At first I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But I stopped and cocked my ear to where the attackers were positioned and heard it again: a clear, pure sound that cut through the tumult of the Armenian drums and horns and the shouts and cries of their soldiers. I heard it again and this time it was louder and nearer and I knew that it was not in my imagination. I walked to the shooting slit and stepped onto the stone steps beside it to peer over the battlements. The shrill sound of dozens of trumpet blasts echoed across the plain once more and I saw the horizon filled by a wall of white shields and helmets as five thousand Durans and five thousand Exiles marched to our relief.
I ran to the right side of the gatehouse and shouted at those below.
‘Domitus is here! Relief has arrived!’
Gallia and Zenobia looked up at me in confusion and then both peered through their shooting slits and then hoisted themselves onto the battlements and raised their bows in the air and began shouting ‘Dura, Dura’. Soon all the Amazons were chanting the same followed by Asher and his ragged recruits.
Below us the Armenian spearmen, on the verge of forcing their way into Assur, halted their advance as their officers received word that a hostile army had suddenly appeared in their rear. The Armenian archers were already reforming to shoot at the oncoming mail-clad soldiers, but they were short of ammunition, tired and their numbers had been drastically thinned and they were no match for Domitus’ men. They loosed one volley, which thumped harmlessly into the wall and roof of locked shields, and then melted away as the legionaries abandoned their testudo formation and increased their rate of advance.
Beneath the gatehouse there was silence as the ram’s crew abandoned their monster and hurried back to what they perceived to be the safety of their spearmen, but not before a few were felled by eagle-eyed Amazons who had some arrows left. There were still five thousand Armenian spearmen remaining and as they shuffled into position to form one great block to face Domitus’ men, half of the latter suddenly veered to their right to swing round the left flank of the enemy spearmen who had been facing the Tabira Gate.
I saw the light catching a golden emblem and knew that it was the Durans who were going to attack the spearmen below us. The latter were now moving slowly towards the legionaries, their densely packed formation resembling a great rectangle. Moving closer towards their destruction.
I stood from my vantage point and thanked the gods that they had given me an opportunity to witness Parthia’s finest soldiers in action. The Durans were drawn up in two lines, each one made up of five cohorts, but it was only the first line that was sent in against the Armenians: two and a half thousand men against twice their number. I felt sorry for the Armenians.
Each cohort was made up of six centuries — three in the first rank and another three behind — each century made up of eight ranks, each rank containing ten men. But on this occasion the Duran front line was reorganised to extend each cohort so that all six centuries were in the first line. Ordinarily this would take some time but Dura’s army was so well trained and drilled that it took only a few minutes before there was a frontage of thirty centuries advancing against the Armenians.
The Duran line was now only eight ranks deep and was mighty thin but it made no difference. A blast of trumpets signalled the attack and the legionaries increased their pace. The first two ranks hurled their javelins at the advancing Armenians at a range of around thirty paces — six hundred long, thin iron shanks attached to a heavy wooden shaft arching into the air before smashing into enemy shields, flesh and bone. These ranks then drew their swords and sprinted at the enemy as the legionaries in the third and fourth ranks behind them, as they had done many times before, launched their javelins over the heads of their comrades in front before also drawing their short swords. Train hard, fight easy.
The first two ranks of the Durans used their shields as battering rams against the ill-equipped and poorly trained Armenians, smashing steel bosses into faces or toppling over hapless spearmen before stabbing at them with frenzy. The Armenians, their front ranks almost annihilated by Duran javelins, began to give ground immediately as gladius blades cut through wicker shields with ease and pierced torsos, sliced open bellies, put out eyes and mutilated groins. Then the spearmen ran.
It was as though a collective madness had seized the Armenians for as one those still living dumped their spears and shields and fled in all directions. The Durans maintained their formation as they continued to advance at a steady rate, stepping over pierced and mangled bodies as they did so.
So engrossed had I been in the spectacle that I had not noticed that Gallia had joined me on top of the gatehouse. She smiled as I turned to see her and in my elation was suddenly gripped by a desire to rip off her clothes and make love to her, here, on the top of the tower while death was being meted out to the enemy below. I grabbed her and kissed her long and hard on the lips as below us the Armenians were being slaughtered. I pressed her tightly to my body, clutching her buttocks and forcing her groin into my loins. Surprised, she pulled back.
‘What are you doing?’ she giggled.
‘I want you,’ I said, pulling her back against me.
‘It is a miracle, uncle,’ I heard a voice behind me declare.
‘If Haytham does not kill him I might,’ I whispered in her ear as I reluctantly released her.
Spartacus and Scarab came to my side, both grinning like fools.
‘It is a miracle sent by the gods,’ declared Scarab.
The Durans were close now, the front ranks walking towards groups of Armenians who had halted a few paces from the moat below and were falling to their knees and holding up their arms in a plea for mercy. In the distance I could see the other half of the Durans marching to support the Exiles who were engaging enemy forces at the Western and Southern gates.
In the general excitement I had not noticed that fresh bundles of enemy arrows that had been collected by runners had been deposited on the parapet behind the Amazons and Asher’s men. I heard fresh screams below and saw that Gallia’s warriors were shooting at the hapless Armenians grouped on the other side of the moat. Asher’s men soon enthusiastically joined them and a general slaughter ensued. I did not order a stop to it and neither did Gallia. The Armenians had been on the verge of entering the city and if they had succeeded would have put everyone to the sword, such is the fate of cities that fall to an assault. Every one of the Amazons would also have been raped before being killed so they had little inclination to show mercy.
The Durans halted while the Armenians were cut down, resting their shields on the ground and admiring the archery skills of the Amazons. In five minutes around two thousand men had been either killed or wounded, the survivors being saved only by the fact that once more there were no arrows left.
I saw Domitus, white crest atop his helmet and greaves around his shins, walking up and down the line congratulating individuals and sharing jokes with others. He then walked forward to within shouting distance of the gatehouse.
He cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Have you finished your archery training?’
I raised a hand to him. ‘All done, my friend. It is good to see you.’
He pointed his cane at those Armenians still standing, who were rooted to the spot in terror.
‘Do you want them killed?’ he asked.
‘They should join their comrades in the underworld,’ hissed Gallia.
‘Kill them, uncle,’ agreed Spartacus, who drew his sword. ‘I will lend a hand.’
‘No,’ I called to Domitus. ‘Disarm them and bind them. Lord Herneus can sell them as slaves.’
He raised his cane in acknowledgement and then arranged details to secure the prisoners.
‘You show mercy in victory, majesty,’ said Scarab admiringly.
Gallia shook her head but said nothing while Spartacus slid his sword back in its scabbard.
‘Go to the Western Gate,’ I told him, ‘find out what is happening and report back to me when you have found out. Take Scarab with you.’
They raced away and Gallia and I went to ground level to welcome our saviours into the city. When we reached the smashed gates I heard the thunderous voice of Thumelicus hurling abuse at a hundred men manhandling the ram back across the bridge.
‘Put your backs into it, you lazy bastards, its just a sapling tied to a cart. Heave!’
Actually the ram was far larger and more imposing than it had appeared from the top of the gatehouse, and it took a good ten minutes before it had been shifted back over the bridge. It must have weighed tons with its iron-plated roof and great trunk that had forced the gates apart.
‘Even you look small beside it,’ I shouted to Thumelicus as his men sat on the ground panting after their exertions. He smiled and raised his arm in salute.
‘Looks like we got here just in time,’ said Domitus, striding towards us and tapping his cane against his thigh. He looked as though he had just completed a short walk.
Gallia embraced him, eliciting cheers and whistles from those of his soldiers nearby. I extended my hand and he clasped my forearm.
‘You are a most welcome sight, my friend,’ I told him. ‘Where are Demaratus and his Babylonians and the soldiers of Susiana?’
He smiled. ‘Guarding the wagons and mules. About five miles away. Nice and safe and far enough away not to do any damage.’
I put an arm around his shoulders as we turned and walked back into the city.
‘I thought I ordered you to take the foot to Hatra? Not that I am ungrateful that you disobeyed my orders.’
