Carrhae

Chapter 1

‘Miserable Armenian bastards.’

I kicked at the ground in frustration, stubbing my toe painfully as I did so. Having just returned from a costly campaign the last thing the army needed was another war. I kicked at another flagstone.

‘Treacherous Armenian bastards.’

Gallia, my wife, handed me back the letter from my brother King Gafarn, ruler of the Kingdom of Hatra, and raised an eyebrow at me while stable hands and the courier who had brought the bad news stared at me and then at each other.

‘Bastards!’

For some reason that was the only word I could think of. I saw Dobbai descending the palace steps and begin to amble towards me. She was the old witch who had been the sorceress of King of Kings Sinatruces, ruler of the whole Parthian Empire. Dobbai now resided in the palace with my family. She was coming to gloat no doubt. Marvellous!

‘Are you going to stand there kicking the ground all day long?’ asked Gallia. ‘Gafarn is requesting your aid.’

‘What?’

‘Did you read the entire letter?’ I had not, so incensed had I been by the first few lines informing me that the Armenians had declared war on the Parthian Empire. I quickly read all the words.

‘Problems, son of Hatra?’ Dobbai stood in front of me, a knowing expression on her face.

‘The Armenians have declared war on Parthia,’ Gallia answered for me. ‘Hatra is in peril.’ Armenia, now a client state of Rome, lay to the northeast of Parthian territory and directly north of Hatra.

Dobbai nodded as though this information was no surprise to her.

‘Why does this come as a shock to you? You are, after all, a warlord. Would you not seek to strike at your enemies when they were at their weakest?’

We were certainly that. The recent Battle of Susa that had finally ended Parthia’s civil war had been a draining three-day affair resulting in Dura’s army suffering heavy casualties. That was bad enough, but the armies of the other kings of our great alliance had also suffered substantial losses in the battle, none more so than the Kingdom of Hatra. It had lost its king, my father. And now Hatra was in danger from an Armenian invasion.

I looked at Dobbai, fixing her black eyes with my own. Sometimes I disliked intensely her ability to state the blindingly obvious.

‘You should have dealt with the Armenians two years ago when you had the chance,’ she continued. ‘Your failure to kill Tigranes now returns to haunt you.’

‘First of all,’ I said loudly enough for most people in the courtyard to hear me, ‘I did not fail to kill Tigranes. I was invited to support my father, may Shamash bless his memory, in his discussions with Tigranes. I was but one of the kings present that day.’

‘But it is common knowledge that you begged your father to launch an attack against the Armenians,’ she replied calmly. ‘You knew that not to fight them that day was merely postponing the inevitable. And so it is.’

‘Armenian bastards,’ I muttered.

‘I wish you would stop using such language, Pacorus,’ said Gallia. ‘Remember you are a king.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Dobbai.

That was a very good question to which I had no immediate reply.

‘There will be a council meeting in one hour,’ I announced.

As usual the meeting took place in the headquarters building standing opposite the palace inside the Citadel. This stronghold was perched on a high rock escarpment inside my capital city of Dura. On this occasion I had asked Strabo to attend in his capacity as quartermaster responsible for the army’s horses, camels and mules. He positioned himself in a chair opposite Gallia where he could spend the meeting leering at her lithe figure. I asked Rsan, the city’s governor, to start the proceedings. As usual he had brought two fresh-faced young clerks along to take notes of any decisions made. The offices of the building were stuffed full of parchments recording the details of every meeting since I had become King of Dura. To what end I never understood, aside from keeping the city’s parchment makers in business. Because the room was fuller than normal the air was stuffy and oppressive, made worse by the lack of any wind outside. Everyone drank copious amounts of water from the jugs on the table to quench their thirsts.

Rsan cleared his throat.

‘The king has called this meeting due to the unexpected news we have received from Hatra concerning the Armenian decision to commence hostilities against the empire.’

The two clerks scribbled furiously to write down Rsan’s exact words. Why did he have to have two sets of records? I smiled — no doubt to have a spare set in case one got destroyed!

‘King Tigranes is seeking to take advantage of the state of exhaustion the empire finds itself in following the toppling of Mithridates and Narses. He believes he has an excellent chance of seizing large chunks of the empire, specifically the Kingdoms of Hatra and Gordyene.’

‘I would say their chances of doing so are excellent,’ remarked Lucius Domitus, the army’s general.

‘We should have fought them when we had the chance,’ added Kronos, commander of the Exiles, one of the two legions of foot soldiers I had raised. Both legions, Exiles and Durans, were trained and equipped in the same way as their Roman equivalents. Dobbai smirked at his comment.

‘You are so right, Kronos,’ I agreed, frowning at Dobbai, ‘but we did not and nothing can alter the past. The Armenians will attack the Kingdoms of Hatra and Gordyene with the intention of conquering them. Gafarn has asked me for help and I expect Surena to do the same. The question is: can the army march north to reinforce and assist both Hatra and Gordyene?’

‘Not a chance in hell,’ remarked Domitus bluntly. ‘It will be at least three months before it is ready to march anywhere, and even then it will be under strength. We lost a thousand legionaries, a hundred cataphracts, six hundred horse archers and a hundred and fifty squires. All dead.’

‘And seventeen Amazons,’ added Gallia gravely.

‘Indeed,’ said Domitus, ‘and then there are the wounded.’

I looked at Alcaeus, our Greek chief physician who headed the army’s medical corps. He frowned.

‘I’m afraid it is not good news. Over two thousand legionaries have been treated for wounds received at Susa. Of those, around half have injuries that will take two months or more to heal properly, broken arms and wrists mostly. As for the horsemen, two hundred cataphracts were wounded in the battle, and of those over fifty require bed rest for a further month at least. Six hundred horse archers were also injured and around a hundred will not be back in the saddle for a minimum of five or six weeks.’

It was a most depressing summary and the only sound that filled the room after Alcaeus had finished speaking was the scribbling of the clerks as they noted everything down. The rest of us sat in silence, Domitus as ever toying with his dagger.

It was Gallia who spoke first. ‘What will the Armenians do?’

‘They will try to take Gordyene back first, no doubt,’ I surmised, ‘followed by an invasion of Gafarn’s kingdom to seize the whole of northern Hatra, which means Vata at Nisibus will feel the full force of their wrath first.’

The Kingdom of Gordyene had been lost to Parthia when the Armenians had occupied it. It had subsequently been repossessed by Surena, formerly my squire who had been tutored in the arts of war at Dura. He had matured into a fine commander and so I sent him into Gordyene with an expeditionary force to wage war against its Armenian occupiers. But his martial brilliance had resulted in the Armenians being expelled from the kingdom altogether, earning him Gordyene’s crown from a grateful King of Kings Orodes.

‘Why did they declare war?’ asked Kronos. ‘Why not just launch an offensive? Seems odd.’

I thought of the Armenian King Tigranes, named ‘Great’ in some quarters, and his pompous son Prince Artavasdes.

‘I assume Tigranes is making a grand gesture to illustrate to the world how powerful Armenia is.’

Dobbai let out a low cackle. ‘You are wrong, son of Hatra. The Armenians wish to attract all attention to themselves so the empire’s eyes are diverted from another source of danger.’

‘What danger?’ I asked.

‘I see the eagles spreading their wings,’ she replied casually.

Rsan was both confused and alarmed. ‘Eagles? I do not understand.’

Domitus pointed his dagger at Dobbai. ‘She means the Romans.’

‘We have no reports of movements in Syria,’ I replied.

Dobbai looked at me with a self-satisfied expression. ‘You will. Like the Armenians they will have observed the empire tearing itself apart and will also conclude that it is the right time to strike, while it is weak.’

‘Crassus will not arrive in Syria for many more weeks,’ I assured her. ‘Byrd has kept us fully abreast of the situation in the Roman province.’

Byrd, the army’s chief scout, was also a successful businessman who lived in the great tent city of Palmyra. His offices in Syria supplied him with intelligence regarding Roman plans. We all knew that Marcus Licinius Crassus, Rome’s richest man, was on his way from Italy with an army to assume the governorship of Syria but he was marching overland and the journey was long and arduous.

