The competition had been arranged to take place in mid-afternoon and I expected that only myself, Gallia and a few others would attend. How wrong I was. Word of the competition between ‘the Parthian’ and ‘his woman’ had spread like wildfire through not only the cavalry camp but throughout the army. When I rode Remus over to the training area, a multitude had gathered to watch what was going to take place. All Gallia’s women were there, plus Nergal, Godarz, Rhesus, Gafarn and several dozen Parthians who should have been with instructing their men, but had decided to bring their charges along to watch an archery competition. Then Spartacus and Claudia arrived, together with a horde of Thracians, and Castus with even more Germans. I rode over to where Spartacus was talking with Nergal and Godarz. I dismounted and embraced Claudia.
‘A pleasure to see you, lady,’ I said.
‘How do you think my Gallic girl will do?’ she asked.
‘She rides well enough,’ I replied, ‘but archery is in every Parthian’s blood. She will not win, I fear.’
‘Would you like a wager on that, Pacorus?’ said Spartacus, winking at Claudia.
‘I would not want to take your money, lord,’ I replied.
At that moment Gafarn walked over from where he had been talking to Gallia. He bowed his head to Spartacus and Claudia, and then looked at me, a stupid grin on his face.
‘The Lady Gallia asks if you are ready to start, or whether you would like to concede defeat now.’
Spartacus burst into laughter, as did Castus and others behind them and several of his Germans cheered. I was not amused and felt my face blush. I mounted Remus and took out my bow from its case. I pointed at Gafarn.
‘I blame you for this.’
‘Of course,’ he said, unconcerned. ‘The sequence is single shot, fast shoot and serial shoot.’
‘I’m well aware of the rules, Gafarn,’ I snapped.
‘Good. You will shoot first, please begin when you are ready. And good luck.’
‘I do not need luck,’ I said, irritably.
‘Oh, I think you do.’
I rode Remus over to the start line, the course stretching out in front of me straight as an arrow. Behind the markers, all along the course, stood the spectators, hundreds of them. It was traditional for a judge to lower a spear to indicate the start of a charge, and sure enough Gafarn had furnished Claudia with a shaft, and she now walked purposely to where Gallia and I sat on our horses. Her black hair shone like a horse’s mane in the sun as she stood and lowered the spear, signaling me to begin. I jammed my knees into Remus’ sides, causing him to rear up on his hind legs and then to thunder down the course. Single shot entailed striking a target three hundred feet from the start line. Remus ran like the wind as I pulled an arrow from my quiver, strung it and let it loose as the target flashed by me on my left. The moment it left my bow I glanced behind to my right to watch the scorer. Red flag! I patted Remus’ neck as I slowed him to a canter as we neared the end of the course. Polite applause greeted my shot as Gallia began her run.
Her horse ran arrow-straight as she galloped towards me, the reins around her right arm as she drew an arrow, strung it and pulled back the bowstring. Her posture in the saddle was perfect, her upper body upright, eyes looking along the arrow and her legs tucked in tight. She let her arrow fly and raced down the course. Wild cheers greeted the scorer as he hoisted his red flag. Gallia halted her mount, turned him around and cantered back to the start line. All her concentration was on the competition; nothing else mattered to her at that moment.
We were back at the start line for the fast shoot. This is where the horsemen has to hit two targets, the first one being placed two hundred feet from the start line and angled towards the start, not to the side, making it a forward shot. But the second target, about eighty feet forward from the first target, is angled towards the finish line and thus requires the archer to make a back shot over the rear quarters of his mount. This was a Parthian specialty and I doubted that Gallia would even attempt it. Claudia gave the signal and once more Remus thundered down the course. I loosed the first arrow, pulled another from my quiver quickly, strung it, swung in the saddle to my left and fired it over Remus’ rump. I halted him at the finish line and saw two red flags being held aloof. Again, polite applause. Then came Gallia, riding hard and fast, leaning forward in the saddle to take the shot at the forward-facing target. The arrow left her bow and she strung another as her horse galloped up to and then past the second target. She effortlessly twisted her torso to the left and took the shot, the arrow hitting the target. But which part? The crowd erupted into cheering again as two red flags were hoisted aloof. So we were dead level. This girl had been taught well, that much was true, but she also must have spent hours and hours on the training field to reach such proficiency.
But now came the hardest task: the serial shot. This was a five-target run, the first target placed a hundred feet from the start line and the other four targets placed at one hundred feet intervals after that. All targets were side shots but they came fast, one after the other. For the final time Claudia gave the signal and I thrust my knees into Remus’ flanks and once more he reared up and then shot forward into a gallop. I shot five arrows and all five hit bull’s-eyes, and once again I received polite applause from the crowd. Gallia followed me, unyielding, iron-willed and at one with her mount. I saw Gafarn in the way she rode, her legs seemingly having been bolted onto the horse but her upper body moving rhythmically as she fixed her eyes on each target and fired her arrows, stringing an arrow, aiming and firing it at the target in one seamless movement. First target, red flag; second target, red flag; third target, red flag; fourth target, red flag; the scorer hesitates, then raises a fifth red flag as the crowd erupts in a deafening roar. Praxima and Diana ran over to Gallia when she returned to the start line and grabbed her hands as others thronged around her, offering salutations. I walked Remus back to the start line as the crowd parted to let me through. The noise quietened down to nothing as I halted Remus a few feet from Gallia, who watched me from behind the cheek guards of her helmet. A wide circle had formed around us. I saw Spartacus watching me, as well as Claudia, Gafarn, Nergal and Godarz. There was silence as I dismounted and walked with my bow over to Gallia. She took off her helmet and watched as I unstrung my bow and held it out towards her. This gesture was an old Parthian custom that showed respect for an adversary, usually after a battle.
‘I Pacorus, prince of Hatra and a son of the Arsacid Dynasty, do hereby grant you your wish, lady. You and those who ride with you shall fight by our side from henceforth.’