‘I would never disobey your orders, Pacorus,’ he said with a straight face. ‘Truth is we were on our way to Hatra via Assur when we came across this city being attacked and decided to lend a hand.’
Gallia laughed. ‘Very droll,’ I replied.
He winked at Gallia. ‘You gallop off into the desert with a hundred riders heading for Assur, mumbling some nonsense. So I think: “Something’s wrong.” Remember I have known you a long time. So I gave the order to march after you. In any case there are enough troops in Hatra to beat off a dozen armies.’
‘More than you think,’ I replied. ‘Gafarn ordered Assur’s lords and Silaces to present themselves at Hatra, in addition to half the city garrison.’
Within the hour we had all gathered at the palace where Herneus gave a report on the day’s events. It was dark now and the legions, men from Susiana and the Babylonians had made camp a mile west of the city; the Armenian prisoners having been placed under armed guard in the area between the inner and outer walls north of the Tabira Gate. A preliminary head count had put their numbers at eleven thousand.
‘Yours to do with as you see fit,’ I told Herneus.
Of the rest of the Armenians, many had been killed at the Western Gate when they were assaulted by the Exiles and rather less at the Southern Gate, some having given themselves up and the rest having fled over the stone bridge across the Tigris into Media.
‘King Atrax’s forces will deal with them,’ said Herneus.
‘We will wait here for Atrax to arrive with his men,’ I announced, ‘before continuing our march to Hatra.’
The next day I stood on top of the gatehouse at the Tabira Gate and watched the Armenian prisoners collect the bodies of their comrades who had been killed the day before. Under armed guard they had first created funeral pyres from their own wicker shields, the rafts they had used to bring the battering rams down the Tigris and wood from the rams themselves. The bodies were dumped on top and the wood lit. The nauseating stench of roasting flesh soon filled our nostrils as black smoke rose into the sky from the dozen pyres that ringed the city.
‘I never get used to that smell,’ I said to the others.
‘Better Armenian flesh burning than Parthian,’ said Herneus grimly.
‘Clever attempting to take this city, though,’ mused Domitus. ‘If it had fallen then Hatra would have faced being threatened from three directions — Nisibus, Assur and Zeugma.’
I stared at the heaps of black, charred cadavers being licked by flames. ‘Wars are not won by standing on the defensive. It is time to march against the Armenians and defeat them once and for all.’
The next day there was a service of thanksgiving in the city’s temple dedicated to Shamash, at which all those who had volunteered to stand beside the garrison and the Amazons on the city walls were honoured. Almost five hundred had fought on the battlements shooting arrows at the Armenians and a further six hundred had been formed into a reserve at the palace, ready to be committed against any enemy incursions. The Armenians would have made short work of the collection of cripples, old men, young boys and men missing limbs who now stood near the altar being blessed by the high priest for their courage. They were each given five drachmas for their loyalty, paid out of Herneus’ own pocket. He was a rich and powerful man and could afford to do so but I thought it was a nice touch.
The most poignant scenes were the cremations of the runners, the young boys and girls who had been killed while scouring the ground behind the inner wall for enemy arrows. They had thought it great fun and were encouraged by officers of the garrison to collect as many arrows as they could for a reward of sweets and fruit. But many had been hit and killed while doing so and I hated the Armenians for forcing us to resort to such measures.
A touching scene was when an emotional Asher was presented with a silver arrow for his service during the assault. I learned that he had been instrumental in raising volunteers from among the general population that had taken refuge in the temples, and I thanked Shamash that we still had men of iron like him left in the empire.
Afterwards, when everyone had filed out of the temple to return to their daily lives, I sat near the altar next to Gallia as sunlight streamed in through the high windows. She was wearing her white shirt and tan leggings and boots, her hair loose around her shoulders. I held her hand.
‘I am tired, Gallia.’
‘Of course, you have had hardly any sleep these past three days.’
I smiled at her. ‘I did not mean that. I am tired of war, tired of battles and bloodshed. I have been fighting for over twenty years, and for what?’
‘So we can stay free,’ she said, surprised at my despondency.
I sighed. ‘Freedom. We were free when we escaped from Italy, but instead of living in Hatra and being content to wait for my inheritance, in my impatience I took the throne of Dura. I have often wondered if I had not done so whether the empire would have been plunged into civil war, whether Phraates would have been murdered and whether my father would have been killed.’
I looked into her blue eyes. ‘Am I responsible for all those things?’
Her look hardened. ‘No, you are not. Had you been responsible for Mithridates and Narses being vomited into the world then I would have said yes, but you cannot blame yourself for what has happened since we returned from Italy. It has been your destiny.’
I chuckled darkly. ‘My destiny? My doom, more like.’
She stood up. ‘Come on. No more despairing. We have a war to win.’
I stood up and pulled her close, her full lips inches from mine. ‘Perhaps you should be lord high general.’
She kissed me tenderly. ‘I would like that. What will you do now?’
‘We wait for Atrax and then march to Hatra to fight the Armenians.’
The King of Media arrived the next day with five hundred cataphracts, their squires, four thousand horse archers and five thousand foot soldiers. Media’s soldiers wore blue tunics and grey leggings but it was the first time I had seen Atrax’s professional foot soldiers.
‘I have spent the last three years equipping and training them,’ he said with pride as I rode with him, Demaratus and Herneus as we inspected his troops on the Plain of Makhmur, the great flatland across the Tigris opposite Assur, which could accommodate an army with ease. Following Domitus’ relief of the city I had sent a second despatch to Atrax telling him that he need not rush to our aid. This had allowed him to bring his foot soldiers with his horsemen. At the same time I had also sent a courier to Hatra to assure Gafarn that Assur was safe and asked him not to engage the Armenians until I arrived.
Each of Media’s foot soldiers was ensconced in a helmet with a large neck protector and cheekguards, a short-sleeved scale armour tunic, similar to that worn by his heavy horsemen, thick leather greaves over leather boots and a large oval shield faced with hide painted black and sporting the white dragon of Media. But the most remarkable thing about these soldiers was that their main weapon was a mace, a short length of wood topped with a spiked iron head. They also carried swords and daggers but these troops were obviously equipped and armed to literally batter their way through an enemy formation.
‘The Armenians have heavy foot soldiers,’ said Atrax, ‘so these men have been created to fight and destroy them.’
‘They do Media credit, majesty,’ remarked Demaratus.
‘They certainly do,’ I agreed.
The next day we left Assur for Hatra. I hoisted myself onto Remus in the palace courtyard while outside the city twenty-three thousand foot soldiers and four and a half thousand horsemen marched west into the desert. Beside me Gallia was on Epona with the Amazons drawn up behind us. Herneus and his officers stood at the foot of the palace steps, flanked by the high priests from the temples and the city officials. The city governor stepped forward and bowed his head.
‘You have saved this city, majesty,’ he said to me, then looked at Gallia and bowed once more, ‘and this city will talk of your warriors with reverence and awe for generations, highness.’
‘It was an honour to have fought beside the men of Assur,’ she replied, breaking into a smile.
I leaned forward. ‘I will have your lords and their men returned to you as soon as I get to Hatra, Herneus. And Silaces and his men too.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you, majesty.’
‘One more thing, Herneus. King Aschek and the army of Atropaiene will be arriving here soon on their way to Hatra. Aschek has a tendency to dally when he should make haste, therefore please do not encourage him to stay here and enjoy what will be I’m sure your excellent hospitality.’
He smiled wryly as I raised my hand to those assembled before me. ‘Shamash be with you all,’ then I tugged on Remus’ reins and rode from the courtyard with Gallia and the Amazons following. The city had given thanks to the gods for its deliverance, cremated the dead and had now returned to the greater battle that was the daily struggle for survival.
The march to Hatra was uneventful.
Byrd and Malik scouted with their men and Atrax sent parties of horse archers far and wide in case there were any more Armenian forces in the area but they reported seeing nothing, and when we arrived at the city three days later I learned that the Armenian host that had been advancing from Nisibus had suddenly retreated in haste back to the city. There were thus tens of thousands of horsemen and foot soldiers camped around Hatra with nothing to do but eat up their rations and cover the ground with animal dung.