She looked away to stare out of the window at the courtyard. ‘Have it your own way, son of Hatra.’

‘What are you going to do about Gafarn’s plea?’ asked Domitus.

‘Wait until I have heard from Orodes.’

Gallia looked most surprised. ‘You will not aid your brother?’

‘The Armenians will try to capture Nisibus first, but the city has strong defences and in Vata the region has a very able commander. Hopefully that will give us time to organise a coordinated response. It is better to wait until Orodes forms an alliance that we can join.’

‘He’s right, Gallia,’ said Domitus. ‘Dura’s army would be more effective as part of a larger force that can march north to confront the Armenians.’

‘Time is what we need to create a force large enough to defeat the Armenians,’ I said. ‘Vata will buy us time, and let us not forget that Surena in Gordyene will also be in peril.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about him,’ said Domitus, ‘he liberated the kingdom and he’s more than capable of keeping hold of it.’

‘You have changed your tune about him,’ remarked Gallia. ‘It was not long ago that you were calling him a puppy.’

Domitus nodded. ‘True enough. But the puppy has grown into a cunning dog with sharp fangs.’

‘Be that as it may,’ I replied, ‘he too will need assistance to battle a full-scale Armenian invasion, though I am sure Media and Atropaiene will send him help.’

‘We can always take the lords north with us,’ remarked Gallia. ‘They were most unhappy that they were left behind when we fought Narses and Mithridates.’

Domitus and Kronos nodded in agreement and in truth the addition of twenty thousand horse archers would certainly stiffen the army. Unlike most Parthian kingdoms Dura had a standing army. But like every Parthian domain it had lords who in times of war could raise their own troops from those who worked on their lands. These were mostly horse archers.

‘In fact,’ continued Gallia, ‘with the lords and their men we would not need to wait for Orodes.’

‘Do not leave the kingdom undefended,’ said Dobbai with force, ‘unless you want the Romans to pluck it like a ripe fruit.’

I frowned at her. ‘You keep going on about the Romans but as far as I know the border with Syria is quiet.’

Dobbai rose unsteadily to her feet and shuffled towards the door. ‘Did I say anything about the Syrian border? The army must remain here if the city is to stay safe.’

Domitus winked at Kronos and then tried to be clever. ‘I thought you said that as long as the stone griffin stood at the Palmyrene Gate Dura would never fall.’

The Palmyrene Gate was the main entrance to the city and above it stood a stone griffin statue that Dobbai had commissioned to safeguard Dura.

Dobbai spun round and pointed a bony finger at him. ‘Even though you have been in Parthia for many years you still retain the arrogance of your race, Roman. If the city is left undefended then it will fall.’

‘Then your words concerning the griffin were false,’ Domitus shot back at her.

She curled her lip. ‘Even the most simple-minded person knows that city walls need to be defended. Why would the gods help those who refuse to help themselves? Would you go into battle without your sword, Roman?’

Domitus looked around and smiled. ‘Of course not.’

Dobbai regarded him coolly. ‘Then Dura must remain protected at all times.’

‘And what of the Armenians?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘What of them? The old fool Tigranes believes that the empire is weak and will fall into his lap. He will soon be disabused of that notion.’

But the empire was weak, and even though I concluded the meeting by informing all present that we would wait until we received word from Orodes I worried that the Armenians would flood into Hatra and Gordyene with ease. Following the Battle of Susa the victorious kings badly needed a period of rest in which to rebuild their forces. The Kingdoms of Hatra, Gordyene, Babylon and Media, to say nothing of Dura, had suffered substantial losses, especially among their heavy horsemen. To wage another war would sap their depleted resources further. My spirits were not improved when I received a letter from Orodes at Ctesiphon, the palace of the high king, informing me that aside from royal bodyguards the Kingdom of Babylon would be able to field a mere ten thousand horse archers, two hundred mounted spearmen and no foot soldiers to counter the Armenian threat. Those few foot soldiers the kingdom possessed — five thousand — were needed to garrison the cities of Babylon, Kish and Seleucia and the royal compound of Ctesiphon itself. Just as I could not leave the walls of Dura undefended, so Orodes could not denude the cities of his wife’s kingdom of soldiers lest civil disorder broke out. The temples and palaces were a tempting target for organised bands of thieves and other undesirables who infested every city on earth.

‘He’s king of kings now,’ said Domitus, ‘so he can summon the forces of all the kingdoms in Parthia.’

The day after the meeting I had made an evening visit to his tent in the legionary camp located half a mile west of the city. Now that he had a wife — Miriam — and a residence in the city he usually spent the evenings inside the city walls, but he was sleeping in his tent as the army made ready to embark on a field exercise.

I poured myself a cup of wine and sat facing him at the table.

‘There are only two kingdoms that have been largely untouched by the recent civil war,’ I replied. ‘Carmania in the southeast corner of the empire and Nergal’s Kingdom of Mesene to the south. Carmania is around twelve hundred miles from Hatra and even if its king, Phriapatius, has been summoned it will take his army ten weeks to travel the length of the empire before it is any use.’

‘Nergal will come,’ Domitus assured me. Nergal was a Companion, one of those who like Domitus had returned with me from Italy following our time fighting by the side of Spartacus.

‘Nergal will come,’ I agreed, ‘and will join with Orodes and then we will join with them. Let us hope it will be enough.’

‘And the other kingdoms?’

I sipped at the wine. ‘Exhausted by years of strife they will be reluctant to send troops to the west and leave their own lands vulnerable to attack. The nomads of the northern steppes and the Indians would exploit any weakness along the empire’s northern and eastern borders.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘It is down to us, then.’

I tried to smile. ‘It has always been down to us, my friend.’

‘It won’t take long to build up the army,’ he reassured me. ‘There is always an endless supply of young men presenting themselves at the gates of the Citadel to volunteer their services.’

Service in Dura’s army was open to anyone and advancement was dependent on merit alone. That said, there were certain qualifications that Domitus as its general had insisted on, which were the same as those applied in the Roman Army. These were: a healthy body with all limbs intact (it never ceased to amaze me the number of one-legged individuals who tried to enlist on the grounds that sitting in the saddle did not require the use of two legs!), unmarried, no dwarfs, good eyesight and a good character. All those initially accepted were inducted into the replacement cohort where a further weeding-out process began to determine their suitability for a life in the military.

‘It takes a year to turn a recruit into a fully trained legionary Domitus, and we do not have that length of time.’

‘Perhaps we could speed up the process,’ he mused, ‘seeing as a lot of those presenting themselves at the Citadel are runaways from Syria and have probably seen some sort of military service.’

I thought of the long line of scrawny individuals in threadbare clothing I had seen that very morning, some of them bearing brands on their foreheads signifying they had been Roman slaves — FUG, fugitivus — runaway; KAL, kalumniator ¬- liar; and FUR, fur — thief. Others had ears that had been bored — the mark of a Mesopotamian slave, no doubt having fled from other Parthian kingdoms, perhaps even from Hatra that lay just across the River Euphrates. Others had made the journey from Egypt, runaway slaves who had worked in the pharaoh’s gold and copper mines.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘We stick to the system that has made Dura strong.’

‘Well,’ he replied, ‘that means the legions will be two thousand men down when we march.’

I finished my wine. ‘Can’t help that.’

‘And the horsemen?’

I stood up and walked over to the entrance of the tent. As it was summer and it was hot the flaps were tied back to allow what was now only a whisper of wind to enter. Outside was the parade ground and beyond it the camp’s central avenue that led to the main entrance flanked by neat rows of tents.

‘The older squires can be promoted to make up the losses among the cataphracts and Vagises will send messages to the lords asking that they spread the word among their retainers that I am looking for new horse archers. We should be able to replace the losses we suffered at Susa in three months.’

‘You think we have that long?’

