Parthian Vengeance by Peter Darman

to eight hundred. Essentially horse archers, they wore leather armour and also carried long spears in addition to bows and swords. But following the capture of Uruk I had sent them back to their homeland.
    The legions were already on the march before the new dawn came. Ten thousand pairs of hobnailed sandals tramping east across the two pontoon bridges that spanned the Euphrates, their crunching sound resonating through the stillness of the early morning hours. I did not disturb our sleeping children as I dressed and made my way to the stables where cataphracts and squires were busy loading equipment on the backs of spitting and grunting camels. Remus had finished his breakfast by the time I entered his stall and placed the white saddlecloth on his back. Like all the saddlecloths of the army it had a red griffin stitched in each corner. 
    I threw my saddle onto his back and then fitted him with his bridle. His coat and hooves had already been cleaned and checked but I examined each one of his iron horseshoes anyway. Fresh on. He flicked his tail with impatience. He had been on too many campaigns not to know what was going on and was eager to be on our journey.
    I stroked his neck. ‘Easy, boy. You must save your energy. You should know all this by now.’
    He turned his head and snorted. His blue eyes looked into my brown ones. The chief stable hand appeared, a tall, thin man with deep-set eyes.
    ‘He is most impatient, majesty. Began kicking his door last night.’
    I grabbed his reins and led him from the stall. ‘Did he indeed. He picked up some bad habits during his time in Italy, I fear. Living in the open all that time made him think he was a wild horse.’
    The man smiled. ‘I fear it is so, majesty. He is wilful, but a fine horse nonetheless.’
    We walked outside into the cold morning air and I vaulted into the saddle.
    ‘He is indeed, and for that we must forgive him his idiosyncratic nature.’
    The stable hand bowed his head. ‘Shamash protect you, majesty.’
    I nudged Remus ahead. ‘You too.’
    I walked him from the stables into the courtyard and halted in front of the palace where Gallia was standing at the top of the palace steps. I dismounted as one of the Amazons stepped forward to hold Remus while I said goodbye to my wife. Even though she was not coming with me she was dressed in her war gear of leather boots, leggings and mail shirt. The rest of the Amazons mustered behind her were similarly attired.
    I walked up the steps and embraced her. There were no tears in her eyes, no emotion, just determination.
    ‘Make sure you kill that toad Mithridates,’ she hissed. ‘Remember Godarz.’
    I kissed her on the lips. ‘I will endeavour to do what I should have done a long time ago.’
    Unusually Dobbai was present. Now in her dotage she seldom rose until well after dawn but today was different. She grabbed my arm as I turned and made to descend the steps.
    ‘Have a care, son of Hatra. Do not underestimate Mithridates or Narses.’
    This was getting tiresome.
    ‘I am always careful,’ I replied.
    She released my arm, turned and waved her hand in the air. ‘I have warned you. I can do no more. Be gone and play the game of kings.’
    I raised my eyes and walked down the steps and then vaulted into my saddle once more. I raised my hand at Gallia who nodded and then I wheeled Remus away and trotted from the Citadel. Behind me a company of cataphracts, a hundred riders, followed and after them came two hundred squires leading two hundred fully loaded camels. The commander of the company was a man named Surena, a native of the Ma’adan people who fell in beside me as we rode down the city’s main street and headed for the Palmyrene Gate. The dour figure of Vagharsh, a Parthian and Companion, rode immediately behind us carrying my flag – a red griffin on a white background, the whole banner edged with gold. This morning it was safely wrapped in its wax-coated sleeve for the air was damp.
    In the