Marcus established the Duran camp to the north of the city near the city’s northern gates. These gave direct access to Hatra’s vast royal quarter housing the mansions of the kingdom’s richest and most important nobles, the Great Temple dedicated to Shamash, the treasury, the palace and its accompanying gardens, and the royal barracks, armouries and stables. A high, thick wall reinforced by one hundred and fifty towers along its length surrounded the entire city, while a separate wall encompassed the royal quarter. It really was a formidable fortress and one that even an enemy with siege engines would find difficult to reduce.
While Domitus settled the legions and Demaratus’ men into camp I rode with Gallia, Spartacus and Atrax to the palace. As ever it was a place of calm, order and authority; Kogan’s guards in their smart uniforms standing at every pillar and doorway. Clerks and city officials went about their business without any fuss and priests spoke in hushed tones in the corridors.
We walked into the throne room where Kogan himself stood by the dais, along with Vistaspa and a very frail Assur, his hair and beard now totally white. Courtiers standing around the sides of the hall bowed their heads as we made our way to the dais. A rather gaunt Gafarn rose and stepped onto the floor to greet me, and then Gallia and Atrax, while a smiling Diana greeted her son and then embraced Gallia. Orodes, who surprisingly had been standing beside Kogan, came forward and shook my hand, as did Nergal who followed him, while Praxima kissed my cheek. I nodded to Peroz who was standing on the other side of the dais and I also noticed Silaces in the assembly. Worryingly, the sour-faced Apollonius was also present. I hoped Gafarn had not denuded the garrisons of the towns of western Hatra, which were closest to Roman Syria.
The welcomes over, Gafarn returned to stand on the dais.
‘King Pacorus, hero of Assur,’ he said in a loud voice, ‘Hatra salutes you.’
His words were followed by warm applause and I felt myself starting to blush, though as I raised an arm in acknowledgement and turned left and right I noticed that my sister, Adeleh, was not clapping. She had obviously been taking lessons from Aliyeh on how to bear a grudge.
Gafarn stilled the applause. ‘Tonight we will give a feast in honour of King Pacorus and his valiant wife, Queen Gallia, whose warriors stood like a rock to turn back the Armenian tide at Assur.’
Fresh applause broke out and Gafarn and Diana both rose and beckoned us to accompany them as they walked from the throne room to their private quarters. I walked beside Diana as Orodes took the arm of Gallia behind me, followed by Nergal, Praxima, Peroz and Spartacus, who had an arm around the shoulders of his brother, Prince Pacorus.
‘Spartacus fought well at Assur,’ I said to Diana. ‘He is turning into a fine young man and good soldier.’
‘Dura agrees with him,’ she said, linking her arm in mine. ‘He is happy?’
‘It was difficult at first but he has calmed down and applied himself to his duties. Prince Peroz has helped him enormously, for which I am grateful.’
‘What about the Agraci girl?’ asked Gafarn.
‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ I replied, ‘it was a just a passing fancy. He’s too busy to worry about women.’
The feast that night was truly spectacular. The banqueting hall was crammed with tables at which sat the city’s nobility, Hatra’s senior officers, Assur’s head priests, as well as the commanders of the assembled armies. Dozens of slaves served food heaped on great silver platters while others poured beer and wine into jewel-encrusted gold and silver drinking vessels. My mother made a rare appearance, dressed in a pure white long dress, her hair oiled, curled and fastened in place with gold hairclips, with additional gold at her neck, on her fingers and round her wrists. She sat between me and Gafarn in the place of honour at the top table, laughed and talked, and was once more the Queen of Hatra. I was truly happy that, if only for one night, she was once more the forceful, gracious and witty woman who was the mother I remembered. Everyone was happy it seemed, even Adeleh, though she said nothing to me. But it was a most agreeable occasion and contrasted sharply to the gathering that was held the next day in the office adjacent to the throne room.
Kogan started by giving a very long and detailed account of the numbers of troops in and around Hatra, which, not including the city garrison, numbered two thousand, seven hundred cataphracts, sixty-six thousand horse archers and twenty-three thousand foot soldiers. And these figures did not include the troops that Aschek would be bringing from Atropaiene, which would undoubtedly swell the number to a combined total of over one hundred thousand soldiers.
‘What news do you have of Surena?’ I asked Gafarn.
He leaned back in his chair. ‘My sources inform me that he continues to strike at the Armenians from Gordyene.’
‘And what of the Armenians?’ I probed further.
‘Their forces have dispersed from Nisibus, apparently,’ he replied. ‘They retain a large garrison there but their army has dissipated, it would seem.’
‘Surena holds their attention,’ I said.
‘He fights his own private war,’ stated Orodes disapprovingly. ‘He has answered none of my summons to present himself to me here. It is as if Gordyene has once more been lost to the empire.’
‘We must recapture Nisibus,’ stated Gafarn.
I was not so sure. The Armenians had tricked us once and nearly taken Assur. They had now seemingly dissolved their army they had mustered there, leaving only a garrison behind. Perhaps they hung the prize of Nisibus before us like a fisherman dangles a piece of bait on his rod.
‘No,’ I said.
They all looked at me in surprise.
Gafarn was stunned. ‘No? Have not we mustered this army here, at Hatra, with the sole purpose of curbing the Armenians, brother?’
‘It is as Gafarn says,’ added Orodes.
I shook my head. ‘The fact that the Armenians have retreated from Hatra indicates that they do not wish to engage us in battle. They tried to capture Assur and nearly succeeded, but if they were intent on forcing a battle they would have kept their army together and marched it against Hatra.’
‘Then what do they want?’ asked a confused Atrax.
‘To let Crassus fight their war for them, after which they can pick over the bones of Parthia like a vulture,’ I replied. ‘Artavasdes is not his father, who would have sought victory without any aid.’
Gafarn was unconvinced and began stroking his beard with his hand.
‘Crassus is, and always has been, the biggest threat,’ I said. ‘Defeat him and the Armenians can be dealt with at leisure.
‘Gafarn, you must return the horse archers that Apollonius has brought here back to your western towns, and send Silaces and Herneus’ lords back to Assur.’
‘You would weaken the army by doing so, Pacorus,’ said Atrax.
‘The Armenians may attempt another attack against Assur to give them a strategic crossing point over the Tigris,’ I replied. ‘From Assur they could strike into Media and southern Gordyene, as well as west at Hatra. And the towns of Ichnae, Nicephorium, Carrhae and Zenodotium need reinforcing as they will be in the path of Crassus and his army.’
‘Crassus has not even arrived in Syria,’ said Gafarn irritably.
‘He soon will be,’ I said.
‘And that is why we need all the troops we can muster here, at Hatra,’ he said resolutely.
‘One hundred thousand soldiers,’ I said slowly so everyone could understand, ‘cannot remain at Hatra indefinitely. For one thing they and their animals will quickly exhaust the city’s granaries and will have to disperse anyway. Send Apollonius and his men back to the west and Silaces and the lords of Assur back east. When Crassus arrives in Syria we will march west and meet him at the border.’
‘And the Armenians?’ queried Orodes.
‘The Armenians, my lord,’ I replied, ‘will sit and wait for the outcome.’
Gafarn was shaking his head. ‘They will attack Hatra while our attention is diverted towards Crassus.’
‘It does not matter,’ I said. ‘They will not be able to storm the city but will rather have to mount a siege against it. And how will they water their men and animals? The nearest source is the Tigris, some sixty miles away.’
I could tell that he was still unconvinced but the truth was that we were wasting our time sitting on our backsides at Hatra. If the Armenians were serious about assaulting it they would have already done so. I was therefore relieved when a guard knocked and entered the room to interrupt the uncomfortable silence. He bowed to Gafarn and then whispered something in his ear.
‘Well give it to him, then,’ he said, exasperatedly.