The sky was pink as a yellow sun descended in the western sky to signal the end of another day.

‘I hope so. I sincerely hope so.’

I turned and walked back to the table.

‘The one thing in our favour, the only thing thus far,’ I said, ‘is that we have time to defeat the Armenians before Crassus arrives.’

The next day I sat in the throne room and dictated letters to Orodes, Surena, Atrax and Gafarn. Rsan fussed over the scribes like a mother hen while Gallia, sitting next to me, observed the proceedings.

I informed Orodes that Dura’s army would prepare to march north but would wait until he arrived with what forces he could muster from Babylon and Susiana. The latter kingdom was his own and ordinarily would have supplied a great many soldiers, but most of them had been slaughtered at Susa when we had defeated Narses and Mithridates. Those still alive would be needed for garrison duties, for to leave the kingdom’s towns and cities undefended would be to invite the hill men who infested the nearby Zagros Mountains to pillage them at will.

I pledged aid to both Surena and Atrax, King of Media. Media lay to the east of Hatra and south of Gordyene. But I informed them both that at present I was unable to offer any assistance, but hoped that they could assist each other. They could also call upon King Aschek of Atropaiene. The latter was always reluctant to embroil his kingdom in conflict but as his realm was positioned directly east of Gordyene he knew that if Surena fell then his lands would be open to an Armenian invasion. I also knew that Orodes would request the assistance of Nergal and so I also sent a letter to Uruk stating that I looked forward to linking up with him and his men when we assembled our joint forces.

As a scribe sitting at a desk in front of me completed each letter, the parchment was folded and then Rsan sealed it with hot wax, into which was pressed my griffin symbol. Then it was given to a waiting courier whose horse stood ready in the courtyard.

‘What are you going to say to Gafarn?’ asked Gallia.

‘That I will wait until I receive word from Orodes,’ I replied, and then pointed to a scribe waiting for instructions.

‘He will expect you to reply that you are marching to Hatra straight away.’

‘It would be better to wait for Orodes and Nergal,’ I reiterated. ‘Our combined forces joined with Hatra’s will be more than a match for the Armenians, who have yet to make any moves aside from declaring war on the empire.’

I again indicated to the scribe that I was ready to begin dictating when Dobbai ambled into the room, and proceeding to ignore us walked over to the table Rsan was standing by, a rolled parchment in her hand. Ignoring him she picked up the crucible of wax that was being heated over an oil lamp and poured some on the parchment to seal it, then took the wax stamp and pressed it into the hot substance. By now everyone in the room was looking at her as she went about her business seemingly oblivious to our presence.

I cleared my throat. ‘In case you had not noticed I am in the middle of important business.’

Dobbai gestured to one of the waiting couriers, who looked at Rsan in confusion.

‘Come here, boy,’ she snapped. ‘Take no notice of the tallyman.’

Rsan glowered at her then turned to face me. ‘Majesty, I really must protest.’

I held up a palm to the courier. ‘These riders carry letters that concern the affairs of the empire, Dobbai.’

She looked at me with pursed lips and held up the parchment. ‘This is also important, son of Hatra, and must reach its destination speedily.’

Rsan was now beside himself with anger at being treated so disrespectfully in front of everyone and gestured to the two guards standing by the closed doors to the chamber to come forward. He pointed at Dobbai.

‘Escort her to the palace’s private wing.’

Dobbai spun on her heels to face the approaching legionaries.

‘Touch me,’ she said, ‘and your balls will wither to nothing and maggots will grow in your bellies.’

The two men, veterans of many battles, froze and looked at each other and then at me in alarm, while beside me Gallia suppressed a giggle. I frowned at her before waving the guards back to their posts.

‘May I enquire the nature of the important business that is contained in the despatch you are holding?’

Dobbai turned to face me, a self-satisfied smug look on her face. ‘You may enquire and I may choose to ignore you. But suffice to say that it will be to your advantage in the coming struggle with your enemies.’

She again waved forward one of the couriers and I shook my head at Rsan who was about to protest. Dobbai handed the man the parchment and leaned towards him to whisper something in his ear.

‘The post station in Neh will know where to send it once it has reached there.’

‘Neh!’ I said loudly. ‘That is at the other end of the empire. What possible business can you have in Neh?’

Dobbai ignored me and continued speaking to the courier. ‘Go now and may the gods protect you.’

He bowed his head to her and then walked from the hall, the guards closing the doors behind him as he left. Dobbai grimaced at Rsan and wandered back towards the private wing of the palace.

‘Are you going to say anything further on this matter?’ I asked.

‘I would,’ she replied, ‘only you have more pressing matters to attend to.’

I looked at Gallia and shook my head. Dobbai disappeared behind the door at the rear of the throne room leading to the wing that contained our sleeping quarters just as muffled voices came from behind the closed doors of the main entrance. They swung open to reveal the figure of Byrd.

Rsan looked nonplussed as my chief scout strode towards the dais and halted before me. His swarthy face and slovenly attire were covered in dust and it was obvious he had been in the saddle for hours. He nodded at Gallia and then me.

‘Romani are going to invade Haytham’s kingdom,’ he announced without emotion.

I stood up and gestured for him to sit on my throne.

‘When?’ I asked.

He slumped down into the high-backed chair.

‘Two weeks,’ he replied. ‘My office in Antioch told me of this and I inform Haytham. He gathers his forces to meet Romani at the border.’

I pointed at the guards by the doors.

‘Go and find General Domitus and request his presence here, Lord Kronos as well. Rsan, where is Aaron?’

‘In the treasury, majesty,’ he answered.

‘Get him too.’

I ordered water to be fetched for Byrd as we waited for Domitus and the others to arrive. The scribes sat at their desks looking at each other in confusion as I began pacing in front of the dais mulling over this most unfortunate development. Gallia brought me back to the present.

‘Are you going to answer Gafarn’s plea for help, Pacorus?’

I stopped pacing. ‘Hatra will have to look to its own means for the present, my sweet.’

However, while I waited I did dictate a letter to Gafarn and another to Orodes informing them of Byrd’s news and that it would now be impossible for Hatra’s army to march north until the threat that had appeared in the west had been dealt with. Rsan returned with Aaron ten minutes later and twenty minutes after that Domitus and Kronos appeared. Byrd was still seated in my chair as the clerks and couriers filed out of the chamber and the doors were closed behind them. Domitus nodded to Byrd.

‘I take it you have not summoned us here to announce that you have renounced your throne and Byrd is now king.’

‘The Romans are about to invade Haytham’s lands,’ I said.

Domitus nodded thoughtfully. ‘How many men?’

‘Two legions,’ replied Byrd, ‘plus light troops and horsemen. They will cross border in two weeks.’

Byrd told us that Haytham had summoned his lords and their followers to join him at the border.

‘Which is where?’ asked Kronos.

‘Around a hundred miles west of Palmyra.’

Domitus looked alarmed. ‘Haytham intends to engage the Romans in battle?’

Byrd nodded then shrugged. ‘He is Agraci king. He cannot look weak to his people.’

Domitus ran a hand over his cropped scalp then looked at me. I knew what he was thinking. Brave though Haytham’s warriors were, they would be no match for trained Roman legions. It could be a bloodbath.

‘I tried to tell Haytham that Romani are fearsome soldiers,’ said Byrd despairingly, ‘but he no listen.’

‘Unless he gets lucky he will fail,’ remarked Domitus.

‘Haytham did not send me, Pacorus,’ said Byrd, ‘but I ask you to support him in this war.’

I looked at him and then Gallia and remembered the first time that we had met the Agraci king, when we had taken his daughter Rasha back to her father following her incarceration at Dura. There had been only four of us on that journey — Gallia, Byrd, Haytham’s daughter and myself — that had taken us deep into Agraci territory lying to the west of Dura. He could easily have killed us all, especially me, a Parthian, one of the implacable enemies of his people. But he had allowed us to live and from that time friendship had grown between Dura and the Agraci. Since then Haytham had come to my aid twice: once when I had faced the Roman Pompey and a second time when Narses and Mithridates had me cornered like a rat. What’s more Malik, Haytham’s son, was a close friend who had accompanied me on many campaigns and Rasha was like a daughter to me. Haytham was my friend and ally and I would not desert him.

