never seen it before. Then we’ll follow up with the light horse archers.”
“Yes, my Lord. Their manoeuvrability will make up for the enemy’s greater numbers – plus of course your notable tactical skills, especially in territory you know well.”
Surena nods.
“It’s critical though, that we fight on flat and open ground. If our cavalry get bottled up in trees or rough terrain, their infantry will cut us to pieces. In the open space we’ll have the advantage. We must try everything to ensure that.”
“How will we do it my Lord?”
“I’ve got an idea I’m working on. Leave it with me.”
He dismisses Sillaces and calls for Daka to come to his personal tent. He plans dinner with her tonight. The day’s ride has been hard and he’s had a brain-wrenching time working out how to cope with the Romans. He needs a little relaxation. Before long, Daka appears at his sumptuously decorated tent, colourful silks draped from the apex and finely woven carpets covering the ground. A low table is set with a deep-cushioned couch opposite. Sleeping quarters are nearby, discretely closed off with a curtain.
“Hello my dear. Come in. I’ve brought you a present.”
“Oh, what is it my Lord?”
He produces a solid gold pectoral, inlaid with stags fashioned from lapis lazuli, to be worn flat just under the neck.
“Here, I bought it especially for you, as I know you love lapis. It comes from the main market in Seleucia. Remember, we were there for the civil war? I hope you like it. Come, sit down with me.”
“It’s beautiful, the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen. You’re really so generous my Lord. I don’t know what to say, except thank you, thank you, thank you.”
She throws her arms around his neck and gives him a long kiss on the lips, and he smiles, for the first time today, the first time for many days. It’s not the thing he normally does. In fact sometimes he looks a touch artificial when he does it. But not tonight.
He feels the cares fall away like a piece of silk slipping from a table as she tells him about her day – the bumpy ride in the chariot, the antics of the horses, the gossip of the other women, the heat, and, best of all her longing to see him. Her voice is beguiling, like a cascading mountain stream, sparkling in the sun.
He calls for wine and drinks with her. He feels comfortable, gruntled, as her open and affectionate attitude begins to penetrate his skin, so hardened by the demands of his character. Dinner comes and goes in a happy haze. She might well do for a bride, but no of course not; he must marry into a noble family.
The night passes in quiet pleasure and he feels refreshed in the morning. It’s just as well for he’ll have to spend the day’s march completing the action plan he’s been forming in his mind. One more day after this and he’ll be close to Carrhae where he expects to meet his adversary.
CHAPTER 3
While the bridge crawls across the Euphrates, Marcus and Gaius Fulvius Aquila take a stroll to Zeugma. Never taken by education – uninterested in books, Gaius only ever wanted to join the army. He accepts that high rank is beyond him, content with being an ordinary centurion, practical and reliable. In the earthy twang of his youth, he often teases Marcus about his aspirations, especially the improved accent.
The two are life-long friends, unfazed by differences. Underneath, their values are the same, a moral linkage which allows each to admire the other’s qualities. Gaius is stronger, Marcus quicker. The big man has more of an earthy attitude to life, uncomplicated by the disappointments attending ambition. He’s a natural Stoic; Marcus works at it.
In a few minutes, another centurion in their cohort catches up with them, slightly out of breathe. Marcus says,
“Ave Quintus. You want to come with us for a drink?”
“Sure. I thought we were all going together.”
Slightly embarrassed for leaving him behind, Marcus and Gaius mutter something friendly and non committal and Quintus joins them. He might have said something sarcastic but lets it pass.
When they get to the town they wander through unpaved streets full of bustling merchants, women too, but not many. Some people are on donkeys, others on camels laden with packing cases, but most are on foot, busy and loquacious. The atmosphere is organic, of braying and snorting and shouts, of sweat and animal droppings, of the touch of strange bodies brushing by in the moving crowd. Spicy cooking smells flow through the street like a light fog.
A large mud brick building with an open door stands out among the rest. They go through to a noisy quadrangle, with camels and donkeys hitched at one side, trade goods stacked beside them. A few gnarled trees snatch space for themselves and no grass intrudes upon the dried mud ground. It’s a full service caravan inn, with sleeping quarters, stables and a dining room opening out onto the courtyard.
The Romans sit outside in the early summer sun and order a jug of wine and some water. Red appears. Marcus says “We Romans usually drink white wine, don’t you have any?” The waiter says there’s only local wine and it’s red. “All right then, we’ll take it”.
Other customers are there. Their clothing styles mark the varied origins collected here by the Road. Clouds of meat- filled smoke belch out of the kitchen on one side. All the tables are full, the courtyard bursting with laughter and torrential conversation. The patrons are too engrossed with each other to notice the newly arrived overlords who’re the only Romans in the place. But the Romans notice them, at least three attractive young women sitting together, locals probably. Marcus stares, knows he shouldn’t but does anyway; they remind him of an incident years ago. Fortunately they’re too involved in their conversation to catch him.
He had just returned to Rome from Syria with Gaius and Quintus to participate in Pompey’s Triumph for the Eastern victories. They were celebrating in the Boar tavern.
The day was one of the most memorable in their lives, possibly the most. It was the only Triumph they’d been in. The atmosphere was euphoric. The whole of Rome was in the streets, excited with virtually religious fervour. Everyone but the marchers was dressed in pious white. They lined the Via Appia all the way to the Forum, like long thin clouds. People strained to see around the heads in front of them. Some were on the tips of their toes. No one wanted to miss the slightest detail.
Solemn magistrates and senators in their togas came first, striding the cobblestones and backed by trumpeters, their instruments winding into a G around their shoulders. Rolling cheers erupted as the booty wagons passed by, laden with captured armour and weapons, and, best of all, treasure – goblets, plates, vases, ewers, bowls of precious metal specially polished for the day, and mounds of gold and silver coins so brilliant they looked as if the sun had broken off a piece of its crown and tossed it down for the adornment of Rome. Downcast Eastern prisoners with tearful wives and children came next. After them, a group of soldiers carried paintings, holding them on high with upstretched arms. Artists had just finished making them to commemorate the most dramatic parts of the victories. Last of all came Imperator Pompey, the Triumphator himself, with red-painted face and crowned with a golden laurel. He was standing benignly in his chariot which was pulled by a team of elephants, a sign of the East. So intent on acknowledging the adulation of the crowd, with nodding head and broad smile whose energy never left his face, that he completely ignored the slave at his back who whispered repeatedly in his ear the customary “memento homo” – remember you are mortal.
Because the owner of the Boar could tell the three comrades were from Pompey’s legions, he found a table for them even though the place was jam packed. Immediately a waiter bustled over with wine. Before long, the self congratulatory toasts repeated ad nauseam were taking effect. However, the revelry didn’t prevent them from noticing a pretty young girl sit down at the next table. She was dressed to attract male attention. Soon, it seemed she was slipping discreet glances at Quintus. Or at least so he thought, but said he couldn’t be sure. Suddenly he got up and appeared at her table with