The guard walked to my side, bowed his head once more and held out a papyrus scroll. I took it and unrolled it. It was from Spandarat at Dura and informed me that he had heard from Haytham that an Egyptian army was mustering at Emesa in preparation for an attack against Palmyra.
‘Problems, Pacorus?’ enquired Orodes.
I threw the missive on the table. ‘It would appear that we have been duped again, my friends. That letter was from Dura. An Egyptian army is assembling at Emesa and intends to march west to capture Palmyra, and in my absence Dura no doubt.’
‘Why would the Egyptians attack Dura?’ asked Gafarn.
‘Why? Because Egypt is under the Roman heel and dances to Rome’s tune. Just as we watch the Romans so do they observe us. Crassus has always coveted Dura and now he sees a cheap and easy way to take it: with an Egyptian army that he has no doubt hired.’
‘What will you do?’ asked Atrax.
‘I must return to Dura with my horsemen,’ I replied. ‘Haytham will fight, of that I have no doubt, but he cannot defeat an army of horse and foot on his own. He will need my support.’
Orodes, who had lived at Dura and knew Haytham well, was nodding in agreement but Gafarn was ashen faced. ‘You will take your army back to Dura?’
‘Only the horse archers, Gafarn. The rest will stay here.’ I stood up. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I have to consult with my officers.’
As I rode back to camp I was in a strange way relieved that this crisis had suddenly appeared as it gave me an excuse to leave Hatra and concentrate on defeating the enemy. Had I been Hatra’s king I would have dispersed its horse archers to the south and east and leave the city as bait for the Armenians and Romans. Once they took it their supply lines would be mercilessly harried by thirty-five thousand horse archers, to say nothing of the forces that Dura, Babylon, Media and Atropaiene could assemble. Even the Romans with their siege engines would find their effectiveness quickly diminished by a Mesopotamian summer sun and a parched desert devoid of any pasture or oases. But I was not Hatra’s king. Perhaps I should have been after all. Useless thoughts; concentrate on the here and now.
‘It’s a bad plan, Pacorus.’
Domitus was pacing up and down in my tent, tapping his cane against his thigh, always a bad sign. I sat with Chrestus, Gallia, Marcus and Peroz while my general mumbled to himself and had a face like thunder. He stopped and pointed the cane at me.
‘The moment you leave your brother will realise that he has an additional ten thousand well-trained foot soldiers and a thousand cataphracts to play with and we will be marching north to recapture Nisibus to avenge your friend’s death. What was he called?’
‘Vata,’ I answered.
‘And he will also realise that you have brought your siege engines. The temptation will be too great for him.’
I held up a hand to him. ‘You are the general of Dura’s army, Domitus, and it is not to go anywhere without your permission, and your authority supersedes even that of Orodes as king of kings.’
He eyed me warily. ‘And you will tell him that?’
‘I will.’
‘And your brother?’ he pressed me. ‘I will also be able to ignore his commands if I think it is prudent to do so?’
‘Yes.’
He grunted and retook his seat. ‘How many riders will you take?’
‘All the horse archers,’ I told him, smiling at Peroz, ‘as well as the Carmanians. The cataphracts can stay here. Eight thousand horsemen should be enough.’
‘Eight thousand plus the Amazons,’ added Gallia. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Immediately after I had convinced Domitus of the wisdom of my plan I wrote a note to Spandarat ordering him and his fellow lords to stay at Dura until I arrived, which would be in six days. I emphasised to him that on no account was he to ride out and fight the Egyptians on his own. The courier left my tent as Malik and Byrd halted their horses outside before entering. They and their scouts had been riding to the north of the city searching for Armenians.
‘Find anything?’ I asked.
Malik filled two cups with water from a jug on the table and handed one to a dust-covered Byrd. ‘Nothing.’
‘Sit down,’ I told them. ‘I have some news that will be of interest to you.’
I informed them about the army assembling at Emesa, its plan to attack Palmyra and my riding to assist Haytham.
‘You will be coming with me I assume?’
They both nodded.
‘Good. You have another chance to avenge Vehrka, Malik.’
Malik drained his cup and refilled it. ‘Egypt is many miles from Emesa. Why is its ruler interested in Palmyra?’
‘Rome is the ruler of Egypt now,’ I replied. ‘Aulus Gabinius must have restored Egypt’s king to his throne and now we see the consequence of him being Rome’s puppet.’ I smiled at Byrd. ‘Your network of spies in Emesa has served us well.’
‘I will lop off that fat king’s head with my own sword,’ swore Malik.
Whether or not Sampsiceramus himself led the army did not concern me. I was more alarmed by the prospect that Mark Antony, the young commander we had captured, might now have a senior position in the Egyptian force or perhaps might be leading it in person.
‘I said you should have killed him,’ was Gallia’s only remark when I revealed my fear to her.
I told Spartacus and Scarab that they would also be accompanying me. There was nothing for them to do at Dura and I was eager for my nephew not to slip back into his old, undisciplined ways while at Hatra. I therefore instructed him to visit the palace with me to say his farewells to his parents while Gallia and I took our leave of them and said goodbye to my mother. As usual she was on her knees in her beloved garden, trowel in hand planting fresh flowers. The deranged Rubi sat in a chair nearby as slaves fussed around them both. Gallia sat with Rubi and talked softly to her as the mad woman rocked to and fro in her own little world, baring her teeth and hissing when I approached. I sometimes thought that the insane were the only truly happy people in this world.
We left the next morning at dawn, just over eight thousand riders carrying waterskins, sacks of fodder, saddlebags filled with food and four quivers each slung over our shoulders. We left the camel train at Hatra and would be able to pick up additional ammunition at the armouries in Dura, but I had a feeling that we would need a great quantity of arrows in the days ahead. We would not take any of the new steel-tipped arrows with us — they were reserved for Crassus’ legions.
Our rate of advance was a steady thirty-five miles a day across the sun-blasted landscape, riding hard but always walking the horses during the hottest hours of each day. We trotted across the pontoon bridges at Dura on the sixth morning and rode straight to the Citadel where Rsan and Aaron were waiting for us at the bottom of the palace steps. Peroz and Vagises took their men to the now deserted legionary camp where they would water their horses in the animal troughs fed by the Euphrates. Malik and Byrd, following a short break, would continue on to Palmyra.
I slid off Remus’ back as stable hands came forward to take him, Epona and the horses of the Amazons and my squires to the stables. Vagharsh stood on the paving stones, leaned on his flagpole and arched his back.
‘I’m getting too old for careering around the empire,’ he said.
‘Me too,’ I agreed.
The griffin banner was safely enclosed in its wax sleeve but after returning to Dura it was always placed on the wall behind the dais in the throne room and that is where he now took it, ignoring my governor and treasurer as he walked slowly up the steps.
‘Where are our children?’ asked a concerned Gallia.
Rsan bowed. ‘Awaiting you in the throne room, along with Lord Spandarat and Dobbai.’
They both trailed after us as we walked through the reception hall into the throne room, to be greeted by the sight of Spandarat and Dobbai side by side on our thrones and our three children in a line in front of them. Vagharsh was unrolling my banner to place it back on the hooks on the wall, ignoring the two occupants of the thrones and our children. Isabella and Eszter ran to us when they saw us though Claudia remained where she was, curtseying to us when we stood before the dais. She had now seen eleven summers and was growing tall like her mother, though unlike Gallia her long hair was now dark like my own.
‘I hope your majesties are well,’ I said sarcastically.
Spandarat winked at Gallia and stood up. ‘Sit yourself down, princess.’
Gallia took her seat and Eszter climbed onto her knee while Isabella stood next to her.
‘To my knowledge Lord Spandarat did not request your presence here, son of Hatra,’ said Dobbai irreverently.
I did not rise to her bait. ‘With an Egyptian army approaching my place is defending my kingdom.’
She looked amused. ‘Defending your kingdom from what? A bunch of ill-armed scrapings from the Nile who could be blown away by a desert wind?’
‘I’m glad you think so little of our adversaries,’ I retorted, ‘but then it is not you who will have to face them in battle.’