‘Dura will assist Haytham, Byrd, have no fear.’

Gallia smiled at me approvingly.

‘Is that wise, majesty?’ queried Rsan.

‘Haytham is Dura’s friend, Rsan,’ I answered. ‘He has come to my aid more than once. What sort of man would I be if I deserted him now?’

My governor brought his hands together in front of his chest.

‘Indeed, majesty, but with Hatra in peril is not your first duty to your brother, a family member and a fellow Parthian?’

‘Hatra’s army is strong, Rsan,’ I assured him, ‘but Dura cannot tolerate the Romans occupying Palmyra, which is only seven days’ march from this very chamber.’

But Rsan was not thinking about strategy or the Romans.

‘There may be some who might criticise your decision to favour the Agraci over your own people, majesty.’

Gallia crossed her arms and fixed Rsan with her unblinking eyes. ‘And who would they be, Rsan?’

My governor suddenly looked most uncomfortable. ‘Not I, majesty, of course not.’

‘Of course not,’ remarked Domitus dryly.

‘But the courts of other Parthian kings may be surprised that you would support Haytham instead of your brother.’

‘I have never been interested in the opinions of other courts, Rsan,’ I replied, ‘especially as a good number of them have spent the past few years trying to destroy me. As for Gafarn, the walls of both Nisibus and Hatra are strong and Gafarn can muster tens of thousands to fight the Armenians. It will avail us little if we defeat the Armenians only to see Dura captured by the Romans, who will then use this city to launch a full-scale invasion of the empire.’

Byrd stood up, walked from the dais and embraced me. ‘Then I can tell Haytham that the army of Dura will be marching to reinforce him, Pacorus?’

I smiled at him. ‘Yes, my friend, you can tell him that we are on our way.’

Rsan was shaking his head but my mind was made up.

‘It will take us a week to get to Palmyra,’ said Domitus. ‘How long did it take you to get here, Byrd?’

‘Just under four days.’

Domitus was most concerned. ‘Which means that Haytham will leave Palmyra in two days if he is going to give battle at the border. We will never catch him up.’

‘We might,’ I answered, ‘if we take horse archers only.’

All this time Aaron had been standing near Rsan observing the proceedings and probably wondering why he had been summoned. But now I turned to him.

‘Aaron, what news have you heard from Alexander and his Jewish fighters?’

Dura had been instrumental in providing weapons to Jewish fighters in Roman-occupied Judea, for which we had been paid handsomely in gold. They were led by a prince named Alexander Maccabeus, a man who dreamed of freeing his homeland from Roman oppression but who had been heavily defeated last year and his men scattered. He himself still lived, though, and while he did so the flame of rebellion still burned in Judea.

‘I heard from him three months ago, majesty,’ said Aaron. ‘He is holding out in the hills of eastern Judea.’

‘Good,’ I said, ‘please write to him again today, asking that he attack the Romans in Judea with all the strength he has. Anything to divert Roman eyes from Palmyra.’

After resting and taking refreshments Byrd rode back to Palmyra on a fresh horse and I sat down with Gallia, Domitus and Kronos to work out a plan. Despite their protests I decided to take Vagises and his horse archers, who could ride at a moment’s notice. Gallia wanted to accompany me but I told her to muster the lords and their men and to follow me to Haytham’s capital after she had done so. The legions and cataphracts would remain at Dura. Taking the horse archers would enable us to cover thirty miles a day at least, meaning we would reach Palmyra in five days.

I set off the next day with two and a half thousand horse archers and a thousand camels carrying spare arrows. Gallia sent a summons to all the lords to attend her at the Citadel with every horse archer they could raise. In this way I hoped to muster an additional twenty thousand riders to support Haytham. In addition to spare quivers the camels carried waterskins, food and fodder for the horses, the humped beasts themselves being quite able to subsist on their bodies’ reserves until we reached Palmyra.

We rode over thirty miles the first day and nearly forty on the second, camping at night under the stars with only our cloaks to sleep in. It felt strange not resting for the night behind a ditch and rampart surmounted by stakes as was the custom in Dura’s army, but we posted guards every ten paces and at any one time half the men were standing to arms, being relieved every two hours. The days were hot and dry, particularly on the third morning when we broke camp before dawn and rode for five hours before resting the horses for three hours, then commencing our journey once again for another three hours. As we neared Palmyra I noticed the reduced amount of traffic on the road, a sure sign that conflict was imminent. The trade caravans of the Silk Road had a sixth sense when it came to discerning trouble and acted accordingly. Thus the number of caravans travelling through Dura on their way to Palmyra and then on to Syria and Egypt would diminish to nothing until after hostilities had ceased. They would travel north to Hatra instead, though as that kingdom was soon to be embroiled in war traffic might cease altogether.

On the fifth morning we spotted the Jabal Abu Rujmayn, the imposing mountain range located due north of Palmyra, and two hours later ran into an Agraci patrol five miles east of the great oasis settlement. It comprised half a dozen elderly men wrapped in black robes, their black face tattoos faded on their leather-like tanned skin. Their commander, a tall, gangly individual with piercing hazel eyes, bowed his head to me.

‘Greetings, lord. We were expecting you.’

Byrd had obviously arrived before us. ‘Where is your king?’

‘He has taken a great host of warriors west, lord, to fight the invaders.’

I closed my eyes. We had arrived too late. I prayed to Shamash that Haytham would not engage the Romans until we reached him. Perhaps there was still time.

‘Prince Malik accompanies his father?’

He smiled to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. ‘Yes, lord. He hopes to slaughter his father’s enemies.’

Hopefully Malik would temper his father’s eagerness to immediately attack the Romans.

‘We are to escort you to the governor’s tent, lord.’

‘The governor?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, lord, the king left Byrd as chief of Palmyra in his absence.’

Vagises took the companies to one of Palmyra’s great watering holes that were filled by springs bringing the precious liquid from deep in the earth, making the surrounding desert bloom. I accompanied the grizzled old Agraci warrior to the middle of the settlement where Byrd’s tent was pitched, riding through a multitude of canopies and a site that was seething with activity. At least Haytham had not ordered the evacuation of Palmyra. Not yet.

My escort left me at the entrance to Byrd’s tent where a servant took Remus, my stallion, from me and another escorted me inside the expansive goat hair structure. I waited for my presence to be announced and then Noora, Byrd’s wife, appeared, embracing me and welcoming me to her ‘modest’ home, which in truth was grander than Haytham’s own tent.

‘Byrd is most unhappy, lord,’ she said to me in hushed tones as we entered the main compartment where my friend was seated on a heap of cushions on the carpeted floor. ‘He wanted to go with Haytham and Malik but the king insisted that he stay here to rule Palmyra in his absence.’

He rose and we embraced.

‘It is a great honour that Haytham has bestowed on you,’ I said.

‘I no governor,’ he sniffed, ‘I should be with him and Malik.’

While the small army of servants that he and Noora had amassed served us refreshments Byrd told me that Haytham had departed with his warriors two days ago, intent on stopping the Romans at the border.

‘I told him that you were coming but he would not wait. Yasser and Vehrka said it was dishonourable to remain idle in face of enemy invasion.’

Yasser and Vehrka were two of Haytham’s lords and the latter was Malik’s father-in-law.

‘I can understand that,’ I replied, ‘especially as it is Vehrka’s lands that the Romans are marching across.’

‘Not only Romani,’ said Byrd.

‘Who else?’ I asked in alarm.

‘King Sampsiceramus of Emesa.’

