.’
‘Why?’ asked Gallia.
‘So they kicked up a lot of dust to give the impression that there was a multitude of horsemen on the horizon,’ he replied.
Dobbai burst into laughter. ‘They well and truly duped you, didn’t they Roman? And all the while Crassus was sneaking across the border.’
Domitus did not rise to the bait but continued to recall how, upon realising that there was no Armenian army north of Hatra, and receiving messages that Crassus had crossed the Euphrates, Orodes despatched Silaces and his seven thousand horsemen to reinforce Apollonius.