Servants brought large cups filled with cool fruit juice for us to drink.
‘And neither do you,’ she snapped back. ‘Haytham is quite capable of dealing with the Egyptians. You should have remained at Hatra.’
‘It is true, majesty,’ agreed Spandarat, ‘me and the other lords could have reinforced Haytham if he found himself in difficulties.’
‘Nothing is happening at Hatra,’ I said, getting rather annoyed at having to explain myself, ‘whereas a great army is heading for Dura.’
‘Great army,’ said Dobbai incredulously, ‘your wits are becoming addled. The gods have sent omens indicating that danger lies to the north not in the west. Tell him, Claudia.’
‘It is true, father, for I have seen them with my own eyes — a dog urinating against a wall and then lying down and wagging its tail.’
‘An omen of impending disaster,’ said Dobbai.
Claudia continued. ‘And afterwards I saw a man leading a bull by its nose ring in a northerly direction, and a rat snake was following them.’
‘As clear as the scar on your face,’ commented Dobbai.
‘Thank you children, you may return to your rooms,’ I said.
Claudia was going to protest. ‘Now!’ I shouted, causing Eszter and Isabella to jump. Gallia nodded at them and they scuttled away. Vagharsh walked past me in the opposite direction.
‘A dog taking a piss. Imagine that,’ he remarked.
‘Be gone,’ Dobbai snapped at him, ‘what are you but a dog carrying a pole that follows his master around?’
Vagharsh curled his lip at her and then slapped me on the arm as he took his leave.
‘You will ride to fight by the side of Haytham?’ Dobbai asked.
‘I will,’ I said defiantly, pointing at Spandarat. ‘And you and your lords will be coming with me.’
Spandarat slapped his hands together. ‘Lovely!’
Dobbai rose unsteadily from my throne, Gallia jumping up and taking her arm. The old woman smiled at her, tenderly cupped her cheek with her hand and then they both walked towards the door that led to the private wing of the palace.
‘You may go and slaughter the Egyptians, son of Hatra, but the real danger lies to the north,’ she called to me. ‘Heed my words.’
But I ignored her ramblings and, three days after arriving back at Dura, the lords and their men having assembled in the legionary camp, I rode at the head of twenty-eight thousand horse archers to Palmyra. I had asked both Byrd and Malik to try to persuade Haytham not to offer battle to the Egyptians until I arrived. He had many warriors but few archers and I feared, just as before, that bowmen and slingers would slaughter them when they attempted to get close to the enemy. Gallia stayed behind with the Amazons to guard Dura.
We arrived at Palmyra five days later to find a great assembly of Agraci warriors filling the ground around the green oasis — thousands of black-clad horsemen equipped with spears and round shields, curved swords in black scabbards at their hips and daggers tucked into their belts. All Haytham’s lords were present, including Yasser, the man who ruled southern Arabia in his name. It was he who had greeted us with a hundred of his men half a mile east of Palmyra.
He extended a hand to me. ‘Good to see you again, King of Dura.’ He raised a hand to Spandarat. ‘Come to watch how the Agraci slay their foes, old man?’
Spandarat spat on the ground and laughed. ‘Come to save your arse, more like.’
Yasser greeted Vagises warmly and was introduced to Peroz before falling in beside me to continue our journey.
‘The king wants blood,’ said Yasser, ‘he is like an angry snake, ready to strike. It took all of Malik’s persuasion to convince him to wait until you got here. He’s talking about burning Emesa to the ground.’
‘Has the enemy left the city?’ I asked.
‘Yesterday. We have scouts outside the city and along the road here who use smoke signals to keep us abreast of developments.’
My horse archers camped immediately east of Palmyra as there was no room in the settlement itself. I noted that the traffic on the road had all but disappeared and in Palmyra itself there were few caravans. The traders who plied the Silk Road had a sixth sense when it came to impending war and made plans accordingly. Most either delayed their journey or took an alternative route. When I rode into Dura I noticed that the caravan park to the immediate north of the city was unusually full. The merchants were waiting for the slaughter to end before continuing their journeys.
I rode with Yasser to the great tent of Haytham in the centre of Palmyra where he and his lords were waiting. It was a great honour to be allowed to sit on the king’s council as he made plans for war but I was proud to be his friend and fight by his side. What did Dobbai know of pride and loyalty?
Haytham embraced me warmly and then asked me to join him and Malik as they sat with their lords on the carpets and cushions in his tent. I recognised them all and they made room for me as they sat cross-legged in a circle while servants brought refreshments. Byrd, sitting on Haytham’s left, nodded as I took my place next to Yasser. In addition to him there were another eleven lords, all of them menacing, cruel warriors who had achieved their high positions with their swords.
‘Now my brother Pacorus has arrived with his warriors,’ started Haytham, ‘we can ride west and kill the invading army. We will leave in the morning. How many riders have you brought with you, Pacorus?’
‘Twenty-eight thousand, lord,’ I answered.
Yasser slapped me on the shoulder and the others nodded approvingly.
Haytham smiled evilly. ‘When you all see the enemy remember Lord Vehrka and avenge him, and remember that nothing is forgotten or forgiven.’
After the meeting Rasha was waiting for me outside her father’s tent, accompanied by a dozen guards.
‘Are you under arrest?’ I teased her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘My father thinks that my virtue needs guarding at all times.’
‘He is worried about you,’ I assured her.
She spoke softly so her guardians would not hear. ‘Is Spartacus with you?’
‘He is, but he has a battle to prepare for and is confined to camp.’
She pressed a letter into my hand. ‘Would you give him this?’
I should have refused and given it back to her but she looked at me with such imploring brown eyes that my heart melted. So much for being the chief warlord of Parthia!
‘Of course,’ I replied.
She threw her arms round me, kissed me on the cheek, ordered me to keep safe and then hurried away with a spring in her step. What it is to be young and in love.
The Agraci did not fight as my army fights. Like my own nobles each of Haytham’s lords brought his own followers and they fought and died for him, fighting alongside him in battle and sharing in his victories and defeats. Agraci tactics, such as they were, consisted of getting to grips with the enemy as quickly as possible and slaughtering them in a close-quarter mêlée. Against well-disciplined, trained and equipped soldiers it was a recipe for disaster. Courage and bloodlust alone were not enough to overcome a professional army, that is why I wanted to be here, not for glory or a chance to kill Egyptians, though I was not averse to sending any race to the afterlife if they made an enemy of me, but to save Haytham. I would never have told him that, of course, but with my horse archers he and his men stood a better chance of defeating the enemy.
Three days out from Palmyra, marching along the road to Emesa, our scouts came across the enemy. It was not hard to find them: the vast dust cloud kicked up by their soldiers matched that of our own and could be seen miles away. The flat, hard-packed dirt across which we rode was littered with small stones and sparse grass and scrub vegetation. Occasionally a patch of greenery would appear as if by magic where water seeped to the surface to create a small oasis, but mostly the terrain was unending arid earth, made bleaker by a sun scorching our backs from a cloudless sky.
At midday, as the sun’s rays were warming the ground to turn the horizon into a shimmering haze, Haytham ordered a halt and called his lords together. As he did so waterskins were brought forward from the hundreds of camels that had accompanied us from Palmyra, on which were also stored food, tents and fodder.
‘The enemy are ten miles distant,’ said Haytham, ‘they will be here in three hours.’
‘How many?’ asked one his lords.
‘Nearly forty thousand foot, six or seven thousand horse.’
Forty-five thousand soldiers was below our own strength of thirty thousand Agraci plus my own horsemen from Dura — a good omen.
‘Are there are any Romans present?’ I asked.
‘My scouts reported seeing no Romans,’ answered Haytham.
The day was getting better and better.
‘I would like to take a closer look at our opponents, lord,’ I said to Haytham, pointing at Vagises and Peroz to accompany me.
I jabbed at finger at Spartacus and Scarab. ‘You two stay here.’
We cantered forward over the dusty ground with Vagharsh and a dozen horse archers behind us. The mood of the army was relaxed and confident, sentiments I shared as there were no Romans present.