He may have had a ridiculously long name but Sampsiceramus ruled a prosperous kingdom, made rich by the profits of the Silk Road. When Pompey had conquered Syria and Judea the ruler of Emesa had thrown in his lot with the Romans, becoming their client king. Located on the eastern bank of the River Orontes and close to the Mediterranean coast, the city of Emesa was around a hundred miles west of where I was sitting and the destination of the trade caravans once they had passed through Palmyra. From there they travelled either north to Roman Syria or south to Egypt.

‘He provides slingers, archers and spearmen for Romani,’ continued Byrd. ‘Haytham should have waited for your archers,’ he finished glumly.

If Haytham engaged the Romans and their allies before I reached him then he would be at a great disadvantage when it came to missile power for the Agraci horsemen had few archers and no slingers.

‘Who else is with the Romans?’ I asked, hoping the answer would be Mithridates.

Byrd knew what I was alluding to and smiled. ‘He and his mother still at Antioch, so my spies tell me.’

I heard horses’ hooves outside and moments later Rasha burst into our company. She was now on the verge of womanhood and her body had become more curvy and her face more attractive. Gone was the young girl I had first encountered when I arrived at Dura. In her place was a raven-haired beauty. I stood and was nearly toppled over as she threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.

‘Greetings little princess,’ I said, though she was nearly as tall as me now and in a couple of years would no doubt surpass my height.

‘Where’s Gallia?’ she asked, looking around before kissing Noora and then Byrd.

‘She will be here soon.’

‘And then we will go and fight the enemy,’ she beamed.

‘And then you will stay here,’ commanded Byrd. ‘Your father has enough to worry about without his daughter getting into trouble.’

Rasha stuck her tongue out at him and Noora laughed. How great was Byrd’s influence among the Agraci that Haytham himself would trust him with the life of his daughter and the safekeeping of his city.

The next day Rasha was thrilled when Gallia rode into Palmyra at the head of the Amazons and twenty thousand horse archers. As usual the latter were led by the old brawler Spandarat, who was itching for a fight. Byrd wanted to give a great feast to celebrate the arrival of Gallia and my lords but I declined the offer. For one thing I did not want Spandarat and his fellow nobles getting roaring drunk and being unfit for duty the next day. So he went to bed an unhappy man but at least woke without a hangover and was in the saddle before dawn to ride alongside Gallia, Vagises and me as we headed west into the desert across the rock and gravel steppe. It was already hot and everyone was wearing either floppy hats or head cloths, their helmets dangling from the horns of their saddles.

Five hours after leaving Palmyra I saw a great dust cloud on the horizon and ordered a halt.

‘Is it a sandstorm?’ asked Vagises.

I shook my head. I had seen many sandstorms during my life, had observed the terrifying orange-brown wall of sand come out of the desert, the bottom of which appeared to contain millions of desert flies. The wall of sand could be up to a mile high and swallow whole towns and cities in its path. The storms could last for hours, days or even weeks but this was not one. This dust cloud was too sparse and immobile: the particles were being kicked up by thousands of horses and men. We had found Haytham and the Romans.

I gave the order to deploy into battle formation: a thousand of Dura’s archers on the left wing, another thousand on the right and the remainder in the centre with the Amazons. The lords were deployed behind the centre — twenty blocks of horsemen numbering a thousand riders each. And behind them were the camels carrying spare arrows. Vagises sent a score of horsemen to scout ahead while we advanced at a trot towards the battle on the horizon.

They returned to report that the Romans and their allies were advancing towards us in a long line, having apparently routed the Agraci. The latter were still launching attacks against the enemy but their efforts were uncoordinated and haphazard. I turned to Vagharsh and told him to unfurl the standard, then ordered a general advance.

Ahead I could see a mass of black riders — Haytham’s warriors — and could hear shouts and screams as men fought and killed each other. We broke into a canter as we headed towards the battle and then I saw a party of Agraci galloping towards me. I ordered a halt as Malik and fifty of his men pulled up their horses. The prince looked tired and angry.

He nodded at me. ‘Greetings, Pacorus, you are a sight for sore eyes.’

He noticed Gallia and bowed his head at her.

‘I am glad to see that you are unhurt, Malik,’ she said.

He glanced back at the battle raging around a thousand paces in front of us. ‘The same cannot be said for many of my people.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘The Romans and their treacherous allies from Emesa appeared two hours after dawn and my father ordered an immediate assault on them. I have ridden with you too long, my friend, not to know that our horsemen would not be able to break their formation but he would have none of it. So we attacked and their archers and slingers positioned among the legionaries cut down many of our riders before they could get close to their ranks.’

‘They deployed into a square?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘A great hollow square that we attacked on all sides and inside it they hid their horsemen, and when our losses mounted and we tired they formed into line and then their horsemen attacked us.’

‘Where is your father now, Malik?’ asked Gallia.

‘Desperately trying to halt the Romans.’ He turned to me. ‘He needs your help, Pacorus.’

‘We will halt the enemy’s advance, my friend,’ I replied. ‘But the first thing you must do is to ride to your father and convince him to pull his warriors back, to disengage from the enemy.’

Malik shook his head. ‘He will never agree to that.’

I leaned over and grabbed his arm. ‘You must convince him to do so, otherwise the Romans will be in Palmyra this time tomorrow.’

He turned from me and made to kick his horse forward then swung in his saddle.

‘Lord Vehrka is dead.’

I was shocked. ‘How?’

‘Killed by the Roman horsemen. They are very good, Pacorus, well led.’

He urged his horse forward and then he and his escort were galloping back to the battle line.

The Agraci did not fight as part of an organised army but as individuals grouped round their lords, much like the retainers of my own lords, and though brave and fearless were no match for the discipline and fighting skills of the Roman Army. Now they fell back in dispirited and angry groups, passing through my men as Haytham and his son rode up to where Gallia and I waited on our horses. With them were Yasser and a dozen other Agraci lords. Haytham wore a livid expression. He bowed his head to Gallia and nodded at me.

‘I thank you on behalf of the Agraci people for coming to our aid, Pacorus. Byrd exceeds his authority, I think.’

‘We are happy to help our friends and allies, lord king,’ said Gallia.

‘We are glad to fight alongside you, lord,’ I said.

‘These Romans are like cockroaches, difficult to kill,’ he spat.

I looked beyond Haytham to see long lines of red shields advancing towards us with horsemen on their flanks.

‘There are slingers and archers interspersed among those legionaries,’ warned Malik.

‘If your men form up behind my own,’ I said to Haytham, ‘then we will first bring the enemy to a halt.’

By now the vast majority of the Agraci had passed through the gaps between the lords and their men in the centre and Vagises’ horse archers on the wings. The latter now moved to position themselves directly opposite the Roman horsemen on the flanks of the legion and a phalanx of Emesian spearmen that were moving forward at a steady pace. I turned in the saddle and waved Spandarat forward.

I pointed at the enemy troops approaching. ‘Spandarat, we must halt those troops opposite. Therefore if you and the other lords would assault them I would be eternally grateful.’

He rubbed his hands together and grinned. ‘Lovely.’

He withdrew to where his fellow noblemen waited on their horses and imparted my wishes to them. Moments later they were galloping to take up position in front of their men and then led them forward.

Within minutes twenty thousand horse archers were unleashed against the ranks of the enemy. They charged in twenty great columns, each one grouped behind their lord and began shooting their arrows at a range of seven hundred paces from their foes. The missiles arched high into the sky and then fell onto the heads of the Romans and their Emesian allies, the latter in their great phalanx were not able to lock their shields above their heads like the men of the Tiber. The slingers and archers interspersed among the Romans suffered the most casualties, being struck by dozens of arrows that suddenly fell among them.

My lords may not have led the most disciplined or well-equipped soldiers in the world but they knew how to conduct themselves in battle. They knew that if they moved at speed and kept out of range of the enemy they would improve their effectiveness and reduce their own casualties. And so at a distance of four hundred paces from the front ranks of the enemy their men wheeled their horses right and right again to ride back to their starting position, twisting in the saddle to shoot a parting arrow at the opposition over the hindquarters of their horses as they did so.

