‘Rasha is my true love,’ Spartacus declared.
‘You might do well to forget her,’ urged Domitus, ‘if you know what’s good for you.’
‘One day she will be my queen,’ Spartacus continued, ignoring Domitus’ words. ‘I will take a Roman eagle to Haytham. I have seen the one that you captured in the Great Temple at Hatra, uncle. You have shown it can be done.’
‘The gods were with Pacorus that day,’ said Domitus. ‘They might not be so accommodating with you, young pup.’
‘Why do the Romans take the eagle to be their symbol?’ asked a curious Scarab.
‘Because, my Nubian friend,’ said Domitus, ‘the eagle is the bird of Jupiter, the king of the gods.’
‘The king of the Roman gods,’ I added.
‘Don’t start all that again,’ said Domitus. ‘The eagle is therefore the symbol of strength, courage and immortality, all virtues that a Roman legion seeks to possess. The eagle is additionally the king of the birds, able to ascend above a storm, and is also the messenger of the gods. Eagles carry souls into the presence of the gods. That is why they are revered so.
‘The legionary eagle is a sacred object and will be defended as such by each legion’s soldiers. That is why it is almost impossible to take one in battle, unless of course you slaughter every single legionary beforehand.’
‘Then that is what I shall have to do,’ boasted Spartacus.
Susa was built on high ground between the Karkheh and Dez rivers in the fertile Valley of Susa, at the foot of the Zagros Mountains. The city had once been at one end of the Persian Royal Road that went all the way to the Aegean Sea in the west, and was now part of the Silk Road that went south to Persepolis and then east to the Indus and beyond. Susa itself was a formidable fortress, being surrounded by a high, thick mud-brick wall and a dry moat that was eighty feet wide. People had inhabited the site of the city for over four thousand years, gradually improving and expanding it over the centuries.
Like Dura Susa had a citadel, located in the north and surrounded by its own wall. We entered the city via the eastern gate where a huge three-story gatehouse sat above two pairs of great oak gates. Above the gatehouse flew the banners of Susiana and Babylon to indicate that both Orodes and Axsen were in residence. The paved road from the gatehouse wound its way through the crowded city and was lined on either side by one- and two-storey mud-brick houses. The commander at the gatehouse had been given orders to facilitate our movement on the congested road and so a company of his spearmen moved aside pedestrians, two- and four-wheeled carts and ill-tempered mules overloaded with goods. As usual the air was thick with the pungent aroma of thousands of unwashed bodies, animals and their dung and refuse.
It was only half a mile from the east gate to the royal quarter but it took us nearly thirty minutes to traverse the route, Domitus swatting away a plague of beggars with his vine cane and Scarab frightening them off with his black face and the frequent growls he directed at them. Ahead of us the black-uniformed Susianan spearmen grew angrier and began barging aside all and sundry with their shields in an effort to speed our journey. Looking at them I wondered how many had fought against me at the Battle of Susa, or who had been part of the garrison that had defied Orodes after the battle.
Eventually we reached the calm and majesty of the royal quarter, which if nothing else smelt fresher than the rest of the city. A guard of honour snapped to attention on the paved square as I halted Remus in front of the grandiose palace. A teenage stable hand in white leggings and shirt took his reins as I dismounted and a portly, middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed light brown beard and thinning hair approached and bowed to me.
‘Greetings, majesty,’ he said in a slightly tremulous voice, his eyes cast down. ‘I am Timius, chief steward. King of Kings Orodes and his queen, Axsen of Babylon, await you in the audience hall if you would care to follow me.’
‘My men require food and stabling for their horses,’ I said.
He turned and looked at a younger, slimmer man with small hands who waved forward a host of waiting stable hands.
‘They will stable your men’s horses, majesty,’ squeaked Timius, ‘after which they will be shown to the barracks.’
Domitus came to my side and Spartacus and Scarab fell in behind as Timius led us into the palace, a building that had originally been built by the Persians over five hundred years ago. It had been constructed around three courtyards, titled “courts”, around which were offices, temples, guardrooms, kitchens, quarters for slaves and the private apartments of the king and queen. The audience hall, the Apadana, formed the northern annex of the residence and was like a palace in its own right. It had been erected on a raised stone terrace and was reached by a columned portico.
The audience hall itself contained thirty-six white-painted stone columns that supported wooden ceiling beams. The edges of the roof were covered with gold leaf so that travellers would see its magnificence from afar when the sun’s rays caught them. The walls were decorated with friezes of enamelled bricks that portrayed lions, archers and hunts. It was certainly a palace fit for a high king.
Timius left us when we reached Orodes and Axsen, who rose from their golden thrones and embraced Domitus and me. They were both attired in long purple robes with gold crowns on their heads, and Axsen wore gold jewellery around her neck, wrists and fingers.
‘We are glad to see you,’ she giggled as Spartacus and Scarab went down on their knees before them.
Orodes ordered them to get up. ‘Welcome Spartacus, Prince of Hatra, and Scarab, squire to King Pacorus.’
My nephew, used to grandeur and opulence, nodded and smiled while Scarab stood open-mouthed at the high king of the empire who retook his seat alongside his wife.
‘I have had my officers send word to the hill men that we are looking for recruits to fight in a land far away from here,’ said Orodes.
Domitus nodded at me. ‘I told him that we had killed most of them at Susa but he would not have it.’
Orodes stroked his chin. ‘Unfortunately, Domitus, the gods have sent the people of the Zagros to inflict misery upon the empire and so they are numberless.’
‘They have been giving you trouble?’ I asked.
‘No more than usual, but it grieves me that I have to commit soldiers to defend against their raids who could be better employed fighting the Armenians and Romans.’
‘How many of these barbarians do you wish to recruit?’ asked Axsen.
‘Two thousand should suffice,’ I answered.
‘They will fight in your army?’ she enquired.
‘They will not be fighting anywhere near Dura’s army,’ Domitus answered for me.
Axsen was most perplexed. ‘Then what?’
‘Judea,’ I answered. ‘They will be sent to Judea to fight the Romans.’
We stayed at Susa for two weeks, during which time a message arrived at the palace from one of the chiefs of the Zagros clans that he would meet with me concerning supplying mercenaries. He sent one of his men to the city to act as a guide, a swarthy individual named Gourlay with a thick black beard and wild hair who rode a scrawny horse with only a blanket on its bowed back for a saddle. He stood barefoot before Orodes in the audience hall in his dirty, torn leggings and threadbare shirt with his arms folded. His long knife had been taken from him as a precaution before he entered but still the garrison commander had doubled the number of guards around the king and queen.
‘Why does your leader refuse to come to the city?’ demanded Orodes.
The man shrugged. ‘He does not wish to see his head stuck on your walls,’ he answered insolently. He spoke a bastardised version of our language which, combined with his strong accent, made his words difficult to understand.