‘How do these Egyptians fight, majesty?’ asked Peroz.
‘Like Greeks,’ I answered.
He was confused. ‘Greeks?’
‘Alexander of Macedon conquered Egypt around two hundred and eighty years ago, and ever since then the kingdom’s rulers, named Ptolemy after the first king, have been Greeks and the descendents of Greeks. Many men from Greece settled in Egypt in the intervening years and have brought their ways with them, including the Greek way of war.
‘Like the Romans they believe in the power of their foot soldiers. Their horsemen are equipped only to scout, raid and support the foot.’
Within fifteen minutes we had halted and were observing the mighty host advancing across the desert at a steady pace, creating a huge dust cloud that must have been choking the men in the rear of the formation. I pointed at an unbroken black mass in the centre of the Egyptian battle line.
‘That is their phalanx, made up of battalions of two hundred and fifty-six men, called syntagma, arrayed in ranks of sixteen men sixteen deep. They carry long spears called sarissas that are around fifteen feet in length. The first five ranks advance with their spears levelled to form an impenetrable hedge in front of the first rank, while the raised spears of the rear ranks help defeat enemy missiles. And there are sixty-four battalions of them — over sixteen thousand men.
‘Each phalangist wears a helmet, linen armour called linothorax, a shield slung over the shoulder covering his left side so he can hold his spear with both hands.’
I could see other foot soldiers either side of the phalanx and horsemen on the extreme ends of each wing. I estimated the frontage of the Egyptian army to be a mile and a half.
Half an hour later I was in my saddle at the head of Vagises’ men on the right wing of the army. It had been decided that Peroz and his men would take up position on the left wing. In such a way Haytham’s warriors would have missile support once the battle began. The enemy also had archers, which were deployed in two great blocks either side of the phalanx.
We were now around a mile from the enemy, walking forward at a slow pace with arrows nocked in our bowstrings. Vagharsh had removed my banner from its sleeve but it hung limply on the flagpole, as there was no wind. Already my silk vest was soaked in sweat and perspiration covered my face and neck. Each dragon of horse archers was arrayed in ten companies in a line, each company arranged in ten ranks of ten men. As each man had only three quivers of arrows I had given orders not to waste any missiles. With this in mind I had placed Spandarat and his lords behind Vagises — twenty thousand men. Haytham was most surprised but I knew that as soon as my lords were committed they were effectively beyond control so their one and only charge would have to be well timed. Needless to say Spandarat and his fellow nobles were most unhappy.
The eerie quiet that had descended over the battlefield was ended when both wings of the enemy army suddenly galloped forward. These were light horsemen wearing tunics and leggings only and riding wiry horses bred for speed. They carried wicker shields and each rider was armed with up to half a dozen javelins and they raced across the ground towards us, ready to launch their short spears.
Answering the command of horns, the front rank in each company waited until the widely spaced Egyptian horsemen were within four hundred paces before drawing back their bowstrings and loosing an arrow volley at them. The missiles arched into the air and fell among the enemy horsemen, hitting several horses and their riders. The Egyptians immediately halted and retreated back to their own lines as fast as they could. Trained for hit-and-run tactics, they had failed in their objective of goading us into action. But then with horror I looked to my left and saw masses of Agraci warriors galloping after them.
Haytham, seeing the enemy horsemen easily beaten off, had unleashed a general assault against the Egyptians.
‘What do we do?’ asked Vagises.
‘Nothing,’ I replied.
‘You are not going to support our allies, uncle?’ queried Spartacus.
‘Not until they return after having many of their saddles emptied,’ I replied.
And so it was. As soon as the Agraci got close to the enemy centre they were peppered with lead shots from slingers that hugged the flanks of the phalanx and the foot archers either side of them. In the space of a few minutes Haytham lost dozens of men and horses for nothing, the Agraci falling back as rapidly as they had advanced to get out of range of enemy missiles.
Wild cheering erupted from the Egyptian ranks and the phalanx began to march forward once more. I raised my bow to signal the advance and behind me three thousand horse archers urged their horses forward.
They cantered past me as Spartacus moved his horse ahead.
‘Not you,’ I told him. ‘You will stay here until I tell you otherwise.’
He slammed his bow back into its case in frustration as Vagharsh’s face wore a broad grin.
The horse archers rode to the right before arching inwards to assault the light horsemen on the Egyptian left flank. As they broke into a trot large amounts of dust were kicked into the air and hung there like a yellowish cloud. I glanced to my left and could still see the huge phalanx advancing but beyond that was a wall of dust. The thousands of horses’ hooves were beginning to reduce visibility drastically.
In front of us I could hear the whoosh and hiss of thousands of arrows being loosed as Vagises’ companies neared the Egyptian army and wheeled inwards to strike the flank of the enemy line, files of ten horse archers riding at the enemy, shooting their bows and then wheeling right to take them back to the rear of the file. In this way a continuous, withering storm of arrows would be directed at the opposition.
Using this tactic each horseman usually got off at least three arrows. As he reached the front of the file he released his bowstring, nocked another arrow and shot it as he wheeled his horse right and loosed a third arrow over the back of his horse as he returned to the rear of the file. In this way each of Vagises’ dragons shot around six hundred arrows a minute at the enemy.
After ten minutes a dust-covered Vagises rode back to where I watched.
‘The Egyptian horsemen have fled, Pacorus. We are shooting down black men carrying hide shields and spears. Hundreds are dead.’
‘Nubians,’ remarked Scarab with sadness.
‘What of the enemy’s archers and slingers?’ I asked.
‘Most have been cut down with the Nubians, their bows do not have the range of ours,’ he answered. ‘Though their slingers have the measure of them.’
‘Spandarat,’ I called. ‘Time for your and your lords to assault what is left of the enemy’s left flank.’
He whooped with joy and rode back to his fellow nobles.
‘Pull back your men, Vagises,’ I ordered. ‘Let them save their arrows and let us hope that Peroz has enjoyed similar success against their other wing.’
I coughed as dust entered my mouth.
‘This ground is very sandy,’ remarked Vagises, who dug his knees into his horse’s sides and sped off followed by a score of men.
A few minutes later there was a great rumbling sound behind us and then the earth began to tremble as Spandarat and my other lords led their horse archers forward. It was not a disciplined approach to the target followed by an ordered attack to maintain a steady rate of missile expenditure; rather, a wild charge of men possessed of a feral rage and desirous to kill as many of the enemy as possible.
Too late, and to my horror, I realised that I had made a grave error in throwing Spandarat against the Egyptians for soon the visibility was further drastically reduced by the thick dust cloud created by twenty thousand galloping horses. We started coughing as the fine particles got in our eyes and entered our throats. I could hear shouts and screams to the front and the cries of wounded and dying horses but I was effectively a useless bystander to the battle, unable to dictate its course.
I heard horns in the distance and then trumpet blasts coming from ahead and to the left. The phalanx! It must have halted. I smiled to myself. Perhaps Peroz or Haytham had shattered the enemy. Perhaps they themselves had been shattered! I could see no more than a hundred paces in any direction so thick was the dust enveloping the battlefield. For all I knew the Egyptians could have been behind me.
The earth shook once more and somewhere in front of me a sizeable number of horsemen were galloping from the right to left. I peered into the yellow haze but saw nothing and then they were gone. Most strange.
‘I saw breastplates and helmets, uncle,’ said Spartacus, whose eyes were obviously keener than mine.
‘Are you certain?’
He nodded.
I turned to the commander of the company of horse archers that was with us.
‘Follow me,’ then tugged on Remus’ reins to turn him left. One thing was certain, neither Haytham nor I had horsemen wearing armour, which meant they could only be enemy riders.
We trotted forward keeping close order with arrows nocked in our bowstrings. The sounds of battle were initially on our right as we moved towards the centre of our battle line but then I heard shouts and cries and the sounds of blades striking each other ahead.
‘Ready!’ I shouted as we broke into a fast canter and rode straight into a huge mêlée.