While the enemy’s centre was being subjected to this arrow storm Vagises’ horse archers on either wing held their positions, while behind where I watched the drama beside Gallia, Haytham and his warriors reformed and strained to be unleashed once more. To our front the lords’ men were shooting around five arrows a minute, meaning their would empty their quivers in six minutes, but in that short space of time they managed to halt the advance of the enemy. As the lords led their men to the rear to replenish their quivers from the camel train a dust-covered Spandarat rode up to me with a big grin on his face.

‘Soon as we’ve stocked up on arrows we’ll go back and finish them off.’

I peered past him at the wall of locked Roman shields.

‘You have halted them, well done,’ I said. ‘But for the moment we wait to see what the enemy will do.’

His grin disappeared.

‘Time to finish them off, otherwise they will crawl back to Emesa.’

‘That is for Haytham to decide,’ I reminded him.

The attack by Dura’s lords had taken the enemy by surprise. Believing that Haytham’s warriors were assaulting them, they had once more prepared to fend them off with slingers and archers. Instead they had been subjected to a missile storm that had felled many of their own missile troops, who carried no shields and wore no body armour. Their own bows had a shorter range than our own recurve models and though their slings could shoot as far, our initial volley had been such a surprise that they had failed to shoot any missiles in return.

Malik and Haytham now rode forward to join out little group as silence descended over the battlefield and the choking dust that had hung over it mercifully began to slowly dissipate.

‘They have been halted, lord king,’ I said to Haytham.

‘But they still stand on my land,’ he growled.

I knew he would launch another general attack that would achieve little apart from reaping another harvest of Agraci dead, but it was not my place to tell him what to do in his own kingdom. Nevertheless, I felt honour bound to point out that it would be rash to launch a frontal assault and was just about to say so when Malik spoke.

‘Their horsemen are advancing.’

We all looked to where he was pointing at the enemy’s right wing, from where a group of horsemen were advancing against Dura’s horse archers.

‘Roman horsemen,’ he sneered, ‘the same ones who inflicted many losses on us earlier.’

‘Vagises will deal with them,’ I assured him.

‘What about those?’ I heard Haytham say.

I turned in the saddle to stare at the enemy’s other wing, which consisted of a great mass of spearmen wearing white tops and silver helmets.

‘The horsemen of King Sampsiceramus,’ spat Malik.

There appeared to be around a thousand Roman horsemen but many times that number of Emesian riders who were now advancing with spears levelled towards the thousand Durans facing them. I turned to Spandarat.

‘You and the lords must assist our horse archers on the right, Spandarat, otherwise they will be forced back’ I looked sheepishly at Haytham. ‘With your permission, lord king.’

He smiled savagely. ‘You have done more in twenty minutes than I did in a whole morning, Pacorus, so please carry on.’

‘Go, Spandarat,’ I ordered.

He whooped with delight, dug his knees into his rough old mare and galloped away to his fellow nobles.

‘I will assist Spandarat,’ announced Gallia, who turned and raised her bow. ‘Amazons!’

Her warriors raised their bows in acknowledgment and moments later were riding behind their queen as she accompanied Spandarat towards the seething mass of enemy horsemen. It was the first time Haytham had seen Gallia on the battlefield. Formerly she had always been charm and beauty in his presence, not the fearless killer he now saw.

‘You do not fear for her safety, Pacorus?’

‘Shamash will protect her,’ I replied, hoping that my god would wrap her in a cloak of invulnerability.

I turned and signalled to the commander of the six companies of Duran horse archers who were grouped immediately behind me.

‘We go to aid Lord Vagises, follow me with your men.’

He saluted and rode back to his companies as Malik’s bodyguard — a hundred black-clad warriors — closed around him.

‘I am coming with you, Pacorus.’

I smiled at him. ‘It would be an honour, my friend.’

‘Are we going or not?’ grumbled Vagharsh as his horse scraped impatiently at the earth.

‘I would ask you to be patient a little longer, lord king,’ I said to Haytham, ‘and the day will be yours.’

He raised his hand as I bellowed at Remus to move. He reared up on his hind legs and bolted forward as I headed for the left flank, followed by Vagharsh, Malik, a hundred Agraci warriors and six hundred horse archers. In front of us Vagises had withdrawn in the face of the Roman onslaught, enticing their horsemen forward in expectation of an easy victory against the lightly armed horse archers they faced. The Romans, maintaining a tight, disciplined formation, were charging now, their large, tan-coloured shields tight to their left sides and their spears levelled. I pulled my bow from its case and then extracted an arrow from my quiver as we rode across the front of the densely packed ranks of Haytham’s warriors towards the Romans. The Agraci cheered us as we passed, though they were probably acclaiming their prince who was accompanying us rather than me or my men.

I nocked the arrow in the bowstring and leaned forward in the saddle as Remus thundered across the ground made bone-dry by a merciless sun. The Romans were cheering now as they chased Vagises’ apparently fleeing horsemen. Signallers in the horse archers accompanying me blew their horns to indicate the charge as we broke into a fast gallop.

We were closing on the left rear of the Roman formation as I released my first arrow and reached into my quiver to nock another. Behind me six companies of horse archers deployed into line as their members released arrow after arrow at the Romans, tearing gaps in their ranks as the missiles struck animals and riders, the bronze arrowheads piercing flesh and smashing bones. Above me the air was thick with shafts as six hundred men loosed around three and half thousand arrows a minute at the enemy.

The Romans in the rear ranks, thinned by my archers, halted and desperately tried to reform to meet the new threat. But stationary targets meant my men could now aim more accurately as the companies slowed their pace and then wheeled right so they could ride parallel to the Roman line, raking them with arrows as they did so. And then Vagises’ men began their own shooting, at first releasing their bowstrings over the hindquarters of their horses and then halting to about-face to shoot volley after volley so the front ranks of the Romans literally rode into a wall of arrows. This first halted them and then forced them back as saddles were emptied and horses were struck multiple times by missiles.

We kept our distance from the Roman horsemen as they were armed with spears and shields and to fight them at close quarters would be to invite our destruction. Our advantage lay in archery from a safe distance, using the power and range of our bows to shoot them to pieces. The Roman commander also realised this for I heard trumpet blasts and then saw the horsemen change direction.

Their discipline was magnificent as they about-faced as on the parade ground and withdrew to the safety of their own lines. I saw a figure on a brown horse, a man sitting tall in the saddle, his stature increased by a great red crest in his helmet. He remained at the rear of his horsemen so all could see that he did not fear us. He was undoubtedly their commander.

I dug my knees into Remus’ sides and he shot forward to pursue the fleeing Romans, Vagharsh, Malik and his warriors immediately behind me. The Roman with the great crest saw us and about-faced to meet us, a sword in his hand and a shield held close to his body. The rearmost company of his men — a hundred riders — likewise turned and closed up on their leader. I slipped my bow back in its case and drew my sword as the two groups of riders collided. Like their Roman opponents Malik’s men were equipped with spears and shields in addition to their swords and there was a rapid succession of dull thuds as spearmen tried to drive their points into an opponent’s torso, only to see their lances either miss their target or glance off a shield.

I swung my sword at the Roman commander’s head but he saw my weapon and met the blade with his own, then used his own sword to chop at my head and strike at my body, blows that I parried with difficulty. Whoever he was this Roman knew how to use a sword. I tried to thrust my spatha at his mail-covered chest but he brought his shield in front of him to block the strike, before trying to lop off my head with a great scything attack with his own blade. I instinctively leaned back in the saddle and his blade missed my flesh by a hair’s breadth. As our horses did their own intricate dances around each other we continued to hack and thrust with our swords, but he countered every strike I made, seemingly without effort, while I had difficulty in fending off his expert sword strokes. Perhaps it would be better to kill him with an arrow!

I pulled Remus back a few feet and then Malik was at my side, pointing his bloodied sword at my opponent.

‘Time to die, Roman. You are alone and surrounded.’

