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the city after a day hunting desert quail. The sun was dipping on the western horizon – a golden molten ball of fire resembling Praxima’s wild red mane hanging around her shoulders.
    ‘I remember the night he was born,’ said Nergal.
    ‘The night Claudia died,’ lamented Praxima.
    ‘I have often wondered what would have happened if she had lived,’ said Gafarn. ‘Perhaps Spartacus would not have thrown his life away in battle the next day and we would all still be in Italy.’
    ‘Being chased around the country by Crassus,’ I said.
    ‘Or perhaps we would have defeated Crassus and ended up as rulers of Rome,’ offered Nergal.
    ‘I prefer our new home,’ said Praxima.
    ‘What is it like, being a god I mean?’ asked a smiling Diana.
    ‘Tiresome,’ replied her friend. ‘Total obedience gets on my nerves and no one looks you in the eye.’
    ‘How is Surena getting along?’ I asked.
    ‘Very well,’ said Nergal. ‘He has raised a good number of Ma’adan recruits who are being trained in the ways of war by Kuban and his officers. They are enthusiastic recruits.’
    ‘What is the view of those men who used to serve Chosroes?’ I asked.
    ‘They are soldiers,’ replied Nergal. ‘Those who survived our storm of the city now serve me.’
    Praxima giggled. ‘Besides, we have High Priest Rahim on our side and no one dare challenge him.’
    ‘It was a stroke of luck you two resembling the old gods of Uruk,’ said Gafarn.
    ‘Dobbai would say that luck played no part in it,’ I said. ‘She would say that it was the will of the gods that led Nergal and Praxima to Uruk. That I was merely an agent of their desires.’
    ‘She doesn’t like me,’ said Gafarn.
    ‘She is very wise,’ I agreed.
    ‘Just as the people of Uruk believe that Nergal and Praxima were sent by the gods,’ said Gallia, ‘so do the inhabitants of Dura believe that Dobbai was sent to protect the city. She was the one who gave Dura’s army its banner, the golden griffin of the Durans and the statue that guards the city.’
    ‘It is always best to have the gods on your side,’ said Nergal. ‘It makes things much easier.’
    ‘Let us hope that the gods speedily do away with Mithridates and Narses,’ I said.
    ‘Mithridates writes honey-coated letters to our father, Pacorus,’ said Gafarn, ‘pledging eternal friendship and peace between Ctesiphon and Hatra.’
    ‘He ignores Dura,’ I stated.
    ‘And Uruk,’ added Nergal.
    ‘He seeks to isolate us from the rest of the empire,’ I said. ‘To let our two kingdoms wither and die like vines deprived of water.’
    ‘Like Charax,’ said Nergal.
    Gallia’s ears pricked up. ‘What do you know of Charax? Its name was raised at a council meeting recently.’
    Nergal shrugged. ‘A poor city built where the Tigris and Euphrates flow into the Persian Gulf. Boats from the port frequently visit Uruk to unload their cargoes for sale in the city. It is rumoured that its ruler, Tiraios, is a tyrant but he has no army to speak of, or so the Ma’adan inform me.’
    ‘They fight this Tiraios?’ asked Gafarn.
    Nergal laughed. ‘The Ma’adan will fight anyone who encroaches on their territory.’
    ‘But not you, my friend,’ I said.
    Nergal nodded. ‘No, they are our allies.’
    That night the kitchens cooked the quail we had caught and we ate them in the banqueting hall, which seemed eerily quiet after the raucous feast of the Companions. We mostly ate in silence, Gallia, Diana and Praxima exchanging the occasional word. Though we all loved these annual gatherings the eve of journeys home was always a sad affair. Part of me wished that I still lived in Hatra with my parents and Gafarn and Diana, with Nergal and Praxima living in one of the great mansions in the city. But we all had our own destinies to fulfil and it was a futile exercise to wish for what would never be. And so we sat in silence, each mulling over their thoughts.
    ‘You know that you will always have a home at Dura