Agraci warriors were fighting a multitude of other horsemen wearing bronze helmets and breastplates and greaves around their shins, armed with the xyston — a long spear — and the machaira, a vicious short sword with a curved cutting edge. Four of my men were speared immediately as we rode among the turmoil.
‘All-round defence,’ I shouted.
I raised my bow and shot an Egyptian in the chest as he spurred towards me with his spear levelled. The company closed around me and began loosing arrows in all directions, scything down enemy horsemen like a farmer cuts crops. I was not worried about my men hitting Agraci, only that they would run out of arrows.
Then, directly ahead, I saw Haytham and Malik fighting among a dwindling band of their men, black shapes lying on the ground all around where Agraci had been killed by the enemy.
‘Forward!’ I shouted. We had to get to Haytham’s side or he would be cut down. There seemed to be an endless supply of enemy horsemen. Where were the rest of the Agraci?
Suddenly Spartacus broke ranks and galloped forward, shooting an Egyptian who was closing in on Haytham from the right.
‘Come back you idiot,’ I called to no effect.
‘Maintain formation,’ I shouted, just as Scarab also bolted forward on his horse to join my other squire.
They both made it to Haytham’s side just as half a dozen Egyptians with spears levelled closed in on the Agraci king. Spartacus shot two of them in quick succession and then killed the horse from under a third who was about to ram his spear into Haytham’s unguarded right side. Spartacus and Scarab rode to the king’s side and loosed arrow after arrow at the enemy, killing two more before the sixth beat a hasty retreat.
If anything the dust was getting thicker as I drew level with Haytham and the soldiers of my company formed a cordon around what was left of his bodyguard. He let his blood-covered blade fall to his side.
‘You are a most welcome sight,’ he said.
Malik on his other side raised his sword to me.
‘Are you hurt, lord?’ I asked.
Ahead of us Spartacus loosed an arrow that went into the eye socket of an Egyptian. Haytham pointed his sword at him.
‘That young puppy saved my life.’
‘My nephew has his uses,’ I replied. ‘Where did these Egyptians come from?’
‘Emerged from behind that great group of spearmen in the centre. Speared hundreds of my men and forced us back. I sent Yasser and most of my other lords to support your archers on the left after they had smashed the enemy in front of them.’ He shook his head. ‘That appears to have been a mistake.’
He had had a narrow escape but as my men sat in their saddles with arrows nocked in their bowstrings the sounds of battle in front of us began to recede.
‘Keep watch,’ I shouted, ‘the enemy might return.’
Sure enough there came the sound of hooves pounding the earth to our left and so I redeployed my men to face the new threat, with Haytham and his Agraci formed up behind. The riders drew closer and out of the dust came hundreds of black riders — Agraci!
‘Stand down,’ I ordered as Yasser halted his horse in front of his king and hundreds of Agraci warriors fell in behind Haytham. He looked at the dead bodies spread across the ground.
‘The enemy have been broken, lord. Those who have horses are fleeing west; the others are being killed at our leisure. What happened here?’
‘We had our own private battle,’ was all that Haytham said.
I rode with him, Malik and Yasser forward to where small groups of the enemy were desperately trying to defend themselves against Agraci attacks, supported by Peroz’s horse archers on the left and Spandarat and his men on the right. The phalanx had collapsed and great piles of enemy dead lay where they had been killed, most by the spears and swords of the Agraci after they had attempted to run and had been cut down.
As we continued to ride forward the dust began to clear and I saw Peroz and his senior officers in front of their horse archers. A company would ride forward and unleash arrows against a group of Egyptians, after which the waiting Agraci would ride in and hack the survivors to pieces like a pack of ravenous wolves.
I peered across to the left where Agraci and Parthians were intermingled in a great chaotic mêlée against isolated groups of enemy foot soldiers. And from the right came Vagises accompanied by a company of horse archers. He raised his hand to me and then Haytham.
I pointed at the confusion on the right. ‘Spandarat and my lords are enjoying themselves, it seems.’
‘Do you wish me to stop it?’ he asked.
‘No, let them have their fun.’
Haytham slapped me on the shoulder. ‘We will make an Agraci out of you yet, Pacorus.’
I ordered Vagises to organise a pursuit of the enemy horsemen with a thousand of his men after the rest had surrendered their arrows to him. They were to pursue and kill as many of the enemy as possible, not engage in any battles. If more enemy horsemen appeared they were to withdraw.
The slaughter petered out with the onset of nightfall. I have no doubt that some among the enemy survived, either feigning death and waiting for night before making their escape west, or slipping through the roving bands of Agraci, Duran and Carmanian horsemen in the haze. Nevertheless the bulk of the Egyptian army lay dead on the bloodstained earth and with it any chance it may have had of capturing Palmyra.
Haytham was ecstatic: I had never seen him laugh and grin so much. Though his good humour did not extend to the few enemy soldiers who had been captured. The next morning he had them stripped naked, flogged severely, buried in the ground up to their necks, had their eyelids cut off and left them to die in the sun. Our own losses had not been light, particularly among the Agraci who had lost over two thousand men, but with ten times that number of enemy dead covering the earth Haytham did not care. He had won a great victory, Vehrka had been avenged and his reputation as a mighty warlord had been enhanced.
Duran losses amounted to less than a hundred horse archers, though Spandarat and his lords had suffered nearly nine hundred dead and wounded — the consequence of launching ill-disciplined attacks against the enemy.
‘They died fighting,’ was all that he said, ‘what else can a man hope for?’
‘To live into old age?’ I suggested.
He spat on the ground. ‘Old age is like a living death, mark my words.’
Peroz, who had kept his men under tight control throughout the battle, had likewise suffered only light casualties: two hundred and twenty killed and a hundred wounded. Vagises returned to us two days later to report that he had added around five hundred or more of the enemy to the butcher’s bill but had called off the pursuit when he had neared Emesa.
‘What was left of them would no doubt inform that fat king that King Haytham and his army would soon be besieging his city.’
When we returned to Palmyra Haytham gave a great feast to celebrate his victory. He seemed to have invited the whole army as every inch of ground inside and outside his tent seemed to be occupied by his lords, their warriors and Dura’s soldiers. Byrd brought Noora and the radiant Rasha stuck by Malik’s side and dazzled us with her smile. As the evening wore on Haytham gathered his lords around him in front of a huge raging fire and called on me to come forward. When I did so he put an arm around my shoulder and called for quiet.
‘Years ago a man rode from the city of Dura into my kingdom with his wife, a scout and a young girl. He was a Parthian, a member of the race that is the sworn enemy of the Agraci. And yet, disdaining certain death, he brought my daughter back to me.’
There was loud acclaim. Haytham raised his hands to still the noise. He continued.
‘That man stands before you, a man I am proud to call brother, and the scout who rode with him that day,’ he pointed at Byrd, ‘is now one of my most trusted advisers.’
Malik slapped Byrd on the arm and Noora hugged him close.
‘And now my brother Pacorus,’ continued Haytham, ‘has brought his warriors to fight by my side and together we have destroyed a great army that was sent to enslave us. I therefore declare that Pacorus, King of Dura, is now officially my brother and may make decisions concerning the Agraci in my absence, so much do I value his judgement.’
I was taken aback. This was indeed a great honour and I was about to thank him when he yanked his dagger from its sheath, grabbed my right hand and drew the sharp blade across my palm. I winced in pain as he likewise cut his own palm, pressed it onto my bloody hand and then held it aloft. The crowd erupted into wild cheering.
Haytham waved forward two women who brought dressings to bind our wounds.
‘You do me a great honour, lord,’ I said to him, wondering how long it would be before I could shoot a bow or wield a sword again.
‘You are to call me brother from now on,’ he told me.
Once the women had finished applying the dressings Haytham raised his hands again and the commotion faded way, the only noise the spitting of burning logs behind us. Haytham searched out Spartacus standing next to Scarab and beckoned him forward. My nephew, who had probably drunk too much already, stepped forward, smiling at Rasha as he did so. Haytham’s daughter was beautiful tonight, dressed as she was in a flowing blue silk robe with jewel-embroidered wide sleeves. Her headscarf was also blue silk and from the centre parting of her hair was tied a silver teeka that rested on her forehead. She wore silver bracelets and anklets and around her neck hung a simple silver necklace holding an exquisite and priceless pear-shaped blue diamond. It had been brought from the lands east of the Indus and was called the ‘idol’s eye’ and must have cost Haytham a small fortune.