I looked around and saw that he was indeed the only Roman in the immediate vicinity. Behind him, on each side and to his front was a host of Agraci warriors in their saddles with their spears pointed at him. And beside Malik was Vagises, whose horsemen must have either killed or chased away the remaining Romans. As more and more Agraci and Parthian riders gathered round the Roman rested his sword on his right shoulder, his shield still tucked tight to his left side, seemingly unconcerned that he was surrounded by many enemy soldiers intent on killing him.

‘Are you hurt, Pacorus?’ asked Malik with concern.

I shook my head, rivulets of sweat running down my face for it was still very warm.

‘No, my pride is a little dented, that is all.’

The Roman sheathed his sword and slowly removed his helmet to reveal a round face topped by thick curly hair, a square, clean-shaven jaw and a large forehead. He also had a thickset neck. I estimated him to be in his mid-twenties.

‘So you are King Pacorus of Dura. I have heard much about you,’ he said to me in Greek.

His stare was determined, his voice firm.

‘Kill him,’ commanded Malik.

‘Stop,’ I shouted as a dozen Agraci prepared to skewer the Roman with their spears. Malik turned to me with a quizzical expression on his face.

‘My apologies, Malik, but he appears to know me and I would know his identity before you kill him.’

‘You are a famous warlord, Pacorus, it should not surprise you that many have heard of your name.’

‘Indeed you are,’ said the Roman in Agraci. Whoever he was he clearly had knowledge of languages as well as the arts of war. I must confess that I was becoming more intrigued by this individual by the minute.

I turned to Vagises. ‘What is the situation?’

‘We have pushed back the Roman horsemen. I sent five companies to shadow them to ensure they do not return.’

‘Your men are well trained,’ said the Roman, now speaking in Parthian.

‘We’ve had a lot of practice killing Romans,’ sneered Vagises.

Malik smiled. ‘Are you afraid, Roman?’

‘Everyone dies, Prince Malik, therefore it would be foolish and a waste of time to fear that which is inevitable.’

‘As you appear to know all of our identities,’ I said, ‘it would be courteous if you could at least furnish us with your name.’

He smiled. ‘I am Praefectus Alae Mark Antony, deputy commander of the army of Syria.’

The deputy commander of the Roman Army in the east was worth more alive than dead and would command a large ransom, in addition to being a useful bargaining tool in any discussions with the enemy.

‘I think this Roman should be kept alive,’ I whispered to Malik, ‘at least for the time being.’

He looked most unhappy but allowed logic to suppress his bloodlust, slamming his sword back in its scabbard. He pointed at Mark Antony.

‘You are to be taken to my father, the king, who may not be as merciful as his son.’

So our prisoner rode between Malik and myself as we trotted back to the centre of the Agraci battle line, past thousands of Agraci warriors as once more Vagises’ horse archers formed up on the left wing to face what was left of the Roman horsemen. When we arrived at the spot where Haytham’s great black banner hung limply from its flag staff with his lords gathered behind it, we also found Gallia and a grinning Spandarat. Both of them were covered in dust but as far as I could tell there was not a scratch on either of them. As we halted Haytham’s stare settled on the bold figure of Mark Antony.

‘A gift for you, father,’ announced Malik, holding out his arm towards the Roman captive. ‘This is the deputy commander of the Roman army.’

‘Has Agraci custom changed, lord king?’ asked one of Haytham lords. ‘Do we now take prisoners?’

‘Silence!’ barked Haytham, before looking at his son. ‘We do not treat with invaders, Malik, you have made a mistake.’

‘The mistake was mine, lord king,’ I said. ‘I thought you might have a use for such a high-ranking prisoner.’

Haytham nudged his horse forward to take a closer look at this Mark Antony. The latter still maintained an air of calm but averted Haytham’s eyes. He had obviously heard of the king’s ruthlessness and his indifference to suffering. Haytham rode slowly round the captive.

‘Queen Gallia has destroyed the enemy horsemen on their left wing, Pacorus.’ He was talking to me but staring unblinking at Mark Antony. ‘There were thousands of Emesian horsemen and now there are none, is that not so, Gallia?’

‘It is as you say, lord king,’ replied Gallia with pride. I smiled at her.

Haytham continued to circle the prisoner, who was now looking decidedly perturbed. ‘The Romans and their allies think the peoples who inhabit these parts are weak and can be crushed and enslaved with ease. Imagine what they will say when they learn that a woman has beaten them. What will they say in Rome, Roman?’

Haytham halted his horse directly in front of Mark Antony.

‘Rome will be disturbed to hear of such a thing, lord king,’ Antony replied. ‘Tinged with admiration.’ He glanced at Gallia who still wore her helmet, its cheekguards fastened shut. ‘For Queen Gallia’s name is known throughout the world.’

‘What use can I have for this Roman, Pacorus?’ Haytham asked me.

‘To ransom him for a great sum, lord king,’ I answered, ‘for the proconsul of Syria will give you much gold for his safe return.’

‘I have enough gold,’ snarled Haytham. ‘Gallia, it is for you to decide this Roman’s fate.’

Haytham wheeled his horse around and returned to the head of his lords. Mark Antony looked at the mail-clad figure of my wife whose face was still hidden by her helmet’s cheekguards. I looked at Malik who smiled maliciously. He knew as well as me that Gallia hated the Romans and would probably kill him herself.

‘That’s you done for,’ remarked Spandarat to Mark Antony casually as Gallia slowly pulled her bow from its hide case behind her. I made to protest but Malik laid a hand on my arm.

‘No, Pacorus. His life is Gallia’s now.’

A sudden commotion in the rear interrupted her role as Haytham’s executioner as a group of Agraci riders came through the ranks to present themselves to their king. After they had halted I saw that half a dozen had been escorting one man, who now dismounted, pulled aside his black face veil and went down on his knees before Haytham.

‘Princess Rasha has been captured by the enemy, majesty.’

There was a murmur from behind and the king spun in his saddle.

‘Silence!’

He looked down at the prostrate figure before him. ‘Get up.’

The man slowly rose to his feet as I thought of the ramifications of what he had said. If Rasha had been captured then that could only mean that the other Roman legion had captured Palmyra. I closed my eyes and thought of Byrd and Noora. Had they been taken, too, or were their corpses lying on the earth?

‘Have the Romans taken Palmyra?’ asked Haytham.

‘No majesty,’ replied the man. He glanced at me. ‘After King Pacorus left Palmyra the princess insisted that we, that is she and her bodyguard, follow the king and that is what we did. We stayed hidden and then joined the riders that Dura’s lords brought with them. The princess joined the charge against the Emesians but became separated from us at the height of the battle.’

‘Is she dead?’ asked Haytham without emotion.

‘No, majesty. I saw her being led away by a group of their horsemen. As far as I know she is still alive.’

‘And the rest of her bodyguard?’

The man cast down his eyes. ‘All dead, majesty,’ he replied softly.

Haytham pulled on his horse’s reins to wheel him left, and in a lightning-fast movement drew his sword and slashed it across the man’s neck. Blood sheeted in all directions as the man clutched his neck and then fell to the ground, gurgling for a few seconds and then falling silent as his lifeless corpse lay on its back, blood oozing onto the parched ground.

‘We attack the enemy at once,’ Haytham shouted to great cheers from his lords.

I looked across the corpse-strewn no-man’s land that separated the two armies and saw the unbroken line of shields of the Roman legion directly opposite, and then squinted before making out horsemen deployed on its right. Granted there were no longer any horsemen on the enemy’s left wing but next to the legion there was still a large phalanx of Emesian spearmen and no doubt many slingers and archers standing among the enemy’s ranks. To charge an unbroken army of enemy foot was to invite disaster.

‘Lord king,’ I shouted to Haytham.

Haytham turned his horse to face me. ‘What?’

‘We can get Rasha back without the spilling of any more Agraci blood.’

‘Did you bring your sorceress, Pacorus, so she could weave a spell to return my daughter to me?’

‘No, lord,’ I answered, ‘but will you give me a chance to prove my words.’