The Romans believed that diamonds were tears of the gods, others like Dobbai thought them useful talismans to ward off evil, while some wore them to attract others. Rasha held my nephew’s eyes with her own as he paced forward to her father and I could only think that she wore this rare precious stone to entrap his feelings.
Haytham raised the right arm of Spartacus.
‘This boy saved my life in battle and now I repay the debt I owe to him. Ask what you will of me, boy, and I will grant it.’
The crowd chanted his name and the hairs on the back on my neck stood up. I never thought that I would hear the name ‘Spartacus’ be acclaimed again but that night the air rang with the name of my dead friend and lord once more and I looked at Vagises and Vagharsh among the assembly and they smiled at me. Like me they had been transported back in time to another place when we had stood with Gauls, Dacians, Germans, Greeks, Thracians and Parthians and chanted the same name.
Haytham stilled the tumult. ‘Speak boy.’
I knew what he was going to say and closed my eyes as the brave young fool looked at his beloved.
‘I wish the hand of your daughter in marriage.’
His declaration was met by a deafening silence as Haytham’s lieutenants looked at each other in disbelief and then back at Spartacus who stood with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Rasha wore a smile of victory and stepped forward.
‘I accept.’
Haytham spun round and glared at her.
‘Stay where you are,’ he bellowed, causing her to jump.
He whipped his sword from its scabbard and held the point at Spartacus’ neck.
‘The debt is paid,’ he said menacingly.
My nephew looked at the blade and then at Haytham in confusion. ‘I do not understand, majesty.’
Malik was shaking his head and Byrd was frowning with disapproval as Haytham pressed the point of his sword into my nephew’s neck.
Haytham smiled savagely. ‘You saved my life and now I have saved yours by not cutting off your head for your insolence.’
Agraci laughter greeted this pronouncement though neither Spartacus nor Rasha were smiling.
‘We love each other,’ proclaimed Rasha forlornly.
‘It is not becoming for the daughter of a king to have feelings for a lowly squire.’
‘I am a prince,’ said Spartacus with difficulty, the point of Haytham’s sword still pressing into his neck.
‘It is true, lord, er, brother,’ I said, ‘he is a prince of Hatra.’
Haytham looked at me and slowly lowered his sword. ‘It makes no difference. I will never permit my daughter to marry a Parthian. You may be my brother, Pacorus, but there is too much hatred between our two peoples to allow the blood of each to be mixed. A child of such a match would be an outcast from both races.’
Rasha’s head dropped and she visibly wilted at her father’s refusal to countenance their union. I sometimes forgot that most Parthians hated the Agraci and vice versa. Poor Rasha.
‘But I am not Parthian,’ declared Spartacus.
Haytham regarded him warily. ‘What trickery is this?’
‘No trickery, majesty,’ he replied, his cockiness quickly returning and declaring. ‘I am a Thracian.’
Haytham’s face was blank. He looked at me as his men shrugged their shoulders in indifference.
‘It is true, brother,’ I said. ‘He was born in Italy to Thracian parents. I was one of those who brought him to Parthia to be raised as a prince of Hatra. But he is the son of the general I fought under against the Romans.’
Rasha, given fresh hope, now looked at her father imploringly. Haytham slid his sword back into its scabbard and looked thoughtfully at Spartacus and Rasha, then smiled slyly.
‘It is not enough.’
Rasha’s eyes misted with tears and Spartacus’ shoulders sank, but to his credit he did not give up on his love.
‘Name the conditions which will win me the hand of your daughter, majesty, and I will fulfil them.’
Haytham, momentarily taken aback by his fresh impertinence, glared at him and I was about to step between them to prevent him lopping off my nephew’s head, when Haytham smiled cruelly.
‘You’re brave, boy, I will give you that, and so, in light of your valour in battle and your strange pursuit of lost causes, I make you this offer.
‘Years ago, word reached me of a battle between the Romans and Parthians and the tale of how a young prince from the city of Hatra had taken a silver eagle standard from the enemy single-handedly. I have heard that these silver eagles are sacred to Roman soldiers and that they would lay down their lives to protect them.’
Haytham pointed at me. ‘My brother was the man who stole that eagle from under the noses of thousands of Roman soldiers and it now sits in the temple of his forefathers in Hatra.’
He looked at Spartacus. ‘You have seen this thing?’
‘I have, majesty.’
‘And now the Romans once again threaten our borders and King Pacorus once again marches against the eagles.’
He stood before his assembled lords and warriors and raised his arms.
‘I, Haytham, King of the Agraci, hereby make this offer to the boy who saved my life in battle. If he wants my daughter then he will bring me one of these Roman eagles that he has taken in battle to lay it on the ground before me. This offer stands for one full year, after which I will give my daughter to the son of one of my lords.’
He spun round and pointed at Spartacus. ‘You have one year, boy. One year in which to do this thing. But know that when you leave Palmyra after this night and return to Dura you are prohibited from entering my kingdom, on pain of death, unless you bring a silver eagle with you for company.’
The Agraci cheered and laughed at Haytham’s words and Rasha looked most concerned, with good reason. To capture a Roman eagle was all but impossible, notwithstanding that I had done so in my youth, and then only due to a combination of sheer luck and youthful folly. Spartacus had enough of the latter but the gods alone would decide if he would have any of the former.
Haytham was both clever and cruel. He dangled the prospect of a union between Rasha and Spartacus knowing full well that Spartacus would probably die attempting to win the one thing that would give him Rasha. Haytham laughed along with his warriors as my nephew considered what he had agreed to.
The next day, as we rode back to Dura, he was unusually quiet.
‘It was brave of you to declare your love for Rasha in front of Haytham and his lords,’ I told him. ‘I was most impressed.’
‘It did me little good,’ he mumbled.
‘There are many fine young women among the nobility of Hatra,’ I said, ‘when you return there it might be best to look to them for your future happiness.’
‘Why should I?’ he snapped.
‘Because if you venture into Agraci territory,’ said Vagharsh behind him, ‘your head will be on a pole outside Haytham’s tent.’
‘Unless I win an eagle,’ he replied defiantly.
‘You have more chance of sprouting a pair of wings,’ scoffed Vagharsh.
When we reached Dura Spartacus’ spirits had sunk lower with the realisation that he could no longer enter Agraci territory unless he had a Roman eagle with him. A year was a long time and if he failed to get his trophy he would probably never see Rasha again, at least as an unmarried woman. My own humour was troubled when I saw the legionary camp was full of soldiers, wagons and horses — the rest of the army had returned to Dura.
I left Vagises and Peroz to organise the quartering of their men in the camp and rode immediately with my squires and Vagharsh to the Citadel, the guards at the western gates of the camp having informed me that Domitus and Chrestus were waiting for me at the palace. As I galloped past the camp and through the Palmyrene Gate into the city the knot in my stomach tightened. Something was very wrong.
The guards at the gates of the Citadel had seen us riding up the main street and so, as we trotted into the courtyard, Gallia, Domitus and Chrestus were waiting for me. I slid off Remus’ back and told Spartacus and Scarab to take him and their own horses to the stables. I embraced Gallia and then looked at my two commanders.
‘I assume there is a good reason why the army is back at Dura.’
‘We were sent back,’ replied Domitus.
‘Sent back by whom?’
‘By your brother,’ he answered.
‘Gafarn?’
‘Just tell him, Domitus,’ sighed Gallia.
Domitus looked at her and then me. ‘Crassus and his army arrived in Syria, crossed the Euphrates at Zeugma and attacked the towns in western Hatra before Orodes had chance to organise a response. Crassus then garrisoned the towns and withdrew back into Syria. It would appear that the Egyptian army sent against Palmyra was a decoy to mask the main enemy attack.’