He looked at me with his cold black eyes. I knew that he desired more blood but I also knew that if he launched an attack his daughter, if she still lived, would have her throat slit before his warriors even got close to the enemy. All eyes were on Haytham as thirty thousand Agraci warriors and over twenty-three thousand Duran horse archers steeled themselves for another fight.

‘You have one hour,’ he snapped, pointing at Mark Antony. ‘If you fail he dies and I attack.’

I thanked Haytham and then sent an emissary to the enemy requesting a parley, stating that we had captured their Roman commander and wished to trade him for a young woman that had fallen into their hands, further insisting that she was not to be harmed or violated in any way. I prayed that her captives had not already raped her, if she still lived. While we waited for a reply I suggested to Haytham that we should extend our line greatly to impress the enemy with our numbers. He and his lords thought this a waste of time but he indulged me, and so the horizon was slowly filled with Agraci and Durans as we waited for an answer.

It came only minutes before the hour was up and was good news. The enemy agreed to a parley but insisted that it take place an hour after dawn the next morning. The people of Emesa worshipped the sun god El Gabal and thus thought any important negotiations should take place when their deity was looking favourably upon them. I too believed this, but knew that only Shamash was the god of the sun. Haytham looked sullen and his lords were most unhappy that they had been denied the opportunity to again dip their swords in the enemy’s blood, but I was delighted that Rasha was alive and that we stood a good chance of getting her back. Haytham wanted our prisoner to be staked out on the ground for the night but I requested that he be released to me.

‘Why are you so interested in this man?’ he asked as his warriors were stood down and cooking fires began to cover the plain.

‘I wish to know more about Roman plans, lord.’

He laughed. ‘They plan to conquer the whole world, Pacorus. You above all should know that.’

Gallia wanted nothing to do with the Roman and declared that she would be spending the night in the company of the Amazons. As we had no entrenching tools with us we could not dig a ditch and erect a palisade to surround our tents I ordered Vagises to mount patrols far and wide throughout the night. I did not trust the Romans not to launch a night assault to free their commander. The Agraci pitched their tents over many square miles, though Haytham also sent out patrols to ensure his sleep was not disturbed. As for the enemy, Vagises reported back to my command tent just before midnight that they were inside their Roman camp and showed no signs of leaving it.

‘Your men did well today,’ I said as he settled himself into a chair at the opposite end of the table to where Mark Antony was sitting.

‘Thank you, Pacorus. Nergal trained us well.’

I poured wine into a cup and gave it to him as he watched the Roman with suspicion.

I took the jug and refilled Mark Antony’s cup. He nodded and held the cup up to me.

‘To noble adversaries.’

I drank some wine in acknowledgement of his toast and sat at the table. Vagises rose, held his cup up to me and drained it before slamming it down on the table.

‘By your leave, Pacorus, I have patrols to organise.’ His eyes never left Mark Antony. ‘To make sure the Romans do no not slit our throats while we sleep.’

He curled his lip at Mark Antony and left us.

‘Your commander does not like me,’ observed Antony.

‘Do not take it personally, he has a low opinion of all Romans.’

Antony leaned forward. ‘Tell me, was he a slave, for I have heard that you only enlist slaves in your army? Men say that is the reason it fights so fiercely.’

I nodded at the closed tent flaps. ‘That man, Vagises, is a Parthian who was taken captive with me in Cappadocia before we were transported to Italy as spoils of war. He has little reason to regard Rome or the Romans with affection.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘And you?’

‘I do not hate my enemies, because to do so would cloud my judgement at a time when clarity of thought is essential.’

He nodded approvingly. ‘A most philosophical answer.’

I poured him some more wine. ‘Now it is your turn to answer some questions. Where is the other legion that your proconsul commands in Syria, for I know that only one was present today? You and your allies underestimated the fighting abilities of the Agraci, I think.’

He laughed mockingly. ‘The Agraci have no fighting abilities. We were more than capable of dealing with them before…’

I smiled. ‘Before I arrived, you mean. You honour me, commander.’

He stiffened. ‘My title is Praefectus Alae.’

‘It is a great pity that so many of your fine horsemen now lie dead on the desert floor. That is the price invaders pay for their aggression.’

‘That is the price Rome pays for civilising the world,’ he tried to correct me.

How many times had I heard that argument before? ‘Roman civilisation is built on the corpses of vanquished peoples.’

‘Only the strong deserve to live,’ he said casually.

‘And the weak deserve only slavery or death, I suppose?’

‘The gods have charged Rome with civilising the world. If our mission was not a divine one, how else can you explain Rome’s victories over the other tribes of Italy hundreds of years ago, her conquest of Carthage, Greece, Pontus, Armenia and Syria?’

I sipped my wine. ‘And now Rome seeks to add Parthia to that list.’

He was momentarily nonplussed. ‘I am a soldier, sir. I obey orders.’

I laughed. ‘And a member of one of Rome’s most prominent families, I’ll hazard.’

He blushed. ‘I have been fortunate to have been born into a noble family, I admit, though everything I have achieved has been by my own hand.’

‘You are to be congratulated. I hope being exchanged for a young girl does not harm your reputation.’

‘There will be other battles to fight,’ he replied flatly.

‘I am curious about one thing,’ I continued. ‘Why did you not wait until Crassus had arrived in Syria before commencing hostilities again the Agraci and Parthia?’

‘You are very well informed,’ he said.

‘When you rule a frontier kingdom it is wise to know what is happening in adjacent lands. So, why not wait for Crassus?’

‘As I said, I am a soldier and take orders,’ he replied evasively.

‘Have it your own way. I am sure all will be revealed when he arrives. If I was a gambling man I would wager that your commander, Proconsul Aulus Gabinius, desired to make his name great before Crassus arrived in Syria.’

He placed his cup on the table. ‘King Pacorus, as you have saved my life it is only proper that I return the courtesy. If you would be prepared to submit to Roman rule then I can use whatever influence I enjoy to have you exonerated from your crimes.’

‘My crimes?’

‘We know that you have been supplying the rebels in Judea with weapons. That in itself is enough to earn you a death sentence. Would it not be better for you and your kingdom to live in peace under the protection of Rome?’

I tilted my cup at him. ‘Under the heel of Rome would be a more accurate description, I think. I must decline your kind offer.’

His mouth creased in disapproval. ‘When Crassus arrives he will sweep aside all opposition. We know that Parthia is weak through years of civil strife and is in no position to repel a Roman army. To oppose us is to invite death and destruction. I am merely suggesting that a logical course of action would be to accept the inevitable and act accordingly.’

‘A very Roman way of thinking,’ I replied.

Frustration was etched on his handsome features. ‘You must know that you cannot defeat us.’

‘If I knew such a thing, Mark Antony, then I would not be sitting here at this table but would be sleeping in my palace as a client king of Rome.’

‘No rival has defeated Rome, King Pacorus, and none will. You yourself have endeavoured to copy Rome, for is not your army modelled on our own?’

‘It is true that I have adopted some Roman practices,’ I agreed, ‘but my army is Parthian, Mark Antony, not Roman.’

‘If you agree to be an ally of Rome,’ he persisted, ‘then your kingdom will be safe from any harm. But I have to tell you that if you are still in arms against Rome when Crassus arrives he will show no mercy.’

‘Is that what you told Mithridates?’

His eyes averted mine. ‘Mithridates?’

‘I know that he has taken refuge in Antioch with his venomous mother. Does your proconsul plan to make him the puppet ruler of Parthia?’

Mark Antony said nothing but turned the cup in his hand.

‘Your silence speaks volumes.’

I did not press him further on the subject of Mithridates. It had been an agreeable evening and I knew the character of the former king of kings better than he did. It was plain that the Romans would use Mithridates if they could and were probably already thinking of installing him as a puppet ruler of the empire, though how they would do so with only two legions remained a mystery. Perhaps they believed that Parthia had been so weakened by civil war that it was like a wooden house riddled with woodworm, and required only one good kick to bring the rotten structure crashing to the ground.